28.4.08
No blog update yesterday - thank my laziness, a full stomach and a busy day! I’m now in Wellington, the windy (and wet) capital city of New Zealand, based on the south coast of the north island. It’s the first real city I’ve experienced in NZ - much more so than Dunedin. Its sleek grey, silver and glass modern skyscrapers - owned by the usual banks, IT and communications companies - that peer out at the ocean from behind its quayside, mixed in with older, colourful Victorian buildings, form a fashionable fusion of old and new. My first impressions of this place, coming in off the ferry, was that it was like Leeds, but by the sea (it’s a grey city, the tallest buildings of which top no more than twenty stories). But having ventured out at night into the colourful, sleek - exceptionally clean - cosmopolitan streets, lined with dimly-lit, atmospheric trendy bars and restaurants, as well as experienced the bustling, business-as-usual, central shopping road that is Willis Street during lunchtime rush hour, it feels much more like London.
I’m sorry to say goodbye to the south island, for what has so far turned out to be urban, city life. It appears it was sorry to see me go too: as I got nearer to its northern shores and my departure, the beautiful, clear blue skies clouded over - pregnant, grey, ominous looking clouds - then as I hit Blenheim (a town I’ll remember only for its long string of roundabouts, one of which had a IN USE rail track running right through the middle of it: how about that for crazed novelty value??), the rain came hammering down. The journey had started so well too: the snowcapped tops of the Kaikoura (mountain) Range were observable from the town’s shingle beach in the morning (supposedly they’re the closest snow topped mountains to a shore in the world, according to the hostel’s owner - unsure about her facts, but you get the idea). The road north took me around on the coastal side of the range, running parallel to a railway track for most of the way, where I witnessed so many picture perfect sea and mountain vistas (the latter seeming to float on the water, such were there proximity) - ocean spray and hovering mist giving the terrain an ethereal quality - I kept having to stop every five minutes to marvel and gape.
Had to book up my ideas as, having set off just before 10AM, I only had three hours to get to Picton, where my ferry was to depart. I also had to fit in a stop at ‘The Store at Kerengu’: a cafe standing all by itself on the edge of a cliff, halfway between Kaikoura and Blenheim, highly recommended by the LP. As it turns out, it was worthy of the praise lavished upon it - shaped a little like a wigwam with its dome like, cloth roof, but modernly decorated inside, it afforded fabulous views of the sea whilst serving up some fabulous food. I indulged not only in a tasty piece of quiche, but also a mouth watering (not to mention huge) slice of carrot cake, plus a damn fine cup of coffee. As the guy at the counter called it: the breakfast of champions!
It was pee-ing it down by the time I reached Picton, where I joined a tightly packed jam of cars waiting to get on the ferry, which got even tighter once we made it and were parked inside the belly of the beast (or the ferry). The ferry itself was a multi-storied affair, several floors dedicated to vehicle parking, then a cinema, cafe/bar (with rugby league on the TV, a popular fixation with Kiwis, as is V8 super cars - not so much cricket as far as I’ve been able to work out, though that could be because it’s now out of season), viewing gallery and ‘sun deck’. I spent most of my time on the latter, though it was anything but sunny! The rain did slow and eventually all but disappear as we undocked from Picton. It took about ninety minutes to leave the channels of the south island, crossing over a large stretch of sea towards the north island. In fact, during the whole of the ‘Strait Escape’ (as called by the ferry company), there wasn’t a time when some form of land - whether it was green, rolling farmland or inhabited, tree clothed islands - wasn’t in sight. I only had the widest stretch of water to signify what I assumed was the actual ‘crossing’ from one big isle to the next.
Going out for some dinner at a Mac’s Brewery now with a Bristol bloke (Andy) I’ve befriended at my Wellington hostel (an enormous YHA institution, boasting six floors, a massive projector-based TV room, a huge common-room-esque living area, a room dedicated just to games, cheap takeaway options each night and some genuinely knowledgeable staff - shame about the $5/day on-street parking, five minutes walk away). Will finish this in the morning.
28.4.01 - 11.44PM
Just back from the pub and thought I’d give this another stab. Andy and I headed down to Wellington’s wharf area to visit the brewery, but turns out there food selection wasn’t all that. Fortunately, the guy behind the bar being a friendly, helpful Kiwi suggested a nearby burger bar which we set out to, after sampling a delicious pint of Mac’s ‘Sassy Red’ (a heavy, slightly fruity ale: the only decent Mac’s beer - the only award winning one too - albeit still fizzy). By the way, New Zealanders don’t appear to be offended by the term ‘Kiwi’ - perhaps likening them to the native, hedgehog-like bird with long, curved, thin beak (the only bird that has nostrils positioned at the end of their beak, used for sniffing out creepy crawlies; thank Wellington’s ‘Te Papa’ Museum for that!), or maybe the indigenous, furry, sweet fruit - as the handle pops up everywhere.
Filled up on a tasty burger and kumara fries (took it as an opportunity to introduce ‘I’m a farmer’ Andy to the sweet tastes of local sweet potato - which I also learned from the museum was originally introduced by the Maoris), then we headed to another pub, where we met a group from our hostel - including a few girls from my room who I’d met prior - taking part in a quiz. The bar felt a bit like a student pub, though a bit trendier (is there anywhere in Wellington that isn’t trendy?), thanks to its open log fire and non-sticky floor. The quiz had been going on for over two hours (!!) when we arrived before 10PM and carried on for at least another hour. Party games - such as picking up a cardboard box from the ground with your mouth, hands behind back and without touching the floor with your knees - took place between the eight rounds of ten questions: yes, it was THAT sort of a quiz. Feeling overly hot, thanks to the beer and the fire, plus a bit too old for all this, I decided to head back, soon after followed by Andy and other room mates.
On to the topic of the temperature: despite the rain and the wind, it definitely feels warmer here by a few degrees, much more ‘stuffy’. I haven’t figured out yet if that’s because of the cloudy, storm-like weather or just the north island in general, but nonetheless I found myself stripping down to shorts today (with jumper). Good to be out of jeans for the first time in weeks.
When I arrived yesterday, it was early evening - still light enough to make out the hills dotted with houses surrounding Wellington’s small bay. The city is sprawled across many of them, though the central, built-up CBD - right next to the harbour - doesn’t spread much further than a few miles I’d say, and it’s mainly flat (the rest is less bunched up, residential suburbs). It took over an hour to get in our cars and off the ferry, and by the time I’d found the hostel and parked my car, it was 6PM and dark. Unfortunately, I missed the $8 offer of takeaway pizza my hostel was offering that night, so instead investigated the buzzing nightlife of the surrounding streets. It was a bit of a shock: I hadn’t seen so many people populating such a small space in a long time, nor had such a variety of drinking and eating establishments on offer (all very trendy, as I keep repeating!).
One odd thing that happened: I felt uneasy about dining alone, for the first time in months! Perhaps it was because the western, thriving city scene that was Wellington put me in mind of back home, because I found myself feeling quite put off from eating at a restaurant by myself (to be fair, it was packed with couples). So instead, I headed to one of Wellington’s many swish cafes and had myself a big bowl of nachos, digging into a book I’d just bought (Wellington has several big bookstores, selling both old and new books, that stay open late into the night - don’t you just love city life!). I felt like I’d hit the jackpot when the owner offered me a free plate of fries on top, completely out of the blue. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I say!
Speaking of cafes, this is one of Wellington’s biggest appeals, as well as its thriving arts scene (with many playhouses and cinemas, it has a feel of Melbourne about it; there’s even a comedy festival on). Of the two cafes I’ve been into - the one today was rated one of Wellington’s best - they’ve both been very classy, bar/restaurant like affairs, only specialising in the art of the barista, serving some sublime coffees, pasties, cakes and snacks. A lot of them stay open late and they tend to be brimming with people, some bantering in couples or in groups, others reading to themselves or just watching the world go by. There’s a really good vibe to these establishments, similar to the atmosphere you’d get, or hope to get, in a bar back home, only more sophisticated, less rowdy.
Today, took in the sights and sounds of the city centre, including the ‘beehive’ (a controversial, modern, commercially owned building, built right next to the grand, Victorian parliament house, that does exactly what it says on the tin). I also took the time to do some extortionately expensive clothes washing at my hostel - $4 for the machine (!) - and to visit the fabulous ‘Te Papa’ museum, New Zealand’s finest (not to mention free). Looking rather like a cross between Melbourne’s own, recently built museum and a modernised, ex-polytechnic English university, that the government decided to frivolously inject a load of cash into, it proved to be a fantastic source of information on all things Maori, whilst also including several fascinating exhibitions on indigenous animals, plate tectonics (NZ is on a moving fault line, after all) and whales, amongst others. I was thrown not only by the size of the now extinct mao birds, the longest one’s leg being two thirds my size, but also by the ‘mooing’ noise they were presumed to have made, like a cow. I didn’t know whales/dolphins originated from walking, land mammals tens of millions of years ago - they had reconstructed, fossilised remains on display - nor that they used a combination of their noses to emit and fatty jaw tissue to receive signals, in order to navigate the deep (using sonar).
Everything at the museum was presented in an attractive and appealing way, each display boasting its fair share of interactive and audio-visual exhibits. Have to say I came away impressed. I only had a couple of hours there and I left wishing I had had longer.
Heading up north tomorrow. Time for bed now.
P.S. Some more useless (?) facts... Walked into the ‘New World’ Supermarket today (similar to Sainsbury’s), and was impressed to see they use fancy, LCD price tags for many of their items, positioned just below the shelf that they are on. Very modern! I love the fact that, like in Australia, New Zealand has done away with its one and two cent coins. Indeed, they’ve gone one step further and got rid of the fives too. In Australia, they can be a bit cheeky, still pricing goods at single cent denominations (say $0.99), then charging you by rounding them up (bad) or down (good). Since getting to NZ, I’ve been bombarded by heating ads on the radio. This makes a contrast to Australia, where the majority were trying to sell me air conditioning.
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Kaikoura
26.4.08
Umm, a nice slice of vegetarian lasagne (with pumpkin, mushroom and spinach, it was lacking tomato - this pumpkin is really growing on me as a decent meat substitute) and a strawberry milkshake (my stomach’s queasiness has allowed my sweet tooth some free roaming today: any milk products will do, including a ‘smoothie’ I had at a cafe for lunch which was more like milkshake with fruit bits in) for dinner. Guess my stomach is back on track, though my tongue is still swollen to twice its size I swear and hot drinks are not an option.
So yes I’ve made it to the pretty, relaxed seaside town of Kaikoura - a popular destination for crayfish (it’s name translating to ‘fish’ and ‘cray’, so my over-helpful hostel owner informed me), whale-watching (the major drawer) and swimming with dolphins. The latter of these formed my original purpose for visiting this place, but it turned out they were fully booked (I was asking for it really, calling just a day ahead and on a weekend too). No matter, I had a fulfilling afternoon, driving up to the small neighbouring peninsular to take a close look at some wild seals, basking on the rocks at the very end. I didn’t realise until now that they were furry, thinking them to have rubbery skin, like that of a dolphin. I then took an hour’s walk along the cliffs of the fenced off - but still open to the public - grassy peninsular, soaking up views of the town’s beautiful long, crescent shaped, pebbled bay, sat in lieu of a range of looming, snow-capped mountains. In my mind, these things don’t mix - snow and the sea/beach - but there they were together, feeling even less likely in light of the fabulous weather: golden, cloudless and sunny, I got a bit of a sweat on during my walk (though that could have been my weary stomach).
It’s been a scorcher of a day, all the better for a surprisingly pretty drive ending on the beach. Once I finally got going out of CC - no thanks to its road signs (or lack of) - the road (another motorway, with a whopping two lanes this time!) was long, straight and boring, right up until it exited the Canterbury Plains, where it threaded through winery country. Once past there, the fields began to roll, the green pastures rippling with curvaceous hills, as they pushed their way up out of the flat planes, crowds of trees sprouting up in place of vines, the colours of autumn springing up all over the place. The landscape looked like a huge, bobbling quilt: a patchwork of yellows, browns and reds, set on an uniform backdrop of green. All this cumulated unexpectedly in some absolutely breathtaking valleys, looking like they wouldn’t have been out of place as a substitute for Lord of the Ring’s Rivendell (in the first book, ‘The Fellowship...’).
Somehow the road clung to the hillsides, providing several hair-raising one hundred and eighty degree turns, whilst sloping. Still this wasn’t enough to slow down Kiwi drivers: adamant to get to their ever-so important destinations, oblivious to their surroundings. At one point I was trailing a double-wagon lorry transporting live cattle (looked to be cows through the peep holes in the slats), until he topped 100kph and kept going. God knows why companies allow such vehicles traverse steep, narrow, dangerous passes like the one I crossed through today, plus there wasn’t just the one, but several. Anyway, enough of my old fogey-isms.
The climax to the journey came with my arrival at Kaikoura: a sharp decline that lead to an abrupt, dramatic end to the mountains as the Pacific Ocean appeared from nowhere, cutting them short as they were forced to dive down to meet the coastline. Hugging a narrow space between sea and cliff wall I followed the road north, narrow and windy it negotiated a ten kilometre journey alongside the rock, sometimes through it (via slim, tube shaped tunnels), all the way to Kaikoura. The coastline to my right was littered with plenty of beaches and long rocky outcrops, backed by the glittering swell of a choppy sea partnered with picture book, craggy mountains, all of which looked stunning cast in the yellowing light of a glaring sun.
Blimey, that sounded good didn’t it? Will try and get some more photos up very soon, so you can see what the fuss is (and was) all about.
I’ve bought some nice, shortbread biscuits from a bakery local to my hostel today, for chomping on my way up to New Zealand’s capital, Wellington, tomorrow (and beyond, there’s quite a few biscuits). Am looking forward to chilling out there, possibly catching a movie at its fairly famous theatre (as recommended by my Lonely Planet Guide, it’s the place where they premiered LOTR and King Kong) and perusing the city’s popular cafe scene. I still need to sort out my accommodation for both Fiji and Hawaii, although I pleased to say I’ve sourced somewhere for my first night in Fiji (somewhere close to Nadi’s airport).
Oh, and I’ve just got off the phone to Mum and Teresa, after a regrettably short conversation due to an unbearable delay. No relevance to my travels: I mention this only because they asked me to!! Haha! :)
P.S. Whilst I remember, there’s a few things I forgot to mention in my last diary update. Forgetfulness, by the way, is becoming an issue - during the day time, I see and automatically think of things I’d like to record in my blog. But when the time arrives to do it, my mind freezes up and I forget everything. Think it may have something to do with a fixation I have with logging everything right now: as I go about seeing and doing things during the day I’m concentrating on quite how I’m going to report them, rather than on the things themselves. Either I need to get a dictaphone or a notepad, else I should stop worrying about the blog continuously and let it write itself. Think I’m leaning towards the latter - go with the flow - as it should result in less stress (this is supposedly a holiday, after all).
So, the things I’ve forgotten. On my trip east from Franz Josef to Arthur’s Pass, I passed a rather humorous road sign, advertising ‘Palm Readings, Fruit & Veg’. On the journey from Arthur’s Pass back to Christchurch, I saw lots of ramblers on the go (perhaps they call them ‘trampers’ here?). With the beginnings of the spectacular Arthur’s Pass being less than an hour away from Christchurch, I can see why. The second leg of my Arthur’s Pass journey - AP to CC - was by far the more impressive: great desert plains of rock, interspersed with dry, tufty flora (picture a mass, hilly landscape of yellows, browns and grays) beats mountains of trees and stone riddled valleys.
A random note: Australian/Kiwi toilets have two flush buttons: one for a half-hearted flush, the other for the full shebang.
In response to Marie’s comment made to an earlier post: it’s true I haven’t seen much of Australia for the sake of comparison (parts of Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra are like drops in the ocean). But what’s incredible about (the south island of) New Zealand, by itself or when compared to Oz, is the staggering variety of its scenery, ranging from the fantastic to the simply stunning, concentrated into such a small area of land. My view is also biased by the here and now, also that I REALLY like mountains (Australia’s are teeny). But don’t get me wrong, Australia is a beautiful country too. The eucalyptus trees aren’t, though ;)
Umm, a nice slice of vegetarian lasagne (with pumpkin, mushroom and spinach, it was lacking tomato - this pumpkin is really growing on me as a decent meat substitute) and a strawberry milkshake (my stomach’s queasiness has allowed my sweet tooth some free roaming today: any milk products will do, including a ‘smoothie’ I had at a cafe for lunch which was more like milkshake with fruit bits in) for dinner. Guess my stomach is back on track, though my tongue is still swollen to twice its size I swear and hot drinks are not an option.
So yes I’ve made it to the pretty, relaxed seaside town of Kaikoura - a popular destination for crayfish (it’s name translating to ‘fish’ and ‘cray’, so my over-helpful hostel owner informed me), whale-watching (the major drawer) and swimming with dolphins. The latter of these formed my original purpose for visiting this place, but it turned out they were fully booked (I was asking for it really, calling just a day ahead and on a weekend too). No matter, I had a fulfilling afternoon, driving up to the small neighbouring peninsular to take a close look at some wild seals, basking on the rocks at the very end. I didn’t realise until now that they were furry, thinking them to have rubbery skin, like that of a dolphin. I then took an hour’s walk along the cliffs of the fenced off - but still open to the public - grassy peninsular, soaking up views of the town’s beautiful long, crescent shaped, pebbled bay, sat in lieu of a range of looming, snow-capped mountains. In my mind, these things don’t mix - snow and the sea/beach - but there they were together, feeling even less likely in light of the fabulous weather: golden, cloudless and sunny, I got a bit of a sweat on during my walk (though that could have been my weary stomach).
It’s been a scorcher of a day, all the better for a surprisingly pretty drive ending on the beach. Once I finally got going out of CC - no thanks to its road signs (or lack of) - the road (another motorway, with a whopping two lanes this time!) was long, straight and boring, right up until it exited the Canterbury Plains, where it threaded through winery country. Once past there, the fields began to roll, the green pastures rippling with curvaceous hills, as they pushed their way up out of the flat planes, crowds of trees sprouting up in place of vines, the colours of autumn springing up all over the place. The landscape looked like a huge, bobbling quilt: a patchwork of yellows, browns and reds, set on an uniform backdrop of green. All this cumulated unexpectedly in some absolutely breathtaking valleys, looking like they wouldn’t have been out of place as a substitute for Lord of the Ring’s Rivendell (in the first book, ‘The Fellowship...’).
Somehow the road clung to the hillsides, providing several hair-raising one hundred and eighty degree turns, whilst sloping. Still this wasn’t enough to slow down Kiwi drivers: adamant to get to their ever-so important destinations, oblivious to their surroundings. At one point I was trailing a double-wagon lorry transporting live cattle (looked to be cows through the peep holes in the slats), until he topped 100kph and kept going. God knows why companies allow such vehicles traverse steep, narrow, dangerous passes like the one I crossed through today, plus there wasn’t just the one, but several. Anyway, enough of my old fogey-isms.
The climax to the journey came with my arrival at Kaikoura: a sharp decline that lead to an abrupt, dramatic end to the mountains as the Pacific Ocean appeared from nowhere, cutting them short as they were forced to dive down to meet the coastline. Hugging a narrow space between sea and cliff wall I followed the road north, narrow and windy it negotiated a ten kilometre journey alongside the rock, sometimes through it (via slim, tube shaped tunnels), all the way to Kaikoura. The coastline to my right was littered with plenty of beaches and long rocky outcrops, backed by the glittering swell of a choppy sea partnered with picture book, craggy mountains, all of which looked stunning cast in the yellowing light of a glaring sun.
Blimey, that sounded good didn’t it? Will try and get some more photos up very soon, so you can see what the fuss is (and was) all about.
I’ve bought some nice, shortbread biscuits from a bakery local to my hostel today, for chomping on my way up to New Zealand’s capital, Wellington, tomorrow (and beyond, there’s quite a few biscuits). Am looking forward to chilling out there, possibly catching a movie at its fairly famous theatre (as recommended by my Lonely Planet Guide, it’s the place where they premiered LOTR and King Kong) and perusing the city’s popular cafe scene. I still need to sort out my accommodation for both Fiji and Hawaii, although I pleased to say I’ve sourced somewhere for my first night in Fiji (somewhere close to Nadi’s airport).
Oh, and I’ve just got off the phone to Mum and Teresa, after a regrettably short conversation due to an unbearable delay. No relevance to my travels: I mention this only because they asked me to!! Haha! :)
P.S. Whilst I remember, there’s a few things I forgot to mention in my last diary update. Forgetfulness, by the way, is becoming an issue - during the day time, I see and automatically think of things I’d like to record in my blog. But when the time arrives to do it, my mind freezes up and I forget everything. Think it may have something to do with a fixation I have with logging everything right now: as I go about seeing and doing things during the day I’m concentrating on quite how I’m going to report them, rather than on the things themselves. Either I need to get a dictaphone or a notepad, else I should stop worrying about the blog continuously and let it write itself. Think I’m leaning towards the latter - go with the flow - as it should result in less stress (this is supposedly a holiday, after all).
So, the things I’ve forgotten. On my trip east from Franz Josef to Arthur’s Pass, I passed a rather humorous road sign, advertising ‘Palm Readings, Fruit & Veg’. On the journey from Arthur’s Pass back to Christchurch, I saw lots of ramblers on the go (perhaps they call them ‘trampers’ here?). With the beginnings of the spectacular Arthur’s Pass being less than an hour away from Christchurch, I can see why. The second leg of my Arthur’s Pass journey - AP to CC - was by far the more impressive: great desert plains of rock, interspersed with dry, tufty flora (picture a mass, hilly landscape of yellows, browns and grays) beats mountains of trees and stone riddled valleys.
A random note: Australian/Kiwi toilets have two flush buttons: one for a half-hearted flush, the other for the full shebang.
In response to Marie’s comment made to an earlier post: it’s true I haven’t seen much of Australia for the sake of comparison (parts of Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra are like drops in the ocean). But what’s incredible about (the south island of) New Zealand, by itself or when compared to Oz, is the staggering variety of its scenery, ranging from the fantastic to the simply stunning, concentrated into such a small area of land. My view is also biased by the here and now, also that I REALLY like mountains (Australia’s are teeny). But don’t get me wrong, Australia is a beautiful country too. The eucalyptus trees aren’t, though ;)
Friday, 25 April 2008
Jake 1 - Stomach, Tongue, Common Sense 0 :(
26.4.08
Ughhh. I guess I didn’t think the ‘suicide’ curry option through. Feel terrible today: stomach is rollicking, tongue feels swollen and numb, I can’t taste anything, head is fuzzy. But hey, I got myself a t-shirt (well, um, eventually - it’s in the post) and my name will be appearing on the plaque on the wall of the ‘Two Fat Indians Restaurant’ in Christchurch, as well as on its website (www.twofatindians.co.nz). Was it worth it? As me in a few days when I’ve recovered in a few days, fingers crossed. I didn’t expect the curry to be so putrid: both evil looking and smelling - bubbling like a thick, turgid sample of muddy-red, swamp water, in a surprisingly big bowl (damn them!) - swallowing it was a true case of mind over matter, not so much my tongue but my stomach rejecting it from the first mouth full (later that night it did just that, except that time the ‘r’ was a silent one, if you know what I mean). I’m just praying I haven’t put myself off Indian food for life.
The rest of the day was a better one. Following the TranzAlpine Trail eastwards towards Christchurch, the tree carpeted landscape began to fall away as the ground gave way to grassy parkland. Some fiercely sharp turns brought me to a large section of flats, the landscape turning steadily more dry as the distant mountain ranges lost their furry look to become barren. The large plain, dotted with cow-doting fields, a meandering river and the occasional collection of trees, was cut off before the horizon in the direction I was headed, by a thick hanging veil of hill cloud. Before reaching the wall of fog, I had the fortune to spot a long train trailing many carriages across the valley floor, making for some excellent photo opps. Besides, I wasn’t in a rush, so was happy to cruise along, making several stops by the side of the road to lap it all up (unlike most cars, tending towards breaking the speed).
The cloud was just like a dense wall of fog: rising up a steep incline I rushed headlong into it, unable to see more than a few metres of the stretch of road ahead of me. Breaking out the other side, I was met by large stretches of barren, desert-like land, the dry hills and mountains taking on the appearance of great, crumbling molehills. Still, there was room for one more lake, then I happened upon a most extraordinary scene. Just outside of a small, hilly town, stockpiled off to one side of the road, were the most peculiar ‘rocks’ I’ve ever seen. Protruding from the the sides of several grassy foothills, some precariously balanced, others leaning on one another for support, a great gathering of elephant-grey boulders were perched. Of many different shapes and sizes, slightly dimply, they were nevertheless smooth and rounded, looking like colossal pieces of plasticine. A line of cars were parked along the roadside, people streaming from them to get close as they could to the display (it turned out a good proportion of these were rock climbers - a top destination for them, no doubt).
Like a sheep I followed the queues along a sign-posted track, drawn in by the mysterious, magical lure of the place. Close up, they were no less impressive: like giant’s playthings, standing ten or more stories high, some of them took on familiar shapes, like that of gigantic, round bowling balls (with pock-holes for the fingers) or buildings that would have housed the Flintstones. I hate to repeat myself, but this TOO could have been the scene were Aragorn went over a cliff on his horse (Twin Towers, LOTR). A nearby sign mentioned nothing of Lord of the Rings, but instead explained that the rocks were made of limestone: deposits of sediment by the ocean, formed over tens of thousands of years. It still didn’t explain how these rocks had managed to appear in just this one place, about a square mile wide, so prominent against an otherwise featureless landscape (apart from the stunning backdrop of sharp mountain ridges, rolling hills, broad lakes and expansive, desert-like countryside - but they’re just par for the course in New Zealand ;)). Adding to the incredulity of the situation, the central, largest stones of all were arrange in a crude circle, giving the appearance of a natural formed, if a little deformed, Stone Henge.
Most annoyingly, my camera decided to give out at this point (stupid me, I forgot to charge it, plus this will serve me right for not buying a spare battery, even if it was a whopping £40 in Queenstown). During the battery’s dying breaths, I caught several snaps of the mysterious rocks - some fairly close up - but not enough, sadly! On heading back to the car, I’ve got to admit that I was hoping that the rest of the trip would be boring, saving me from any more guilt. Lady Luck was on my side at (this point - don’t forget the curry!) of the day: other than one heart-thumping, precipitous, corkscrew of a drop down into the valley below - invoking memories of my decline from the high point of the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal, only this time with a car and a road to take care of the business for me - the journey back to Christchurch was pedestrian and smooth sailing, passing through 80km of the flat and boring farmland of Canterbury Plains. Passed many cars heading in the other direction, taking the advantage of the long weekend to get away.
The afternoon was spent wandering around Christchurch agasp at how dead it was - almost completely empty, most of the shops, cafes, restaurants and even bars were closed in honour of Anzac Day (Australia and New Zealand’s day for honouring their war heroes, it’s also a bank holiday). I had to make do with Starbucks (of all places!) for lunch. No chance of book shopping either. Rest of the day was spent researching places to stay in Fiji and Hawaii. Still plenty to do on that front.
Off to Kaikoura today, then the ‘North Island’ tomorrow.
J
Ughhh. I guess I didn’t think the ‘suicide’ curry option through. Feel terrible today: stomach is rollicking, tongue feels swollen and numb, I can’t taste anything, head is fuzzy. But hey, I got myself a t-shirt (well, um, eventually - it’s in the post) and my name will be appearing on the plaque on the wall of the ‘Two Fat Indians Restaurant’ in Christchurch, as well as on its website (www.twofatindians.co.nz). Was it worth it? As me in a few days when I’ve recovered in a few days, fingers crossed. I didn’t expect the curry to be so putrid: both evil looking and smelling - bubbling like a thick, turgid sample of muddy-red, swamp water, in a surprisingly big bowl (damn them!) - swallowing it was a true case of mind over matter, not so much my tongue but my stomach rejecting it from the first mouth full (later that night it did just that, except that time the ‘r’ was a silent one, if you know what I mean). I’m just praying I haven’t put myself off Indian food for life.
The rest of the day was a better one. Following the TranzAlpine Trail eastwards towards Christchurch, the tree carpeted landscape began to fall away as the ground gave way to grassy parkland. Some fiercely sharp turns brought me to a large section of flats, the landscape turning steadily more dry as the distant mountain ranges lost their furry look to become barren. The large plain, dotted with cow-doting fields, a meandering river and the occasional collection of trees, was cut off before the horizon in the direction I was headed, by a thick hanging veil of hill cloud. Before reaching the wall of fog, I had the fortune to spot a long train trailing many carriages across the valley floor, making for some excellent photo opps. Besides, I wasn’t in a rush, so was happy to cruise along, making several stops by the side of the road to lap it all up (unlike most cars, tending towards breaking the speed).
The cloud was just like a dense wall of fog: rising up a steep incline I rushed headlong into it, unable to see more than a few metres of the stretch of road ahead of me. Breaking out the other side, I was met by large stretches of barren, desert-like land, the dry hills and mountains taking on the appearance of great, crumbling molehills. Still, there was room for one more lake, then I happened upon a most extraordinary scene. Just outside of a small, hilly town, stockpiled off to one side of the road, were the most peculiar ‘rocks’ I’ve ever seen. Protruding from the the sides of several grassy foothills, some precariously balanced, others leaning on one another for support, a great gathering of elephant-grey boulders were perched. Of many different shapes and sizes, slightly dimply, they were nevertheless smooth and rounded, looking like colossal pieces of plasticine. A line of cars were parked along the roadside, people streaming from them to get close as they could to the display (it turned out a good proportion of these were rock climbers - a top destination for them, no doubt).
Like a sheep I followed the queues along a sign-posted track, drawn in by the mysterious, magical lure of the place. Close up, they were no less impressive: like giant’s playthings, standing ten or more stories high, some of them took on familiar shapes, like that of gigantic, round bowling balls (with pock-holes for the fingers) or buildings that would have housed the Flintstones. I hate to repeat myself, but this TOO could have been the scene were Aragorn went over a cliff on his horse (Twin Towers, LOTR). A nearby sign mentioned nothing of Lord of the Rings, but instead explained that the rocks were made of limestone: deposits of sediment by the ocean, formed over tens of thousands of years. It still didn’t explain how these rocks had managed to appear in just this one place, about a square mile wide, so prominent against an otherwise featureless landscape (apart from the stunning backdrop of sharp mountain ridges, rolling hills, broad lakes and expansive, desert-like countryside - but they’re just par for the course in New Zealand ;)). Adding to the incredulity of the situation, the central, largest stones of all were arrange in a crude circle, giving the appearance of a natural formed, if a little deformed, Stone Henge.
Most annoyingly, my camera decided to give out at this point (stupid me, I forgot to charge it, plus this will serve me right for not buying a spare battery, even if it was a whopping £40 in Queenstown). During the battery’s dying breaths, I caught several snaps of the mysterious rocks - some fairly close up - but not enough, sadly! On heading back to the car, I’ve got to admit that I was hoping that the rest of the trip would be boring, saving me from any more guilt. Lady Luck was on my side at (this point - don’t forget the curry!) of the day: other than one heart-thumping, precipitous, corkscrew of a drop down into the valley below - invoking memories of my decline from the high point of the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal, only this time with a car and a road to take care of the business for me - the journey back to Christchurch was pedestrian and smooth sailing, passing through 80km of the flat and boring farmland of Canterbury Plains. Passed many cars heading in the other direction, taking the advantage of the long weekend to get away.
The afternoon was spent wandering around Christchurch agasp at how dead it was - almost completely empty, most of the shops, cafes, restaurants and even bars were closed in honour of Anzac Day (Australia and New Zealand’s day for honouring their war heroes, it’s also a bank holiday). I had to make do with Starbucks (of all places!) for lunch. No chance of book shopping either. Rest of the day was spent researching places to stay in Fiji and Hawaii. Still plenty to do on that front.
Off to Kaikoura today, then the ‘North Island’ tomorrow.
J
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Cold As Ice
24.4.08
Brrr, chilly and overcast start to today. Guess it was inevitable, after such great weather. Last two days have been sunny and warm, verging on short wearing, which really worked out for my glacier climb yesterday. Two days ago I set off from Wanaka on a long drive - another 300km+ - to the west coast road, heading north to the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers. The drive lead me through an assortment of pretty scenery, par for the course except for a couple of things, unique to the west coast. It started as a route that struck out north west into desert, before circling impassable mountains before cutting back across to the other side of 300m+ deep Lake Wanaka, a good 40km from where I started. Then the land started to rise and I found the road dipping and climbing, twisting and turning violently, as it struggled to keep up. The landscape took on a similar look to the fantastic fjordlands of Milford Sound, which shouldn’t have been surprising as I was skirting its backyard (amazingly, I was only about 100km from the fjord, but thanks to the lay of the land and roads, a good two days’ drive).
I couldn’t really afford to stop much as I had plans for when I reached the first of the two glaciers, but I did take a break at one signposted waterfall, leading me into the deeply entrenched, forested wilderness. Only a couple of minutes walk, it was a really lucky find too: a stone speckled valley amid great, climbing walls of never ending forest, topped only by snow encrusted mountain peaks (I’ve realised these look uncannily like a very generous portion of Vienetta Ice-Cream has been ‘dolloped’ on top). What made this valley particularly special were the hundreds of rock piles that people had built there (say half a dozen or more stones balanced on top of each other), like primitive shrines or statues. I believe this was the start of one of NZ’s big treks, which may explain the unusual sight (trekkers, or ‘trampers’ as they’re known here, are weird people - I should know, having been one of them).
From thereon in, having climbed high up through the pass, the road began its descent to the coast, where I eventually happened upon sand and stone flats, leading all the way to the sea. I stopped at the self-proclaimed town of Haast (named after the same guy who discovered Fox Glacier incidentally, whose vanity knew no bounds when he labelled a great many things on the west coast after himself), which in reality was little more than a cafe, guesthouse and petrol station, all very drab. Grabbed a drab tasting coffee from the cafe, then set off north on the only road out of there, crossing a long, single-carriage bridge across a wide, sandy estuary, to head parallel to the west coastland on the ‘Glacier Highway’.
Now the land grew even more wooded, suffocatingly clothed in exotic trees, vines and thick undergrowth, that looked more like a tropical jungle than the forests I’d come to expect from the south, central and eastern parts of the island (I’ve been informed that the trees in the west are indigenous, whereas those to the east are mainly a result of plantations, since most of the land farming was and still is performed in the more fertile east). I took a break to see the west coast’s sand dunes, unique in the southern hemisphere because they still support their natural forest and wetland vegetation, since forming 14,000 years ago in the wake of a glacier (those glaciers seem to get everywhere). What I saw were long stretches of beach, interrupted by trees, dead wood and, interestingly, a swamp forest. Further north along the highway, the coast became more dramatic as the mountains rose to join it - though no less shrouded in heavyset jungle - I stopped at the 'Knight's Point' viewpoint (named after a surveyor's dog), where I caught some memorable sights of the ever-encompassing ocean (could this be the Tasman Sea?), leading all the way to Australia and Tasmania, and the sharp drop of steep cliff faces, green with vegetation, into its waters.
The last third of the journey I tailed an unusual trailer carrying an enormous vat or barrel, that despite looking heavy didn’t stop him from taking the steep chicanes at hair raising speeds. I kept my distance. The road swept inland, through some dramatic valleys teeming with jungle, where I had to negotiate some of the tightest corners I’ve had to deal with yet (15kph yellow speed signs were a regular sight). Still it was worth the drive as the views were stupendous. Breaking out at the other side, I took a turn for Lake Mattheson - near the Fox Glacier, it’s supposed to provide stunning photo opportunities of good, old Mount Cook and his pals (remember him?), reflected on its still surface. I grabbed a tasty, home baked sausage roll at the trendy cafe - the only thing out there but seemingly making lots of money, the lake must attract its fair share of visitors. There was a one hour walk through the woods encircling the lake, but fifteen minutes in, I came across my first viewpoint, were I was disappointed to find the view really wasn’t all that, thanks to some heavy clouding and a rippling lake. It was after 3PM then and, knowing I was short on time, I gave the rest a miss, hurrying back to my car and to the Fox Glacier.
The Fox Glacier was awesome: a huge cascade of ice, like a frozen waterfall, sitting at one end of a wide valley studded with great rocks and enhanced by the magnificently steep rock walls on either side, stretching for many hundreds of metres above my head. The valley had in no doubt been carved out by the glacier over thousands of years, which at this point was receding (the neighbouring Franz Josef Glacier is actually in the process of growing - they’re not really affected by global warming, but instead localised snowing). I chose the Fox Glacier to walk - instead of climb, which I’d be doing the following day - because I’d read you could drive then walk right up to where it began (what’s known as the ‘terminal ice’). The walk was a long one - much longer than expected, thanks to the scale - and I got within perhaps fifty metres of the ice wall, where a safety fence warned me not to go any closer without supervision. It was pretty dirty near the bottom (where the ice moves/changes the slowest), coated in layers of broken rock and scatterings of black, filthy dust, but still a formidable sight, the many metres of thick, blue ice crystals visible beneath the dirt.
I carried on the additional 30km to the town of Franz Josef, next to the equally impressive Franz Josef Glacier, where I found my hostel for the night. The ‘Glow Worm Hostel’ has proven to be excellent: a free spa, vouchers for a nearby bar/restaurant (the excellent ‘Blue Ice Bar’, cosy and always busy, where I’ve happily frequented the last couple of nights), heated rooms, wireless internet (fairly expensive, but best price in a week) and great showers (yes!). Spent a few hours sorting out the uploading of blogs and photos, then hit the nearby bar. On the way there I stopped to ask the only bystander in the street - an excitable American lady - where the bar was, and on getting there, investigating the fairly posh restaurant (where it was suggested to me I might like to check out the bar upstairs instead - no offence taken though, they were right), I headed up to the drinking establishment, to find she and a couple of her pals were already there. The two people she was traveling with were real characters: a couple of middle-aged Kiwis on a road trip, both right, slap, bang in the middle of mid-life crises. One looked and behaved exactly like ‘Ron Bergundy’ (aka the film ‘Anchorman’) and the other was the body double of the cowboy narrator from ‘The Big Lebowski’. I kid you not. They were the life and soul of the party - and it was a party in there that night, staying open to 3AM and playing host to a rabble of ‘kids’ on the ‘Magic Bus’, getting wrecked on drinking, party games (par for the course, it would seem). Had a great time being entertained by Dave and the ever-drunken Murray (they were, of course, a couple of old drunks), got plenty of info about the states from the American girl, Chelsea, met several other randoms and cumulated the night with a visit to a local glowworm spot (a long, dark walk through some woods of the main road, helped by the light of the near full moon - like a lantern in the clear night sky - we were lead by a friendly bar bouncer to the worms: little pinpoints of bright, blue light living on the underside of a great, toppled tree stump). Had a really great fun that evening: ate the whole of a delicious Mexican pizza (like the gourmet pizza I had in Christchurch, it had nachos atop a dollop of sour cream sitting on a spicy, bean and chilli pizza - an superlative invention - with free pint too!), drank way too many ‘handles’ (500ml glasses) of Monteith’s (bargain at $5 a glass) and met loads of friendly, laid back local folk and travellers alike (I’m still waiting to catch a Kiwi out: they really do seem to be genuinely helpful and happy to meet tourists/strangers). The time flew by, with me not making it back until the wee hours of the next morning.
Next day was all about the glaciers! Startlingly hot and sunny start, with barely a cloud in the sky I had a clearest view of the forested hills set against snow capped mountains in the distance. It felt too warm to wear the three layers of clothing recommended, but I went with my better judgement and put them on later, deciding that standing on a mountain sized block of ice was bound to be cold (I would be proven right!). It was towards there that we headed: a packed bus load of tourists (erk!) towards the car park by the Franz Josef Glacier, which turned out to be a good few kilometres from the terminal face (took almost an hour to walk up the rocky valley, though it looked ridiculously close - our sense of scale was warped by the enormity of our surroundings: gigantic, carved mountains, great rocks and a mammoth, jagged ice face). I partnered up with a Dutch girl, a doctor in training on a six month break, pleasantly smiley and good to talk to, whose name I can’t spell, never mind remember. The large group had to split into four teams: from the fastest and most determined in the first team, to the slowest and lazy in the last. Somehow we found ourselves in team four ;) We had to strap on ‘clamp-ons’ to scale the wall of ice: spike attachments for our provided boots. Then it was a steep climb up chiseled, steep steps of what looked like rock (the whole bottom of the glacier was coated in rock and dirt), our guide occasionally stopping to cut them out with his pickaxe, where they were thinning. We had to hold onto a rope pinned into the ice for safety, it was that steep.
Eventually, the dirt began to disappear, and it was like we were walking on the world’s largest ‘slush puppy’, such was the consistency of the broken, partially melting ice. It was slow going - there were thirteen of us in the group and we had to negotiate hollowed out tunnels in the ice (great photo opps) and many deep troughs followed by steep climbs. As we got much higher, we eventually broke through the dirty and crumbly ice and hit the real stuff: solid and smooth. Then I got a real feel for it: standing in a world built of ice - an ice palace - where every carving, crevice, curve, spike, peak, valley and rock was made entirely of thick, whitish blue ice. It was like being on Planet Krypton, except blue rather than green. Amazing. Away from the glacier, the view of the valley left in its wake was stupendous: towering, awesome cliffs of rock on either side, tapering off slowly into the distance, separated by a flat, stoney bed of rock intertwined with wide, fast flowing rivers - formed from the melting ice - that eventually merged into one another as they headed out to the sea. On the way back, the size of this all laid out in front of me was really brought home: squinting at the people in their teams ahead of us, they looked no larger than ants, marching in formation across the valley floor below.
Spent over two hours on the ice in all, which turned out to be more than long enough: it was FREEZING at the top - no doubt thanks to the many tonnes of ice lying right under our feet, I’d wager - plus it implausibly got even colder once the sun disappeared behind a cliff. Wish I had insisted on taking the gloves on offer as my extremities were just a bit on the numb side by the time we had slid our way back to the bottom. I wasn’t the only one: the whole group was audibly fantasising about hot chocolate drinks and warm pizza the whole way down.
Treated myself to a delicious muffin and warm coffee on my return. As it happened, was really knackered - probably a delayed hangover from the night before - so turned into a bit of a moody old git/party pooper that night (hit the sack early, scowled at my noisy, annoyingly German roommates, insisted the light way turned off before 11PM etc.).
Had way too much sleep now - it’s ten thirty in the morning and I need to set off. Long drive to Arthur’s Pass today: a scenic route leading back east. Plus, I’ve booked into Christchurch for Friday night. Going to make amends and conquer the ‘suicide’ curry at the ‘Two Fat Indians’. Determined to get that free t-shirt and my name on the wall :)
24.4.08 - 6.50PM
Man, I’ve been so dozy today. Must have been all the sleep I had. Signs were there for me to see right from the off, purchasing cereal from the supermarket, paying for it and then walking off without it. Fixed myself with some extra strong coffee before setting out on the road north, but my mind continued to be in other places for the rest of the day.
24.4.08
Of the days to be distracted, yesterday was probably a good one, as most of the scenery I passed through tended to be a little on the tame side, relatively speaking of course! The twisting and turning coarse ran inland, through densely wooded landscape of sharp, hidden bends, crossing yet more mountains and tracing out the edges of a couple of huge lakes, before dropping down to the rugged coast again, hitting several miles of rough, overgrown grass land - keeping the herds of cows happy at least. Eventually made it to the plain seaside town of Hokitika, pretty busy with tourists, which my guidebook explained was thanks to its booming Jade industry (given that the only greenstone gorge in the south island is located right next to this town). Sure enough, every other shop on its high street was a Jade shop or factory. Drawn to this town by a large, brash, colourful, plastic fish advertising fish and chips (or, as they say here, ‘fush and chups’), I bought some at a ridiculously cheap price of $5 - to be fair, they tasted like they cost it (very greasy) - and headed for the grey-sand beach, sitting on one of many pieces of driftwood and basking in the warm sun. Must have been one of the warmest days since arriving in NZ, as I found myself even taking my jumper off and thinking about losing the jeans for some shorts.
It’s a good job I didn’t. It’s amazing how a few hundred metres can make a difference, especially in the vertical direction. Setting off north then turning off inland eastwards (once I found my way out of K**** - they really need to sort out their road signs here), I joined State Highway 73, leading to Arthur’s Pass National Park. After negotiating the ups and downs of a the wavy road, flowing into a wide expanse of farmland and wetlands, punctuated by paper-mache hills and anthill mountains, I met up with the rail track used by the popular ‘TranzAlpine Express’. The journey taken by the train is described as one of New Zealand’s most scenic, and I was happy to acknowledge that, as the road ran parallel to it all the way to Arthur’s Pass, I wasn’t to miss a thing!
Passed a few well placed pubs along the way, which made for good drinks stops and some great photos. At times the road had to veer away from the rail track - crossing it meant physically looking out for trains, as they had no gates to stop you (and sometimes no warning lights, either). The hills grew to eventually join in with the mountains, these drawing nearer and nearer until I found myself driving inside a ravine, joined by a fast flowing rocky river. I imagined the going to get a lot tougher, but just as the road started to climb, I came upon some new road, leading through an open-walled and steeply inclined tunnel that cut a route straight through the side of one mountain, crossing an equally impressive, enormous viaduct, to reach above and over the top of another (still a baby compared to its brother and sister mountains about it). There was a viewpoint right at the top where I was able to capture this manmade spectacle.
Not far from their, I arrived at Arthur’s Pass - in really good time actually, arriving a good hour before I thought I would. A small, street of a town - boasting a hostel, couple of guesthouses and three cafe bars, plus several quaint, log-cabin cum houses - it sits squat in the centre of a canyon, cushioned by steep, impassable mountains on either side, some nudging, others piercing the skyline with their sharp, pointy tips. The owner of my hostel had had to disappear on an emergency, so I took the opportunity to dump the car and take the steep, wooded climb (would have been even steeper if it hadn’t have been for the conveniently placed, wooden staircases) up to the ‘Devil’s Punchbowl’: a thin-topped, towering waterfall, its white waters steadily streaming from a rocky outcrop high above, spilling on the crooks and crannies of the vertical rock face below, creating a dreamlike spray and widening out to take on the appearance of a giant, white, watery ponytail. Quite the attraction, it has been pulling in tourists since the early nineteenth century, and Maoris since before that. Bet they didn’t have wooden steps back then.
The hostel is nice: music playing in the new and mod con equipped kitchen, everything very clean, the showers hot and fast. At first I thought I had my room all to myself, but a couple from England turned up just after 7PM to join me. Had a brief chat with them - they’re on a ‘short’ break, taking in NZ in just ten days before heading for a month in Australia (that’s still short for this part of the road, right?) - before I headed out for a dinner of tasty and warming ravioli, at the cafe diner across the way (the ‘Wobbly Kea’). Had the opportunity to join a social table of traveling chit chats, but declined so I could read my book instead. Being this high up in the mountains, I’d noticed an obvious drop in temperature earlier since driving up from the coast; I was able to visibly see my breathe for one. By nightfall, it was COLD. As shiny and modern as the room in my hostel was, I found myself wishing that the owners had spent less time polishing the wooden floor and more time putting in central heating. Brrrrr.
It’s a freezing start to the day - literally, my car’s windows needed hot water attention and some scraping this morning - and thanks to the soaring valley walls it feels much earlier than it is (it’s 9AM), as Arthur’s Pass is still cast in shadow. Back off to Christchurch today. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive away, so I intend to use the afternoon to pick up some new books and plan my trip in Fiji and Hawaii. Less than two weeks away so it needs doing. Coincidentally - though perhaps unsurprisingly (getting used to meeting people who have thought up similar journeys to my own, and there was I thinking I was the only one!) - whilst staying in Franz Josef, I bumped into not one but three people all individually planning on visiting Fiji in the coming weeks. A couple were able to give pointers about places to go and hostels (not sure they’re called that there) to frequent, including some that are ‘all-inclusive’ (!). Going to check all this out today. Tonight is curry night, booked in and ready to do some damage to my gut. Tomorrow’s going to be ‘messy’.
Brrr, chilly and overcast start to today. Guess it was inevitable, after such great weather. Last two days have been sunny and warm, verging on short wearing, which really worked out for my glacier climb yesterday. Two days ago I set off from Wanaka on a long drive - another 300km+ - to the west coast road, heading north to the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers. The drive lead me through an assortment of pretty scenery, par for the course except for a couple of things, unique to the west coast. It started as a route that struck out north west into desert, before circling impassable mountains before cutting back across to the other side of 300m+ deep Lake Wanaka, a good 40km from where I started. Then the land started to rise and I found the road dipping and climbing, twisting and turning violently, as it struggled to keep up. The landscape took on a similar look to the fantastic fjordlands of Milford Sound, which shouldn’t have been surprising as I was skirting its backyard (amazingly, I was only about 100km from the fjord, but thanks to the lay of the land and roads, a good two days’ drive).
I couldn’t really afford to stop much as I had plans for when I reached the first of the two glaciers, but I did take a break at one signposted waterfall, leading me into the deeply entrenched, forested wilderness. Only a couple of minutes walk, it was a really lucky find too: a stone speckled valley amid great, climbing walls of never ending forest, topped only by snow encrusted mountain peaks (I’ve realised these look uncannily like a very generous portion of Vienetta Ice-Cream has been ‘dolloped’ on top). What made this valley particularly special were the hundreds of rock piles that people had built there (say half a dozen or more stones balanced on top of each other), like primitive shrines or statues. I believe this was the start of one of NZ’s big treks, which may explain the unusual sight (trekkers, or ‘trampers’ as they’re known here, are weird people - I should know, having been one of them).
From thereon in, having climbed high up through the pass, the road began its descent to the coast, where I eventually happened upon sand and stone flats, leading all the way to the sea. I stopped at the self-proclaimed town of Haast (named after the same guy who discovered Fox Glacier incidentally, whose vanity knew no bounds when he labelled a great many things on the west coast after himself), which in reality was little more than a cafe, guesthouse and petrol station, all very drab. Grabbed a drab tasting coffee from the cafe, then set off north on the only road out of there, crossing a long, single-carriage bridge across a wide, sandy estuary, to head parallel to the west coastland on the ‘Glacier Highway’.
Now the land grew even more wooded, suffocatingly clothed in exotic trees, vines and thick undergrowth, that looked more like a tropical jungle than the forests I’d come to expect from the south, central and eastern parts of the island (I’ve been informed that the trees in the west are indigenous, whereas those to the east are mainly a result of plantations, since most of the land farming was and still is performed in the more fertile east). I took a break to see the west coast’s sand dunes, unique in the southern hemisphere because they still support their natural forest and wetland vegetation, since forming 14,000 years ago in the wake of a glacier (those glaciers seem to get everywhere). What I saw were long stretches of beach, interrupted by trees, dead wood and, interestingly, a swamp forest. Further north along the highway, the coast became more dramatic as the mountains rose to join it - though no less shrouded in heavyset jungle - I stopped at the 'Knight's Point' viewpoint (named after a surveyor's dog), where I caught some memorable sights of the ever-encompassing ocean (could this be the Tasman Sea?), leading all the way to Australia and Tasmania, and the sharp drop of steep cliff faces, green with vegetation, into its waters.
The last third of the journey I tailed an unusual trailer carrying an enormous vat or barrel, that despite looking heavy didn’t stop him from taking the steep chicanes at hair raising speeds. I kept my distance. The road swept inland, through some dramatic valleys teeming with jungle, where I had to negotiate some of the tightest corners I’ve had to deal with yet (15kph yellow speed signs were a regular sight). Still it was worth the drive as the views were stupendous. Breaking out at the other side, I took a turn for Lake Mattheson - near the Fox Glacier, it’s supposed to provide stunning photo opportunities of good, old Mount Cook and his pals (remember him?), reflected on its still surface. I grabbed a tasty, home baked sausage roll at the trendy cafe - the only thing out there but seemingly making lots of money, the lake must attract its fair share of visitors. There was a one hour walk through the woods encircling the lake, but fifteen minutes in, I came across my first viewpoint, were I was disappointed to find the view really wasn’t all that, thanks to some heavy clouding and a rippling lake. It was after 3PM then and, knowing I was short on time, I gave the rest a miss, hurrying back to my car and to the Fox Glacier.
The Fox Glacier was awesome: a huge cascade of ice, like a frozen waterfall, sitting at one end of a wide valley studded with great rocks and enhanced by the magnificently steep rock walls on either side, stretching for many hundreds of metres above my head. The valley had in no doubt been carved out by the glacier over thousands of years, which at this point was receding (the neighbouring Franz Josef Glacier is actually in the process of growing - they’re not really affected by global warming, but instead localised snowing). I chose the Fox Glacier to walk - instead of climb, which I’d be doing the following day - because I’d read you could drive then walk right up to where it began (what’s known as the ‘terminal ice’). The walk was a long one - much longer than expected, thanks to the scale - and I got within perhaps fifty metres of the ice wall, where a safety fence warned me not to go any closer without supervision. It was pretty dirty near the bottom (where the ice moves/changes the slowest), coated in layers of broken rock and scatterings of black, filthy dust, but still a formidable sight, the many metres of thick, blue ice crystals visible beneath the dirt.
I carried on the additional 30km to the town of Franz Josef, next to the equally impressive Franz Josef Glacier, where I found my hostel for the night. The ‘Glow Worm Hostel’ has proven to be excellent: a free spa, vouchers for a nearby bar/restaurant (the excellent ‘Blue Ice Bar’, cosy and always busy, where I’ve happily frequented the last couple of nights), heated rooms, wireless internet (fairly expensive, but best price in a week) and great showers (yes!). Spent a few hours sorting out the uploading of blogs and photos, then hit the nearby bar. On the way there I stopped to ask the only bystander in the street - an excitable American lady - where the bar was, and on getting there, investigating the fairly posh restaurant (where it was suggested to me I might like to check out the bar upstairs instead - no offence taken though, they were right), I headed up to the drinking establishment, to find she and a couple of her pals were already there. The two people she was traveling with were real characters: a couple of middle-aged Kiwis on a road trip, both right, slap, bang in the middle of mid-life crises. One looked and behaved exactly like ‘Ron Bergundy’ (aka the film ‘Anchorman’) and the other was the body double of the cowboy narrator from ‘The Big Lebowski’. I kid you not. They were the life and soul of the party - and it was a party in there that night, staying open to 3AM and playing host to a rabble of ‘kids’ on the ‘Magic Bus’, getting wrecked on drinking, party games (par for the course, it would seem). Had a great time being entertained by Dave and the ever-drunken Murray (they were, of course, a couple of old drunks), got plenty of info about the states from the American girl, Chelsea, met several other randoms and cumulated the night with a visit to a local glowworm spot (a long, dark walk through some woods of the main road, helped by the light of the near full moon - like a lantern in the clear night sky - we were lead by a friendly bar bouncer to the worms: little pinpoints of bright, blue light living on the underside of a great, toppled tree stump). Had a really great fun that evening: ate the whole of a delicious Mexican pizza (like the gourmet pizza I had in Christchurch, it had nachos atop a dollop of sour cream sitting on a spicy, bean and chilli pizza - an superlative invention - with free pint too!), drank way too many ‘handles’ (500ml glasses) of Monteith’s (bargain at $5 a glass) and met loads of friendly, laid back local folk and travellers alike (I’m still waiting to catch a Kiwi out: they really do seem to be genuinely helpful and happy to meet tourists/strangers). The time flew by, with me not making it back until the wee hours of the next morning.
Next day was all about the glaciers! Startlingly hot and sunny start, with barely a cloud in the sky I had a clearest view of the forested hills set against snow capped mountains in the distance. It felt too warm to wear the three layers of clothing recommended, but I went with my better judgement and put them on later, deciding that standing on a mountain sized block of ice was bound to be cold (I would be proven right!). It was towards there that we headed: a packed bus load of tourists (erk!) towards the car park by the Franz Josef Glacier, which turned out to be a good few kilometres from the terminal face (took almost an hour to walk up the rocky valley, though it looked ridiculously close - our sense of scale was warped by the enormity of our surroundings: gigantic, carved mountains, great rocks and a mammoth, jagged ice face). I partnered up with a Dutch girl, a doctor in training on a six month break, pleasantly smiley and good to talk to, whose name I can’t spell, never mind remember. The large group had to split into four teams: from the fastest and most determined in the first team, to the slowest and lazy in the last. Somehow we found ourselves in team four ;) We had to strap on ‘clamp-ons’ to scale the wall of ice: spike attachments for our provided boots. Then it was a steep climb up chiseled, steep steps of what looked like rock (the whole bottom of the glacier was coated in rock and dirt), our guide occasionally stopping to cut them out with his pickaxe, where they were thinning. We had to hold onto a rope pinned into the ice for safety, it was that steep.
Eventually, the dirt began to disappear, and it was like we were walking on the world’s largest ‘slush puppy’, such was the consistency of the broken, partially melting ice. It was slow going - there were thirteen of us in the group and we had to negotiate hollowed out tunnels in the ice (great photo opps) and many deep troughs followed by steep climbs. As we got much higher, we eventually broke through the dirty and crumbly ice and hit the real stuff: solid and smooth. Then I got a real feel for it: standing in a world built of ice - an ice palace - where every carving, crevice, curve, spike, peak, valley and rock was made entirely of thick, whitish blue ice. It was like being on Planet Krypton, except blue rather than green. Amazing. Away from the glacier, the view of the valley left in its wake was stupendous: towering, awesome cliffs of rock on either side, tapering off slowly into the distance, separated by a flat, stoney bed of rock intertwined with wide, fast flowing rivers - formed from the melting ice - that eventually merged into one another as they headed out to the sea. On the way back, the size of this all laid out in front of me was really brought home: squinting at the people in their teams ahead of us, they looked no larger than ants, marching in formation across the valley floor below.
Spent over two hours on the ice in all, which turned out to be more than long enough: it was FREEZING at the top - no doubt thanks to the many tonnes of ice lying right under our feet, I’d wager - plus it implausibly got even colder once the sun disappeared behind a cliff. Wish I had insisted on taking the gloves on offer as my extremities were just a bit on the numb side by the time we had slid our way back to the bottom. I wasn’t the only one: the whole group was audibly fantasising about hot chocolate drinks and warm pizza the whole way down.
Treated myself to a delicious muffin and warm coffee on my return. As it happened, was really knackered - probably a delayed hangover from the night before - so turned into a bit of a moody old git/party pooper that night (hit the sack early, scowled at my noisy, annoyingly German roommates, insisted the light way turned off before 11PM etc.).
Had way too much sleep now - it’s ten thirty in the morning and I need to set off. Long drive to Arthur’s Pass today: a scenic route leading back east. Plus, I’ve booked into Christchurch for Friday night. Going to make amends and conquer the ‘suicide’ curry at the ‘Two Fat Indians’. Determined to get that free t-shirt and my name on the wall :)
24.4.08 - 6.50PM
Man, I’ve been so dozy today. Must have been all the sleep I had. Signs were there for me to see right from the off, purchasing cereal from the supermarket, paying for it and then walking off without it. Fixed myself with some extra strong coffee before setting out on the road north, but my mind continued to be in other places for the rest of the day.
24.4.08
Of the days to be distracted, yesterday was probably a good one, as most of the scenery I passed through tended to be a little on the tame side, relatively speaking of course! The twisting and turning coarse ran inland, through densely wooded landscape of sharp, hidden bends, crossing yet more mountains and tracing out the edges of a couple of huge lakes, before dropping down to the rugged coast again, hitting several miles of rough, overgrown grass land - keeping the herds of cows happy at least. Eventually made it to the plain seaside town of Hokitika, pretty busy with tourists, which my guidebook explained was thanks to its booming Jade industry (given that the only greenstone gorge in the south island is located right next to this town). Sure enough, every other shop on its high street was a Jade shop or factory. Drawn to this town by a large, brash, colourful, plastic fish advertising fish and chips (or, as they say here, ‘fush and chups’), I bought some at a ridiculously cheap price of $5 - to be fair, they tasted like they cost it (very greasy) - and headed for the grey-sand beach, sitting on one of many pieces of driftwood and basking in the warm sun. Must have been one of the warmest days since arriving in NZ, as I found myself even taking my jumper off and thinking about losing the jeans for some shorts.
It’s a good job I didn’t. It’s amazing how a few hundred metres can make a difference, especially in the vertical direction. Setting off north then turning off inland eastwards (once I found my way out of K**** - they really need to sort out their road signs here), I joined State Highway 73, leading to Arthur’s Pass National Park. After negotiating the ups and downs of a the wavy road, flowing into a wide expanse of farmland and wetlands, punctuated by paper-mache hills and anthill mountains, I met up with the rail track used by the popular ‘TranzAlpine Express’. The journey taken by the train is described as one of New Zealand’s most scenic, and I was happy to acknowledge that, as the road ran parallel to it all the way to Arthur’s Pass, I wasn’t to miss a thing!
Passed a few well placed pubs along the way, which made for good drinks stops and some great photos. At times the road had to veer away from the rail track - crossing it meant physically looking out for trains, as they had no gates to stop you (and sometimes no warning lights, either). The hills grew to eventually join in with the mountains, these drawing nearer and nearer until I found myself driving inside a ravine, joined by a fast flowing rocky river. I imagined the going to get a lot tougher, but just as the road started to climb, I came upon some new road, leading through an open-walled and steeply inclined tunnel that cut a route straight through the side of one mountain, crossing an equally impressive, enormous viaduct, to reach above and over the top of another (still a baby compared to its brother and sister mountains about it). There was a viewpoint right at the top where I was able to capture this manmade spectacle.
Not far from their, I arrived at Arthur’s Pass - in really good time actually, arriving a good hour before I thought I would. A small, street of a town - boasting a hostel, couple of guesthouses and three cafe bars, plus several quaint, log-cabin cum houses - it sits squat in the centre of a canyon, cushioned by steep, impassable mountains on either side, some nudging, others piercing the skyline with their sharp, pointy tips. The owner of my hostel had had to disappear on an emergency, so I took the opportunity to dump the car and take the steep, wooded climb (would have been even steeper if it hadn’t have been for the conveniently placed, wooden staircases) up to the ‘Devil’s Punchbowl’: a thin-topped, towering waterfall, its white waters steadily streaming from a rocky outcrop high above, spilling on the crooks and crannies of the vertical rock face below, creating a dreamlike spray and widening out to take on the appearance of a giant, white, watery ponytail. Quite the attraction, it has been pulling in tourists since the early nineteenth century, and Maoris since before that. Bet they didn’t have wooden steps back then.
The hostel is nice: music playing in the new and mod con equipped kitchen, everything very clean, the showers hot and fast. At first I thought I had my room all to myself, but a couple from England turned up just after 7PM to join me. Had a brief chat with them - they’re on a ‘short’ break, taking in NZ in just ten days before heading for a month in Australia (that’s still short for this part of the road, right?) - before I headed out for a dinner of tasty and warming ravioli, at the cafe diner across the way (the ‘Wobbly Kea’). Had the opportunity to join a social table of traveling chit chats, but declined so I could read my book instead. Being this high up in the mountains, I’d noticed an obvious drop in temperature earlier since driving up from the coast; I was able to visibly see my breathe for one. By nightfall, it was COLD. As shiny and modern as the room in my hostel was, I found myself wishing that the owners had spent less time polishing the wooden floor and more time putting in central heating. Brrrrr.
It’s a freezing start to the day - literally, my car’s windows needed hot water attention and some scraping this morning - and thanks to the soaring valley walls it feels much earlier than it is (it’s 9AM), as Arthur’s Pass is still cast in shadow. Back off to Christchurch today. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive away, so I intend to use the afternoon to pick up some new books and plan my trip in Fiji and Hawaii. Less than two weeks away so it needs doing. Coincidentally - though perhaps unsurprisingly (getting used to meeting people who have thought up similar journeys to my own, and there was I thinking I was the only one!) - whilst staying in Franz Josef, I bumped into not one but three people all individually planning on visiting Fiji in the coming weeks. A couple were able to give pointers about places to go and hostels (not sure they’re called that there) to frequent, including some that are ‘all-inclusive’ (!). Going to check all this out today. Tonight is curry night, booked in and ready to do some damage to my gut. Tomorrow’s going to be ‘messy’.
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Monday, 21 April 2008
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