"But why are you going to New Zealand? There is nothing
there." My poor old mum said when I told her we were going to New Zealand.
She was of course speaking as a specialist in European History. Well I believe
the scenery is nice was my feeble reply. So why was I going? I asked myself?
Well I managed to trace it back to the celebrations of Mr and Mrs King's 25th
wedding anniversary in the pissing rain in Boughton Monchelsea. Mr Smith had
asked Mrs K (Early on I presume) what we had planned for ours? Mrs K had said a
trip to somewhere nice like Thailand or New Zealand. Mr Smith jumped on New
Zealand and said that sounds nice, can we come? I believe the scenery is
lovely. So that was it. Six months of
carefully watching Mrs K and Mr and Mrs S planning our motor home trip began.
The date arrived and after a long sleepless 36 hours of
travel, catching up on all those films that you had rejected over the years and
a brief encounter with a New Zealand customs official who I think was Anne
Hegarty's big sister, we arrived. You see normally you agree you have no
firearms or explosives , no knives or liquids but here in NZ I was asked if I
had any outdoor equipment. "Well only my walking boots." I replied
hopefully but I was immediately marched down a red route to see Ms Hegarty who
asked to see my boots. After a frantic search no boots emerged. I noticed
that the customs lady had a fixed stare. She said in a very slow and accusatory
way "Is this your bag sir?"
"Well of course it is."
I watched her eyes slowly move to the object I had in my left hand. My
wife's bra. After a lot of um-ing and ar-ing I explained that perhaps it was my
wife's bag, they are very similar. Anyway I was marched to the outside
concourse to see which wife would be brave enough to claim me and the boots
were found and inspected satisfactorily and we were allowed on our way.
We arrived in the highly manicured gardens of a suburb of
Christchurch for a well earned sleep before we picked up our mode of travel.
And here she is. We had a few suggestions for names I went
for Bertie but that was defeated as apparently all modes of transport are
female not just boats. Roberta was dismissed out of hand and we settled on a
tribute to the discoverer and explorer of New Zealand, Abel Tasman and James Cook.
Two accomplished women! Taz and Cookie for short. This was Cookie and she was
almost brand new and very well designed. Mr and Mrs Smith's was identical and
almost as new.
Following a brief, poorly navigated, tour of Christchurch we
hit the supermarket and loaded her up with provisions. We then made for
Christchurch's 'Top Ten' campsite and parked up for our first night aboard Cookie
and Taz. Being a 'Top Ten' we were able to have free use of the pool and spa so
the plan was a quick bus trip into Christchurch, a tram tour and then back for
a pampering.
We caught the bus with secondary school children returning
home strangely all were in uniform and the boys wore shorts. Even I rebelled
against shorts at 12 years old. None had tattoos or earrings either.
Civilisation clearly hasn't reached New Zealand yet.
The tram was a real treat and gave us a good look around
Christchurch which was recovering from the Earth quake of 2011.
The 'Act of God' took out the 'House of God'
We returned to the campsite and a quick look in the 12 foot
by 15 foot child infested pool put us off a swim but the ladies were eager to
test out the 'Spa.'
Well the 'Spa' turned out to be a hot tub in a box but the
ladies enjoyed it and we had our first night's sleep aboard our land vessels.
Up bright and early the next day for a trip to the Banks
Peninsular and the small, French -ish, town of Akaroa via the scenic route, and
scenic it was.
A lovely lunch stop
and some hill driving that roasted the brakes saw us arrive at the campsite at
Akaroa the first place I now wanted to live in New Zealand.
The trouble with land boats is you have to go and empty the
holding tank by hand and they do not have a great capacity.
We called it 'the walk of Shame!'
Akaroa has sea, a happy hour bar and a museum, what more
could one wish for in a town. I wasn't expecting much from the museum but it
turned out quite entertaining with Maori stuff, early settler stuff, pirates
and lots of arty stuff too, very nice.
We slipped our berth at Akaroa the next morning and made for
Mount Hutt for lunch. We had read about a Gorge that was scenic. Sure enough it
was an understatement and we had a lovely walk along the Rakaia Gorge after a
Sally 'Omelette Special' for fuel.
Now the trouble with driving in New Zealand is that there are
very few other vehicles around so there are no escapes for your latent, built
in, British road rage emotions. In fact all New Zealanders we have met so far
(and that is probably most of them) seem to have a relaxed, no worries, shall
we have a beer, attitude which is much appreciated.
New Zealand rush hour.
Now I had mentioned that Mr and Mrs Smith had a slightly
older van then ours but we have now established that they had been equipped
more generously then we in that they had four plates to our two, bigger pans
then us and more importantly their glasses were bigger than ours!
Outright, blatant favouritism!
I think that wiley old photographer knows people!
Geraldine was our overnight stop. A small Western type town
where you half expect Clint to turn up on his temperamental mule. Mr Smith and
I went for a scout round and found the supermarket and a rather nice and
crowded bar. It may have been the cricket that drew the crowd or just the beer.
New Zealanders appear to like their beer and pubs just like we used to before
they were taxed out of existence in Britain. More interestingly they had a 'Drive
thru' liquor store next door to the pub which to us Brits seemed to give a
mixed message. Supermarkets only seem to sell wine and beer.
We provisioned up, had a compulsory coffee and strolled around the
shops at Geraldine which were very pleasant with very nice shop keepers who
always had time to talk. Lovely people. I even bought a 'T' shirt.
Our next stop was to
be what the motor world call a wild camp. Us sailors would call it anchoring
with the one similarity being no services but free. We like free!
Lake Tekapo is a long lake en route to Lake Pukaki where our
wild camp was to be. Tekapo is a glacial lake with lovely views so we stopped for lunch at the roadside.
At this point I should point out that I am not making these names up but if I
did I think they would be very similar.
The free camp at Lake Pukaki was another fantastic scene with
mountains, sky and water that was an uncanny blue apparently something to do
with glacial flour whatever that is, although I am sure you could thicken gravy
with it. Mr Smith blamed it for his various skin diseases. Not that he got too
close to it.
We also became aware of a single Canadian Goose sitting on
the beach which we named Gurty. We weren't sure whether she may be injured and
therefore barbequeable or that she was just an outcast. We plumbed for the
latter as she proved quite agile and capable of flight.
A lovely way to spend the evening.
I woke up in the night worrying about how close I had parked
to the edge. Waking every couple of hours thinking that the van was tilting
towards the water and therefore about to tipple in. Bad wine dreams.
Anyway the next morning all was great, the van had remained upright and I felt a little
plucky so I decided to take a dip in the lake to wake me up a little. And that
it really did. Bleeding cold!
After the hypothermia retreated a little we set off to Cook
Mountain. We fueled up at Twizel a small settlement short of the mountain range
and set off on the long, one way drive up to the Cook mountain. (Base camp)
After a fun time trying to park a couple of motor homes which, I am sure as a
parking issue, they must have come across before, we entered the centre which
comprises of a hotel a shop and a museum of sorts. We paid a few dollars to go
in and saw a great film of Sir Edmund Hillary and his life but that was the
high light. I think they could have made more of this from the point of view of
a day tripper but I am sure it's a great spot for walks and mountaineering.
Maybe the day trippers support the more adventurous which is fine. Unless you
are a day tripper!
A dusty coating of cloud for the great mountain.
Having hit the great mountain and perhaps not being swept off
our feet by base camp we headed back towards the coast towards Oamaru. A once
wealthy and industrious town which spent its wealth on creating quite a lovely
Victorian type of setting. Blue Penguins seem to be the main attraction now and
quite worth seeing these little blighters. They appear as little rafts of seven or eight out to sea and make their way in to this beach where they have their burrows. You are not allowed to photograph
them which is well policed but quite okay because you just sit and enjoy them waddling slowly up
the beach.
This is as close as I got to a picture of one although as we
walked back from our penguin extravaganza we came across a few waddling ashore
within the harbour. We stuck to the no photos rule though.
For some strange reason we made for Dunedin after Oamaru I am
not sure why as we had already dismissed Invercargill as too Scottish but
Dunedin actually means Edinburgh. Oh Yes Sal needed a phone card and this was
the only Town within miles that could do it so at least we had a reason to go.
Well we swept in to the town and Mr Smith, quick off the mark, spotted the Sparks
shop and slid across the road and parked up. We followed thinking nothing of it
but as we parked we noticed a load of New Zealander passers buy shaking their
heads in dismay. I was approached as was Mr Smith by well intention-ed members
of the Dunedin population who pointed out that in New Zealand you weren't allowed
to park on the opposite side of the road and if you did you would feel the full
weight of the law. It was almost as if we had been about to start fishing in their ornamental pond
We took the advice as we didn't want to upset the locals and
made off immediately. However we were not quick enough for one resident who
snapped off a picture and sent it to our hire company. We duly received an
email of shame pointing out our disrespect for the New Zealand/ British culture
and were admonished appropriately. I am sure there are no problems recruiting
informants here.
We left town and made for the Aramoana beach nature reserve for lunch which
was far more welcoming. We saw yellow eyed penguins, well one and not close
enough to photo and sea lions.
However this seal type creature was all for posing for the camera and we were careful not to get within ten metres as is the rule here.
We stopped for a night in the Dunedin 'Top Ten' site but took
Dunedin no further as we may have been on a wanted list and left quickly the
next morning heading for Te Anau.
Now Te Anau was a different kettle of fish. Nice drive and a
beautiful lake.
Nice walks and a nice little town with a supermarket to
trundle around in. Now the whole point of heading this way was to continue up
to Milford Sound. Before we got there we stopped at a lovely Gorge called
Cascade Creek where we had lunch then saw the cascade in the pouring rain. The
Gorge walk was spectacular and as a plus
we saw a cheeky Kia a parrot type bird that is quite tame and friendly
which is why it is quite rare.
The Kia hopped about refusing to pose for me.
Milford Sound is an inlet missed by Cook twice but discovered
by a Welsh Sealer called Grono. A very interesting Fiord perhaps all the more
interesting because a guy called Donald Sutherland, not 'The' Donald
Sutherland, sailed in, in 1877 and set up home there. His peace was eventually
shattered by him taking a wife and they began the first tourist trade.
The route was made possible by the digging of the Homer
Tunnel (Not 'the Homer') ( Simpson!) which opened in the 1950s and was started by five blokes
with shovels. I bet there was some Irish in them.
This is the exit of the tunnel showing the huge rock it passes through. You can just imagine the workers looking at this and saying "Yes I think we can do it, pass me a pick axe."
A lovely boat trip dipping our noses in to the Sounds waterfalls and seeing why
Cook missed the Sound due to the twisting nature of it was one of the highlights.
Again having to return via the same route we made for Gunn Camp
on the Hollyfield river. Gunn Camp is an early pioneers camp and is, in my book, a must to visit, the current owner is a card and a joker but the history of
the place is wonderful. From the tragedy of Davey Gunn and the loss of a twelve
year old lad whilst both tried to cross a river on a horse, to the bones of a Moa the now extinct, large, slow, edible, type of Emu that existed then. Attributes conducive to extinction. A lovely spot. and we saw a Tomtit too.
Apparently a workers camp about a hundred years ago
originally. Very old fashioned but lovely.
We left the next morning Sandfly bitten all over and made our
way back to Lake Te Anou as there is no other way round and headed for Lake
Wanaka via Queenstown to see the Bungee jumping. Very entertaining to watch for
free those daft enough to part with a hundred quid in order to scare themselves
silly. They did it from a very interesting old bridge too.
If it snapped this engineless dinghy would be no help either.
From here we pressed on via the scenic route to lake Wanaka.
Very pleasant. Another lovely waterfall!
Lake Wanaka was a very well presented lake and a small but beautifully developed settlement
which we found to be very welcoming. As if you were being taken in hand!
From Wanaka we made for Fox Glacier through some rather
spectacular roads. We found the Top Ten camp site and Mr Smith and myself
abandoned the lady folk to laundry duties and made for the local saloon bar for a
couple of scoops. We found that the bar was full of sand flies sent by God
herself to punish us for our wicked abandonment of the women folk. But Mr K
managed to secure an Anniversary card in recognition of the fact that I had not
secured one in the UK. There was only one card and the helpful lady in the shop, a fully trained wife, on seeing
my inadequacy made me write it out and seal it in the shop for ease of
concealment. Mr Smith agreed to hide it.
Now we had just arrived after a huge drive up the West coast
to hear that the previous nights large rainfall had caused a road slip north of
our location and we may not be able to get through. The alternative was drive
all the way back and try and go round, Bloody miles! We put our faith in the
New Zealand road traffic people and decided to hang around and take in the
glaciers.
One of the best spots was the 4.4 Kilometre walk around Lake Matheson.
Not many birds but we saw a Tomtit and some large Moorhen type birds too. No
eels though. We then followed this up by a jaunt further along the road to the
picnic area before Clearwater bridge for lunch and a really good view of the
Fox Glacier.
Not knowing whether the road would open we decided to head
for the Franz Joseph Glacier in the hope that Monday would bring good news. The
Glacier was named after Emperor Franz Josef by the Austrian Julius Haast in
1865. We parked again in the Top Ten camp site and walked the 2 Km back in to
town to shop and have a rather nice couple of beers and a large portion of
chips to see us through. Arriving back we stir fried up and settled down to
wine and cards. Lovely. I think I won!
Next morning up bright and early for a saunter up the Franz
Josef glacier for a good look at that one.
We were allowed to get a little closer this time although
there were plenty of warnings about going further and a number of examples of
people who tried and died for their efforts.
In New Zealand there are a number of narrow bridges that just
allow one vehicle through at a time and this is on interstate highway number
six. Such a name would warrant at least six lanes in the USA and at least two
in Cornwall. We came to the blocked, avalanche strewn, section of this road
about an hour after setting off from Franz Josef but our plans to lunch in the
traffic jam were thwarted when after a couple of minutes we were waved through.
We made for Greymouth and were allowed to pick our own spots in
the campsite which we managed to do directly at the end of the runway for
Greymouth airfield and suffered a couple of close encounters with planes and
helicopters.
The next morning it was our 25th wedding anniversary and we
had decided we would have both a breakfast out and an evening meal in
celebration of Mrs K's 25 years of resilience. So, on the advice of the campsite manager,
we made for Greymouth town and sought out Maggies Kitchen for a fat boys
breakfast.
Interestingly on the way we encountered a bit of road rage from
a car behind us who took umbridge at my careful driving which made us laugh. Here
was a guy that would have a heart attack
if he tried to drive from Boughton Monchelsea to Maidstone.
In Greymouth we came across this sign.
Which, for me, made me think of the famous line from Blazing
Saddles " For 'Land' see 'Snatch'
Greymouth was interesting in that it conformed to the wild
west type of town we were becoming use to. The Museum was closed due to
earthquake damage but we were able to replace a bowl that Mrs K managed to
dislodge from the cupboard with some nifty cornering.
After Greymouth we made for the pancake rocks but the tide,
as usual, was all wrong so we went past and did a lovely walk up the Pororari
river valley. We thought we might get a paddle in the water but didn't due to the steep banks. However a very
interesting walk.
After nearly two hours walking we came back and did the
Pancake rocks. We waited around for an hour for the tide to get up so we could
see the spectacular water chimneys but unfortunately the waves died down.
Nevertheless a very interesting spot.
Next stop was Carter's Beach Top Ten campsite where we parked
up and went for a lovely meal at Donaldos, a beach side, typical New Zealand,
restaurant which served high quality food at a reasonable price. lovely! I'd
suggested jumping the fence on the way back but this was dismissed as foolish
and Mrs K and I walked the long way round in temperatures that had dropped
significantly while Mr and Mrs Smith lagged behind and jumped the fence
arriving back rather smugly before us.
Next morning was a long old hike all the way across the upper
part of South Island to Kaikoura via Hamner Springs. We stopped for coffee at
Berlin and had a rather soggy sausage roll or rather I did. Then we set off in earnest with
Mr Smith leading. We didn't stop at Reefton but it looked really nice. We
motored on and were just sailing past Hamner Springs when the lead vehicle
stopped and Mrs S approached our vehicle declaring that Mr S had been found
guilty of un-husbandly conduct by not responding to her directions.
He was suitably admonished and we turned and made for Hamner
Springs. Mr Smith paid the usual fine for such misconduct two large ice creams
and we shopped and continued on our way. Whilst shopping we tried to let an
elderly gentleman with only a loaf of bread through on the check out before us
but he refused saying " No thanks mate I'll only get another job when I
get home." Obviously retired without a plan. Poor chap. There is a
brotherhood out there if only we could organise ourselves.
The 330 Km drive was through some, now expected, spectacular
scenery with its usual two way lanes and single track bridges with quite
serious drops without barriers on the leading edges. Mrs K and Mrs S took these
with surprising ease whilst driving although we / Graham received some flak for
his speed at times. He was having a slightly bad day when it came to wife
management not helped by Mrs K throwing in her 2 penneth worth every now and again.
Still it took the attention off me for a while. Well, what are mates for?
We eventually arrived at Kaikouri through rather a lot of
road works, Now in England it is our habit to see road works as the bain of our
lives with those involve being seen as people deliberately intent on disrupting
our journeys with their fences, traffic lights, and shovels, so in Blighty we
pass them with at least a level of contempt equal to that afforded a liberal
Democrat MP. However in New Zealand each road worker is almost applauded by the
travelling public with each driver waving and each worker acknowledging the
wave with some enthusiasm. These Kiwis have something I think. Not sure what.
Now we had to book in advance for the whale watching and I
was selected to phone up and was given instructions to ask the right questions on calling which went well
for a while until I asked what should we bring? And the lady hesitated after
saying warm clothes and a light jacket which then prompted me to ask "what
about a harpoon?" which seemed to land on stoney ground and I received the
usual disapproving looks.
Well our first night at Kaikouri was filled with laundry,
beer, a fabulous Red Thai curry created by Sal with some unusual chef dancing. Then
a bit of foul weather, then trains that sounded like they may pass through your
motor home and an early e-mail to say that all whale watching had been
cancelled due to the weather. So we went seal watching which was up the road
for free.
Very entertaining. We decided to get up early the next
morning to keep on schedule and got an early booking for the whale watching
which went well.
Now Sperm whales follow a simple pattern. Dive for about 45
minutes to a huge depth swallowing anything in their way from giant squid to
great white sharks, then surface, overcome the effects of deep diving and
eating large creatures whole, having a dump and diving again. Seems like a
lifestyle to me.
However they lie on the surface doing this for about ten
minutes so you see why they were easy to hunt and kill.
We also saw albatross
too.
Mr Smith had a tip top camera.
Well we all enjoyed our whale watching trip out of Kaikoura
and appreciated the work they had put in dealing with the effects of the 2016
earthquake that raised the harbour floor by a metre and a half grounding most
of their boats. So we didn't mind the lecture on saving the planet by being
careful with our plastic bags and didn't make any reference to the amount of
marine diesel used by them using four large speedboats each doing four trips a
day to maximise their profits taking us out there.
We left Kaikoura after treating ourselves to a fat boys
breakfast and Mrs K had a small spending spree in the shop too. We set off for
Blenheim but had another quick fix of the seals on the way. You could watch
them all day.
We arrived in Blenheim which is for some reason named after the
battle of Blenheim in 1704. Well it was named by the then Governor probably
because he was mates with the Marlborough family whose general John Churchill
1st Duke of Marlborough thrashed the French at Blenheim on the Mrs K's birthday
in 1704. Bit strange but showed how people in power could do as they liked
then. Just as now.
Had my haircut by an old guy with little conversation which
seemed to reflect our view of Blenheim, then we made our way to a recommended pub
on Dodson Street, the Grove where they served about 20 ales and had a small
wine tasting shipping container nearby. The lady had an interesting story, Mrs
Clarke, I presume, who came out here with her husband in the 90s and started
growing grapes. Then son and daughter followed and added some expertise
creating some lovely wines, 'The Clarke Estate' We bought 4 bottles between us
at very reasonable prices.
Next morning we hot footed it out of Blenheim to make Nelson
in time for the market and hit the campsite at 1100. Probably the strangest
small campsite so far with the dump station right next to the narrowest bridge.
Anyway we left in a taxi for the town centre and had a saunter through the
market which was full of honey, carvings and health things. I wasn't allowed
near the nicest stall. The bacon stall.
Then after a very nice coffee on Trafalgar street only
interrupted by some noisy street entertainer, we made our way to the cathedral
on the instructions of the taxi driver only to find it rather grey and drab.
Perhaps we have been spoilt for cathedrals over the last couple of years.
After lunch we made for the Riwaka river source on the advice
of another taxi driver and had a much more pleasant experience.
The river emerges from this hole in the cliff and the water
looks very inviting but not inviting enough to overcome the fear of cold.
Next stop was Kaiteriteri beach which was hot and pleasant. (Too many syllables)
We worked out that we were outside of the beer ban so had a
beer on the beach then back to the site for nibbles and drinks before a lovely
bangers and mash.
Now Mr and Mrs Smith have friends so they abandoned us to go
for a coffee with their friends while we shopped and made for Pelorus Bridge.
En Route we were overtaken by a rather strange and aggressive hells motorbike
fan who had suitable swear words on his jacket and who made rather a rude single
figure gesture on overtaking us half way up a mountain. Well this caught us
unawares as the strange chap didn't shoot off like a confident nasty hells
angel but proceeded to be a bit of a wimp when it came to cornering a bike. We
kept up with him in our campervan quite easily and I was hoping he would stop
so I could speak to him about his gesture as driving with Mrs K often elicits
some criticism but here none had been forthcoming so I did want to establish
the cause of the problem and question him as to why he had seen a problem where
a much more critical wife had seen none. Anyway he was never seen again.
Perhaps he had once had a wife!
Pelorus Bridge was a nice little spot with its main history
being the murder of five people for their gold. We waited for the Smiths then
took the two waterfalls walk with the first being a little disappointing in
that the rock wall was less damp then my student accommodation in Bouverie
Street Chester in 1981.
We moved on to the second waterfall a couple of Km along the
track which was slightly better.
Mr Smith feeling a little outdone by my swim in the glacial
waters of Mount Cook dived straight in with some bravery I might say. I
contemplated the move and decided I needed at least a free hour to get in so
didn't.
We hobbled back and pulled beers from our motorhome boot or garages as they are called and
collapsed in a state of tiredness followed by Chicken Chasseur and nice wine. Mr Smith managed to gulp down my glass and then place his right next to
the elbow of the vigorously cleaning Mrs Smith leaving us with only three wine glasses and
more importantly less wine. Mrs K had to surrender my hidden wine stash to make
amends. Dreadful! Not only that but they then went on to thrash us at cards.
You can go off people you know!
Next stop the ferry to North Island.
The trip up to Picton was uneventful with the only event
being the missing of the only turn to Picton by the lead driver. But this was
resolved by a swift 'U' turn and we resumed on our way. The ferry was easy and
we were soon lodged aboard the large ferry to Wellington.
Bye bye South Island.
Hello North Island across the Cook Strait.
Wellington is the capital of these islands and is known as
the 'Windy city'. The reason for this is that it is bloody windy. But I have to
say I took to Wellington despite our site being about 15 Km from the city. We
parked up and took a number 83 bus in to town to have a look around and a meal.
The 83 took an age to get there but we located the sites we wanted to see and
then, via a bar on Cuba, street made for a top restaurant not too far away that
served Cambodian food. It was excellent although I can't recall its name but
featured about number six on Trip Advisor for Wellington.
We managed an 81 bus in the next morning and hit the cable
car after a swift coffee and managed a lovely walk through the botanic gardens.
We wandered down the confusing path through the botanic
gardens and ended up in the lovely rose garden before exiting in to the town
looking for lunch.
I had a slight slip when I slid off a kerb and fell full
length in to the road in a sort of ' I'm having a fall' motion which would have
been funnier if I hadn't lead with my head in to the road. Luckily New Zealand
has no major traffic and I was able to drag my forlorn backside to the
kerb with very little injury to demonstrate my calamity and allow enough time for my companions to stop laughing.
We made it across
the road and consulted maps only to be approached by a lovely inhabitant who asked
what we were after. Mr Smith made it clear, food on the way to the museum and
she directed us to the nearby Colonial cafe which served up a fantastic lunch
with chips for the less restrained member of the group. At this point we have
to mention the average New Zealander who we have come across are with a
friendliness that is equaled by none that I have experienced. The bus drivers
are so patient with their passengers and so understanding of their dumb
tourists. In fact generally you have to see the New Zealanders as the most
cheerful population of people in the world, bar the odd motorcyclist or
Greymouth motorist.
We liked
Wellington. The museum was fantastic and completely free. In fact one thing that I would point out is that
the New Zealanders do not take the piss over parking or visiting public sites
which is fantastic. I hate going in to our home town of Maidstone in Kent in
the UK because they stuff you for parking and anything else they can get you
for. Then they wonder why the centres are dying while they over pay their
executives. In New Zealand they don't. Please stay this way New Zealand. This
makes me want to come back.
Rant over.
The blowy
waterfront is great and the city is vibrant.
After a good
night but an annoying early morning stay at the top ten site in Wellington with
commercial lorries firing up next to our camper vans at 5 am, we left for our
long jaunt to lake Taupo about 340 Km away towards the centre of the island.
Quite a spectacular drive as you moved further away from the lowlands around
Wellington. Lake Taupo turned out to be quite a lovely site.
Even Mrs K was
tempted in to the water.
A bit of a
barbecue followed by cards and then bed and hopefully a quiet, none lorry
starting, or wife book slapping, anti snoring, night previously experienced.
Well not quite.
Of course the downside to the lakes side location was the proximity of the road
and as you might imagine logging lorries seemed to attempt take off speed here.
I also think I may have found out what the many signs about 'Engine Braking'
was. I think it relates to the bloody awful noise they make when using the
engine to slow down.
Anyway a new day
saw a brief dip in the lake before the start of quite a few sights. The first
Huka Falls.
Basically a nice
blue torrent of water in a gorge which looked great for kayaking. We had a
gentle stroll and saw a power boat with passengers experiencing the thrill of
white water.
Next stop was an
area called the Wairakei Moon Craters. A volcanic area interspersed with
hissing and belching steam and water.
A warm spot
nicely laid out but one of the few places that charged entry. 8 Dollars not too
much and not resented. We had lunch at the Helicopter station where they had a
Greek menu which was very nice but lead to overeating by some of the less self
controlled in the party. This lead to a state of immobility but I pressed on.
Next stop was the
oddly named 'Kerosene Creek' a hot water stream that attracted bathers from all
over and seemed to have an inordinate amount of abandoned underwear. Still we
all went in and enjoyed the rather hot sulphery splash.
The warm waters
didn't help Mrs K's recurring hoovering injury to her hip but some of us got to
show off our well tuned bodies.
We made for Rotorua
and camped in a quiet site hoping and almost achieving a quiet nights sleep.
Next morning it
was raining but Mr Smith was convinced that it would be fine and we set off
with most of us in rain coats while Mr Smith dashed from tree to tree.
Rotorua as a town
was a bit disappointing although we enjoyed our walk around the bubbling hot
spring of the peninsular and had a lovely lunch at a nice artisan cafe on Eat Street. Mrs K,
suffering from her hoovering injury, braved a Thai massage parlour and Mr and
Mrs Smith and I went and sorted out a spade for some bubbling beach where you
dig out your own hot tub. It might make a good boat scraper.
We bobbed back to
the site and had a snooze followed by a swim in the site pool and a shower
before we went on our extravaganza of a Moari tour at Mitai village which
wasn't the most organised or coordinated experience and probably not worth the
money although we met some nice people, saw a dodgy Haka and saw some
unimpressive glow worms. They need to work on this experience.
Well we slept
well until about 0730 when some twit managed to set his van alarm off to wake
us all up. Luckily he left before any of us could powder our guns. I managed
another swim before leaving for Coromandel and its slightly dodgy but very pretty
coastal road. Talking of roads it is well worth pointing out the plight of the
Possum population which litter the road system in much the same way as he
hedgehog use to in Britain. They are an introduced pest and are controlled by
as many methods as possible.
Torrential rain
lead Mr Smith in to a washer woman frenzy of launderetting whilst Mrs K and I
sat around in our stain dribbled clothing, well I did anyway. After preparing a
Granddad Philip curry the ladies left for the town centre while I waited for
Graham to complete his good housewife chores (Maybe it was something to do with
it being international women's week) then we made for the Star and Garter and
met the womenfolk for beer. We staggered back and arranged bikes for the next
morning before curry, cards and bed.
We weren't allowed
to use the pedal cars but had to use the million geared mountain bikes. We set
off in earnest for a bay identified by Graham but Mrs K's hoovering injury got
the better of her and someone had to cycle back and get her book so we could
abandon her by the roadside and carry on. By the time I got back with the book
I was knackered but pressed on to somewhere near Tucks bay. Sal then left us to
return to Mrs K and Graham and I went on a 45 minute walk through the forest where
we met four ladies who told us all about the Kauri trees in New Zealand.
Which is a huge great
tree with many not surviving the British fleets needs for good wood. I included
Graham in the shot for scale purposes to demonstrate how much weight he had put
on during this tour. After a swim and
more cycling, together with a great deal of chaffing, we found the ladies
shopping in Coromandel town.
We had a great
deal to fit in the next morning. Mrs K's birthday was looming and no present had
been forthcoming so using the services of Mrs S who whilst shopping with Mrs K
had spotted her interest in a Tui Jug in one of the local shops. I managed to
offer to go and get some pain killers for her pain and slipped into the only
gift shop open at that time. By a stroke of luck it was the right shop and the
nice lady wrapped it for me. Mission accomplished. It is worth mentioning the
Tui bird as they are quite common and make a really interesting sound in the
mornings just like someone trying to tune in a World War Two radio or someone
preparing a dodgy woodwind instrument before a concert. On my return, and the
careful passing of the jug to Sal for hiding, we drained various parts of the
vans then we had a quick bounce on the strange bouncy things on most of the sites
before we made for Cathedral Cove.
After an arduous
drive and unclear parking arrangements we plumbed for the boat trip to the cove
but we discovered the boat wasn't running that day for no apparent reason so we
gave up and made for Hot Spring Beach. A much more interesting spot and we had
purchased a spade specifically for the purpose. That purpose was waiting for
low water and digging your own spar pool on the beach. What could be easier?
Well there were
two problems , Graham picked a spot too close to the waves so kept being
swamped, then in his vigor he destroyed the 8 dollar spade requiring us to dig
by hand.
Eventually, with
the help of a couple of locals we produced the hot bottom spar and triuphantly
handed it over to the wives.
We pressed on
that afternoon to break up what would have been a long drive to the Bay of
Islands by stopping at Orere Point. Now it was my turn to lead and Mrs K had
been suffering from her hoovering hip injury so she was tucked up in bed whilst
I drove unassisted and unaided. Well everything went fine until we were about a
hundred yards off the campsite when, for no apparent reason, I turned left on to a
little residential street called Bays road. Realising my mistake I decided to
carry out a three point turn which was executed with some skill up to the point
where, despite the reversing camera I mowed down a post box. Note no 3 rests against no 2 in a nonchalant, nothing to see here way.
If you look
closely no 3 had its post snapped
clean off at the base. I confessed and compensated the lovely man at number
three before entering Orere point site and spotting that in fact I had damaged
the van so a confession to Wilderness was necessary. I tried to blame the post
but I think they saw through me.
Orere is a small site which offered a small stream to
swim in and an increasing amount of mosquitoes. We didn't swim due to the large
population of ducks and the slightly murky water. We had a relatively
uneventful night before setting off on an epic drive via Aukland to the Bay of
Islands and Aroha Island for the night. Now Aroha island was off the beaten
track but offered a bit of Kiwi spotting which was feeding Mrs K's developing
bird watching desires. The park was in fact an island nature reserve with two
resident Kiwis one being 40 years old. A lovely spot and we all went out that
night to spot the birds but I was sent back to the van in disgrace after
falling asleep on the spotting bench and disturbing the watchful and silent
enthusiasts with my snoring. We all got bitten to death and did not see the Kiwis.
We did see a
number of ducks which seemed to please Mrs S or Mrs Mallard as she became known
after this.
The next day it
was Mrs K's birthday and after a ceremonial present and card giving meeting we
made for Paihia for a fat boys breakfast. Paihia was a very pleasant seaside
town with yachts anchored in the harbour. Another spot I decided I could live
in and after a wander and a shop we made for the Car ferry to Russell Island.
Now we were
nearing the end of our tour and we had decided that stopping in the small town
of Russell for a few days to relax would be a fitting way to spend our last few
days. Well Russell was the climax for me. Having said at the beginning I could
live at Akaroa well I could really live at Russell. The place was beautiful.
A lovely swim in
Crystal waters at Long Beach just over the hill followed by a lovely evening
Birthday meal at the Swordfish club on the harbour front.
Through out life
you look for the spot you might be content to die in. Well Russell is that spot
except its in the wrong spot, actually bloody miles from the spot. New Zealand
is lovely but too far from life as we know it.
Anyway we hit the
Swordfish club for Mrs Ks 50 something birthday and had a lovely meal. Then booked
ourselves a sail the next day aboard Phantom a 50 foot racer from 1972 run by
Rick and Robin Blomfield a couple of long term ocean goers.
We saw dolphins
and had a lovely lunch on board.
I was even allowed to drive.
After a lot of
talk about a fishing trip then the idea of a Kayak it all came down to a coffee
followed by a bacon butty lunch followed by one of Mr Smiths uphill walks.
On the walk we
ended up at flagstaff hill where there was a Maori / British tiff as the Maoris
kept chopping it down and the Brits kept putting it back up.
It was at this
spot that the Kiwi spotting desires were reignited when a couple told us that
they had seen some Kiwis on the lower
path on the route we were taking a type of Kiwi that came out during the day.
Well we crept through the woods stopping and straining our eyes. Mrs K thought
she may have seen a Kiwis bottom and I saw a mound of earth that looked like a
Kiwi in the distance. As time went on we became less convinced and concluded
the may just have seen a Weka which to the untrained, slightly inebriated, eye
may become a Kiwi.
After another
dousing on another beach we made back to Russell town centre for a beer in the
Marlborough Tavern where we heard of the mass shooting in Christchurch by a
deranged twat.
We decided to
revisit the Swordfish club that night and again received good fare. We bumped
in to a couple on the way back who were from Tunbridge Wells and worked at the
same company as Sal and Gra. So we had a bottle or two of wine with them before
retiring.
Next morning up
and away to make for Aukland to prepare to drop off the vans stopping at a non
top ten campsite right on Takapuna beach. Slightly dodgy site with some
similarities to some of the sites you might find on the isle of Sheppey.
We settled down
to try to consume all our left overs in terms of beer and food before going out
for our final evening meal in New Zealand.
New Zealand was a
beautiful, relatively new, country with tremendous potential and a huge desire
to preserve it's natural beauty. Everyone should spend some time there during
their life should they be lucky enough to be able to get there. You just about see it as Tasman and Cook did all those years ago. The
people were friendly and relaxed being clearly aware of the loveliness of their
country. Wilderness, as a company to use for touring, lived up to their
standards as we met a few less happy campers using some of the other numerous
touring van companies. Despite our misdemeanors they were still talking to us
when we returned the vans in Auckland and they dropped us off at the airport for our long journey home for free. A non stop trip from Perth to Heathrow. 17 hours in economy class. Quite painful but Quantas fed us well and looked after us.
What? Still talking about bloody Brexit? Could we have a Prime Minister like Jacinda Ardhern please? She knows how to manage a crisis.