The third instalment of our NZ leg, was our ten-ish day road trip around the South Island.
The plan was borrow brother Paul’s Pro-box (a uniquely simple and awesome car, that in a previous existence had only been driven through a Japanese factory), strap a kayak to the roof, and head off with a mattress and a boot full of food and such.
This is exactly what we did.
The Pro-box is as basic as a car can get. A square machine, a small engine, and hat makes it super for this kind of trip, a folding bench back seat that drops into a flatbed at the back. This little car became our home. We set out to Cape Foulwind. Why on Earth we picked a place called Foulwind for our first night is beyond me. It didn’t disappoint. The weather was shocking, somewhat unsurprisingly to me, given the name of the place. We had to be a little careful, as our car was not a self contained van, and as such we had to be picky/bend the rules a little on where we could stay. So we opted for a car park on a cliff that had no “No Camping” sign, just off the national park land, that was just far enough from the other car park’s “No Camping” sign to not be illegal. We hadn’t really thought our kayak through however. It was strapped with ratcheted straps to the car, and rested on pool noodles, a brilliant may I add idea on my behalf, and not a roof rack) this meant the straps brought with them into the car a large amount of rainwater. So in the cape’s foulwind and it’s rain, we had to get out and strap the kayak to the side of the car to stop the water pooling in our rapidly deflating air bed (a different one this time) I essentially spent the entire night shitting my pants that it was going to be blown away or destroy the car and was super uncomfy. But still, it was a beautiful spot. Even in the stormiest of weather, I always marvel at the sight of the ocean doing it’s thing against the coast. Sometimes even more in the stormy times, you can see the temper of nature at work bashing and shaping the land. Interestingly, Cape Foulwind was not moniker’d as such due to the inclement weather. It was indeed named thus because the wind stank. The seal colony that existed there used to fill the air with it’s savoury aroma and waft on the breeze.
Next stop was Hokitika. However to get there I had to bust out full McGuyver styles. You see with every touch of the accelerator that notched us above 60 kmh, the straps locking the kayak in place would make the most annoying trumpeting sound, due to the wind passing over its taught reaches, effectively making it a rhead. In my head I thought simply all that was needed was to disrupt the air, so I tied my purple toed socks to each side, it did indeed work. I later was told that all I needed to do was twist the strap, but hey, lets not diminish my brilliance here. Turns out socks can solve many things where kayak straps are concerned. I solved the strap leakage problem by tying my Hilly coolmax socklets where they dripped. Job done. I’m not sure the type of sock was important, but I like to think I engineered a precise solution as such would like to believe a sock of lesser caliber would not have sufficed. Back to Hokitka, it’s a great little seaside town with a beautiful beach, but it also had a nice artsy side to it. We went to watch some glass blowers. Big burly looking blokes, in rugby short shorts having a chat about whatever cars they had or the rugby, oh so casually doing the most delicate animal sculptures with molten glass. The ease with with they rolled the glowing glob on the blow stick was remarkable, and as they did it they poked and prodded here or there to extrude, bend and shape the object, spraying here or there to get the effect they required. These dainty little things with such artistic and finely tuned skills was quite the conundrum for ones brain to process. Further still, at the beach our timing was superb. The beach was full of driftwood sculptures, not just a few, probably a hundred or so, from the local competition they had recently had. Professional artists battling it out with family groups or even school kids. Hanging head sculptures, to sun dials, pagodas to elephants, word play to abstract imagery it was all there and all wonderful. To further add to the wonder of Hokitika we had home made ice cream and then headed for home for the night. We had decided to camp out at Sunset Point. We thought we were pioneer thinkers as we were, for a while the only ones there. That however changed as the sunset drew closer. By night fall we were but one of a number, all settled in to take in the sunset and abuse the fact that no one would move us on. The sunset was incredible. The most amazing colours not only took the skies but also the water. In doing so the very air seemed to change. It truly was the most memorable sunset of my life, I have never seen the sea change to a Turkish delight pink, waves of rich rose breaking by my feet as the skies blazed and bloomed like none I could remember. The hue of the air was lush and rich and despite the blowing gale we watched in wonder. As light left us we headed not to bed but to the glow worm dell. The glow worms are quite remarkable, only slightly marred by some prickety prick, English no less shouting at Conny, admittedly, she had misunderstood a sign saying the worms are sensitive to light, and in thinking we had a walk to the dell had her torch on. The guy boomed out “TURN THAT BLOODY LIGHT OFF” before sauntering down and on the way out giving another little jab from the darkness of “read the bloody sign you idiot” I sounded out that she had, and a further mutterance of “makes it bloody worse then”. Now, I agree he had a point, but the hypocrisy of the dude is quite unfathomable and I being a petty nobhead had wished to pursue him and point this out, followed by a dry slap if necessary. I didn’t, which bugged me long after, of course only I am allowed to speak to Conny in such a manner. His hypocrisy is this. Right underneath the bit that says lights are to be dimmed when you get to the dell (which Conny to her defence didn’t realise she had) there was a line stating that the worms are also particularly sensitive to sound, so voices must remain hushed. His cocky bellowing was exactly as bad as Conny’s more innocet slip, especially when considering his little jibe on the way out, I would have liked to chide him and remind him but that would have made me no better. Still, would have satiated my petty man syndrome. Trust a motherfucking Englishman abroad to ruin my night. Well, he didn’t ruin it, but darken it. So seething a little and swayed by the wind once more we headed back to Sunset Point, I wouldn’t call it a peaceful night but we still managed to catch some solid kip.
To this point we had not got the kayak off, lest you count to avoid seepage, however the next day would change that, Lake Mahinapua. It was a prime breakfast spot, and our kayak expedition was somewhat spontaneous. But the water was still and the sun was glorious, so we could not do anything else. The paddle was lovely, giving us views to the Mount Cook range. Conny got to practice her paddling skills, and boy is it needed, but all in all a pleasant day, before heading on towards Fox Glacier.
The last time we came to New Zealand, we had driven along this road before, it was odd to see the post earthquake roads and it was also funny to see the ever present German tourists fully afflicted by the sand flies. These two met beautifully at one point where I stopped as I recognised a particularly beautiful lookout spot. I alighted the Pro-box to see half of the look out cordoned off as a large part had slipped into the sea. The last time I was here was a dark and stormy day, much like this one, only the balustrade was complete and it was autumn, this meant there had not been sand flies. Today, was definitely not autumn. A convoy of German youths screeched up, they got out, hoody pulled tight, trousers tucked in socks, and waving their arms as if shadow boxing their way to the loo. I dread to think of the wayward toilet action when engaged in such a fight while dealing with ones’ toilet business. We checked out the little town and planned the next days walks to the glaciers, both Fox and Franz Joseph, with a relax in the hot pools (and of course a shower, as we were somewhat ripe at this point) deciding upon Gillespies beach for the night. That took us down a gravel road of beastly proportion to a small DOC campsite. The dreaded sandflies were rife, but I was prepared. I donned my long johns for a walk along the coast and see some of the “historic remains” of the gold dredging hey day of the area. I put the parentheses there as really, its just lazy rubbish from when they realised the money well was dry, and the machine had stayed exactly where it was. But it was an eye opener into the methods of the early pioneer folks. We arrived back to cook dinner before the beach, then taking inspiration from Hokitika I wrote the long mosey in driftwood as another stunning sunset fell upon us, with Mount Cook in the background. One camper even marvelled at my creativity, I didn’t want to let her down, nor did my ego wish me to be honest and tell her I had directly lifted the idea from up the road.
We reached Franz Joseph in the AM and had a happy stroll to see it’s gaping mouth. Franz Joseph was a little grubby looking, but Fox was beautiful and blue, it is quite impressive to see the power that these behemoths wield, carving the land scape, even pushing into full on rain forest, you don’t generally associate the two! More alarming still is the rate that they are receding. Before anyone jumps up and says “Aw yeah, but that’s natural, don’t you start about global warming you bloody hippy”, hold your horses. I know that there is a natural recession to a glacier. Contrary to my appearance, I am not purest thoroughbred buffoon, and I do have some grasp of scientific processes. But the world is fucked. And we are fucking it. Roughly. We aren’t even romancing the world-mother, just straight up raping it. Anyway, I digress.
Hot pools are awesome. Hot showers are also awesome.
Onward, to Wanaka! We had one night stopped at the roadside by Haast, having tried to sleep by the river, but been swamped by sandflies. To be honest, I got out the car and thought initially that it was ok. Boy was I wrong, as I looked down at the white of the door frame I could see the gathering cloud of black death. We travelled as far as we could towards our destination and spotted a little lay-by where some other folk had parked up, we chose however not to even give the little fuckers a chance. No doors were even opened that night for more than a second or two, and even after, I set a trap and became a mastermind of bug genocide. It involved a lamp, a tea towel and abundant death. Conny and I had once been to Wanaka a couple of years back on our last visit, to see our friend Steve, and we also met his Granddad, Gordon. First though, we had to hit a hardware store to buy a net for the windows and a mattress/foam to replace the dreadfully uncomfortable airbed we had used til now. We purchased some flynet and what transpired to be some shit tape, but the helpful chap in the shop who steered us to the shit tape made up for it in wonderful measure, by suggesting we forego foam purchase there and head to Wastebusters. Wastebusters is a dream of a place. A second hand heaven, recyclers den/rubbish dump. I could have spent days there buying just about everything, but most importantly we found an old outdoor lounger mattress which Conny duly paid 5 dollars for then destroyed to remove the foam insides. It just happened to perfectly fit the Probox’s rear and from here on out, the perfect stealth camping car was born. Next up was a little paddle on Wanaka followed by a call to Gordon’s house. Admittedly, he didn’t remember us at first, but hey ho, it was a few years since we met for one afternoon. However, despite his full house (his partners sisters, and one husband were also visiting) we were welcomed as old/new friends and honestly we spent a wonderful couple of days with the crew. There was Gordon (90), his partner Ann(74), her sister Kay(74) and husband Owen along with Val (a spritely 84). Honestly hanging around these folk goes to show that age is but a number. They were, and are, awesome. We chatted, we went to the social club, Conny drank beer with Gordon, they won money and meat on the tombolas, we slept in the van on the lawn, ate breakfasts and lunches, Gordon played a prank on me when I ask to borrow some tools and gave me the biggest most ridiculous tools he could find. I honestly didn’t know how to react, until I realised he was fully pulling my leg. They are a remarkable group of people and Conny and I feel it a great pleasure to count them amongst our travelling friends!
We were from here heading towards Milford sound, via a ridiculous number of bras hung on a fence. Honestly the intent was to raise awareness for breast cancer, I mostly day dreamt of all the boobs, as a man with my propensity for boob love does, that had filled those brasiers so fully in their previous lives. At this point I lost focus so Conny took driving duties to head via Arrowtown, Queenstown and on to the DOC campsite by Milford sound. We got to cooking in the shelter, I am still proud that the German’s marvelled at my knife skills in their Muttersprache calling me a Messer-Profi thinking I didn’t understand. I did, and I am somewhat smug about it.
Milford Sound is stunning. We got a slightly wet day, but to be fair, spirits weren’t dampened. A bit of rain brings the falls out to play, and as the steep sides creep out of the mists, one can not help be flawed by its ethereal beauty. We partook in a voyage along the fjord, for that is what they are, not sounds at all, to the Tasman Sea, the tip of the boat getting wet under one of the falls along the way, taking a close look at some of the seal colonies along the way. There were many options available to us of varying luxury and cost, but we opted for the cheap and cheerful Jucy variety. We were even given a bite to eat and a cup of juice for breakfast. All in all exactly the lazy day of sight seeing we required.
No trip around the south end of a country would be complete without a trip to it’s southernmost point, it’s very own Land’s End if it were, or in fact it’s actual Land’s End, as signified by a signpost. We decided to head to Bluff, via Invercargill, with a brief tour of the Park Gardens and a visit to Henry, a more than a century old reptile. Somewhat more akin to a dinosaur than modern day lizards, he is a Tuatara. I three-eyed beast(the third eye is under the skin though, native to New Zealand and only extant in this habitat. Henry is, or was, a bit of a cantankerous prick of a lizard. He has been in the breeding programme in Invercargill since the nineteen eighties(like most species, the arrival of man has had quite the impact on the Tuatara in the wild and they are only now found on protective islands), only he tried to fight his potential suiters and competition for decades, forcing his carers to keep him in isolation. He even managed to bite the tail of his future love. However, at the ripe old age of 111( educated guess, he may be older) he became a dad.
As the day drew on and the rain started to fall, we continued to our destination, a cafe at lands’end to enjoy a coffee at the south of the south. But alas despite many signs pointing us in the direction of said cafe, we arrived, parched to find it closed for renovations. The pricks.
The rain cleared and we set out for home for the night, dejected at the lack of coffee, but when we arrived at our destination, we were more than pleased. For some reason we had chosen Monkey Island to look for a spot. What we weren’t aware of, is that Monkey Island is an awesome free campsite, with indeed an island, but sadly no monkeys. However, it was beautiful, Conny and I walked out to said island for sunset with the tide out, we took advantage of the most pleasant vault toilets in the history of world vault toilets(I’m not sure there is such an official award, but if there is, this is surely a contender, genuinely smelled of roses!) there were fire pits, water and no sand flies. It was heaven!
Next we were to head on towards Oamaru, if I’m honest, having been somewhat lazy, I am writing this some time after the event, and as such, can’t for the life of me remember where we sent the next night, can’t have been that exciting though!…wait, I take it all back, we spent another night at a beautiful DOC campsite and we found a beautiful spot on the coast the next night, Valentines night no less. The valentines night, was not as raucous as one might think as were were in a free camping spot, with near neighbours, and to be honest we were both a bit stinky. So we moseyed our way up to Oamaru.
Remember Steve, Grandson of Gordon in Wanaka? Well, next we were to visit his parents, Gay and Gary. Proprietors of the Bean on Thames(The World’s Greatest Cafe, according to Steve, who is obviously unbiased, but to be fair it does have to be up there). Gary and Gay didn’t know we were coming either, but did look after us as if they did. We had coffee then on their advice Conny and I went inland to a series of reservoirs(Benmore, Aviemore and Waitaki) along the Waitaki river and kayaked one of the lakes. I am so glad that the Smith’s suggested we went, it was absolutely stunning. Hot but with a bracing wind we took to the water, as we tend to do, we paddled against the current first, then Conny got tired, then she changed her mind, we yoyo’d back and forth for a bit before setting our target of a little trip around an island or two before heading back. Boy was it hard though, especially with a lacklustre performance from the number 2 paddler, but we managed it, and felt suitably exercised for the day before heading back. Had we not been told to go here though, we never would have. We wouldn’t have even got to paddle that day as the waves around Omaru were reasonable that day and with Conny having probably only ever been on 3 canoes, we thought it perhaps best to avoid the high seas!
We returned home a little later than expected and had actually missed Gay and Gary at the cafe. Not having a number, but a rough idea of the area they lived in, we headed that way, hoping to find it. We really had no chance, but upon seeing a kindly gentleman with a pleasant look about him, we thought it wise to chance our arm. He pointed us directly to the house! What luck! Gay hadn’t heard my knocks and was somewhat startled to see me standing on her porch as she passed, but she welcomed us in, and we were given the luxury of an actual bed for the night, a shower, a good showing of the photo’s from Steve’s awkward adolescent years and upon Gary’s return we headed out for pizza and chips at the local brewery. Result. I being the horrible person that I am, realised upon entering the brewery that I had forgotten my wallet, but Gary insisted anyway that I wasn’t going to be permitted to pay, as Steve, apparently, would possibly never speak to his parents again if they had not shouted us to dinner! To be honest, Scott’s brewery was, as you can probably guess as I only tend to mention the delightful places, a delight. Only about 5 things on the menu(including awesome skin-on chips served in an enamelled tray with chili sauce), good beer and even ginger beer on tap. Couldn’t go wrong, but not only did they not get it wrong, they get it very right. Gary and Gay left us, at our behest, and returned home as Gary starts at quarter-past-way-too-early of a morning. Conny and I were intent on watching the Penguin Parade as the local penguin colony arrive in for the night. We are however cheapos and were not going to join the chinese bus folk in paying a good number of dollars to watch the spectacle. No Sir-ee Bob, we decided to skirt the edge of the penguin centre, and peer around the security wall that the centre has constructed expressly to block such pesky cheapness and gate fee evasion, all as their security scowled and prowled on the other side. Sure enough, we were not alone, as we and about twenty others uncomfortably watched with necks a crooked as the little blighters bobbed in unceremoniously on the surf before waddling up the beach looking a bit stressed and befuddled.
Conny and I set of on foot for home, we thought we knew where we were going, but Conny, a few beers in, was not listening to my thinking we might be going the wrong way, so much like the penguins we waddled befuddledly on a somewhat scenic route home having walked about three times the necessary distance, but it was a pleasant evening, so who cares?
We arrived back to the Smith family residence and watched a documentary on the sheer bonkersness that is Scientology and their harassment of those who dared to leave and/or speak out about them, anyway, once more I digress.
We hit the hey and slept in quiet comfortable luxury, we opted for breakfast at the Bean and what an option it was. Eggs Benedict and another concoction with mushrooms on toast with pesto sauce were both supremely scrumptious. We decided to head for a little tour of the quite wonderful Oamaru, Steam Punk Capital of New Zealand, and headed first to Steam Punk HQ. It was well worth it, essentially a steam punk themed gallery with lots of fantastic sculptures and installations, the most magnificent of which was the Portal and was in essence supremely simple. A room, with mirrored floor, walls and ceiling, a bunch of fairy lights and some well timed flashes with some psychedelic music. It was wonderful, so wonderful I did it a few times.
The old town of Oamaru has an old fashioned industrial vibe to it, wool markets, fabrics, booze brewers with odd ball book shops and antique stores dappled amongst them. It really is a nice place to visit and one of our favourite places in New Zealand.
We decided to head back to the Bean to say our thanks and goodbyes, and to purchase some savoury wonder for the road…Gay however obviously did not think we were sweet enough as she heaped a slab of the most delectable sweet and sticky slices upon us for the road also, not something I would ever grumble about. So there it is folks, the Bean on Thames, definitely among the top 2 cafes in New Zealand, if not the world. We left suitably stocked for the long drive up to Kaikoura.
To be honest, we knew Kaikoura wasn’t going to be up to much, a sleepy town on the best of days, we had been there before on the aforementioned previous trip to NZ. We had, that time, tried to swim with dolphins, but alas, there were orca or shark or both and the pod of dolphins were moving too fast for us to be able to do so. We had no such intent this time, but we wanted to go as Kaikoura had only months previously been hit by a devastating earthquake, which had changed the level of the very seashore, exposing much of the sea’s floor to the drowning air. The roads had only just opened and only on one side, the north route in was still unclear. The rail tunnels were broken or blocked, great swathes of mountainside had shifted, buckling and braking the tracks with what a will of their own. This, in essence, was why we wanted to go to Kaikoura. We aren’t exactly big spenders on this trip, but if we were going to spend some money, we wanted to do it somewhere that really needed it. I had read somewhere that even though some Kaikoura businesses had been ready to reopen for a while, the community had banded together and tried to get everybody back to a good place, plus, the road had not long been open and the town had essentially been cut off. We went for a thai dinner, a belated valentines treat if you will, and we went to a cheese shop to pick up a few delights for the NZ South branch, all of whom(Mamma Kerry South in particular) love a bit of stinky cheese. We met a wonderfully passionate young English lady in the cheese shop. A devotee of cheese with a penchant for raw milk cheese and even a work in progress of a book on the subject, who had travelled to New Zealand to work in that cheese shop. Her name is Camila Ker and her instagram is renegade_milkmaid. I could have chatted the cheese shit with this wonder for hours. I thoroughly recommend any other cheese lovers look her up.
We left the town and drove the coast for a moment, taking in the most glorious red skies at night before settling for a night in a picnic area just out of town. Only in the morning upon exiting the area did we notice the no camping sign, but to be fair, we are decent enough to not leave any trace so I think the only real problem was that we emerged halfway through a semi-closed section of road, allowing only one lane of traffic at a time, much to the confusion of the guy at the end turning the stop sign.
Initially we had thought we would spend a further night in Hanmer springs, but due to the weather turning shite, Conny just decided enough was enough, no more rainy camp nights and we headed home, to the warm embrace, and climbing upon of the two little tykes back at South Manor.
We spent the next week doing the usuals, Adventures at the creek. Parties at the railways. A trip to the swimming pool. Building a beach shelter and camping out. Barbecuing. Pizza making. The standard stuff that the Glen offers and before we knew it, our time was done.
We headed out on the bus for Christchurch, past the scorched and smouldering earth of the bushfire that had just claimed the homes of 11 families. It was a potent reminder of the power of a mother nature that would appear to be fighting back with all her might in this one small corner of the world(now hold your horses once more, I’m not suggesting causality here!). Sadly, this is one of the corners of the world that although far from perfect, tends to hold her in higher esteem than many other places that reap the benefits, but don’t reap what they sow in terms of the destruction so much. Not that I would wish such tragedy on anybody, it would be slightly more acceptable if some of the less green and caring countries that shall remain nameless bore some of the brunt of that wrath.
Our night in Christchurch was a bit of a nostalgia trip. We went to New Brighton, where my brother and his family had lived when we last visited. This time we stayed at a simple and not too wonderful but completely acceptable backpackers. We walked the pier and even saw a shark. The plan was to be cheap and head for fish and chips for tea, but instead we saw a place (BearLion Foods) that from the dress of the dapper host to the choice on the menu (2 starters, vegetarian or meat main and a couple of desserts) of food clearly made with passion and love for ingredients and goodness we couldn’t not dine there. It just so happened that they only opened one evening a week and this was that evening. Fate had guided our hand. And some hand it was. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t pricey either, but it was worth every penny. A true delight to chat food and about the ethos of the chef owner (with our server, a chef by trade himself from London and an appreciator of good food who helps out on the one night a week dining special but he’s not the chef here, she was busy making our wonder plates) while sampling some truly remarkable food. Both Conny and I had sumptuous dishes bursting with flavour, texture and even joy. All made in house from scratch with seasonal, well sourced ingredients and a flare for the beauty of simple honest healthy food. The main stay of the place is as a delicatessen. Small salads and house made pickles, fermentations and other preserves. Honestly this place was a gem, and I would whole heartedly suggest anyone near Christchurch make the special effort to seek it out.
With full bellies we headed to the backpackers. The next day was breakfast at another cafe (the other in the top 2 in NZ if not the world) Hectors. A casual surf themed cafe, serving more mexican tinged fare for breakfast in one of Christchurch’s oldest malls, that just so happens to be owned and operated by Troy and Eve, who are friends of my brother, that were indeed living at his house when we last came. Eve was busy looking after her child, however, we did have a good old natter with Troy and sampled a delicious Quesadilla breakfast before heading into town then airport bound. Next stop, Sydney.
thelongmosey 