Christchurch is a nice enough small city, nicer than Wellington in my opinion and completely different to Auckland. After another duck and hiding bus journey I arrived late afternoon in the city and soon discovered my hostel and 3 enormous supermarkets all in a row. The supermarkets in a row phenomenon is something I first noticed in Nelson- the town of the prison hostel and wine tours- but seems to be a common occurrence in New Zealand. I can't decided what the reason for it is. Is it that one company bought some land and then their competitors, just to annoy them, bought the adjacent land to build their giant supermarket? Or is there a law saying giant supermarkets must all be built in spitting distance of each other? It is a curious oddity that as you can tell has had me thinking.
Anyway, after doing some food shopping in one of the giant supermarkets (I won't tell you which one in case the others get jealous) I had a brief orientation wander around the city centre and was pleased to discover 3 arthouse cinema in direct vincity. This immediately made me feel more at home. The next day it rained and rained thwarting any real efforts to be a tourist, but to my delight I found 3 second hand bookshops all in a row (sensing a pattern in the layout of Christchurch's facilities...) so I bought some reasonably priced books and decided to spend the afternoon eating cakes and drinking hot chocolate whilst reading my purchases (one of which was a true story of a 2nd world war POW who tried to escape 10 times. It was a great read made all the more amusing by the old fashioned polite turns of phrases, now sadly lost to the modern day slang).
That evening I fulfilled a promise to my Grandfather and went to see a friend of his Betty whom had moved to New Zealand a year ago with her son (who was also present for the visit). Betty was a charming lady who very generously had make me about a thousand ham sandwiches and supplied me with lots of biscuits and tea (from proper china teacups). It was a most delightful evening and I felt quite fat afterwards.
The next morning I had a bus tour to do which was a purely indulgent affair. As many of you know, one of my favourite films is the Lord of the Rings and New Zealand is where it was filmed. There are literally dozens of tours you can do that can show you various places where things were shot, but I had resisted them all as I didn't want to ruin the 'magic' (I couldn't bear to see an abandoned Hobbiton). However, there was a tour to the Southern Alps, which took you to the valley where Edoras was filmed and an option to climb the hill where the Golden Hall was situated (if you've lost me, don't worry about it). This all sounded like pleasant scenery if nothing else plus it has a champagne lunch included. This I couldn't resist. It was actually a very enjoyable tour mainly consisting of a pleasant guide telling stories about the films and the stars followed by the hill climb and lunch. I was incredibly fortunate as it was a beautiful day and everything looked so pretty. However, what struck me as most odd was that there was this Malaysian family on the tour and none of them had seen the films. Not one film and not one of them. I'm sorry, but what on earth pocessed them to come on the tour? To sit for 3hours hearing stories about a film they had ever seen to climb a hill of a set they had never seen and then get driven back? It doesn't sound like much fun to me. However they all seemed to have a great time so who am I to judge (but I do).
Anyway, enough of that. Now to discuss what happened next. Back to hostel etiquette. Now I know I bang on about this a lot, but when you are travelling, the hostel is your home, your sanctuary. Your comfort zone if the dizzying site seeing world becomes overwhelming and you need a place to hide. So its important that if nothing else that you feel at ease in your dorm. Unfortunately, I was in a mixed dorm again (not a name error for once) and the first 2 nights were alright. But then on the 3rd night the Americans invaded. 2 older (ie in there 50s) chaps that pounced on me as I entered the door- 'OH MY GOD. HELLO THERE HOW ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TODAY (no pause for answer) OH MY GOD WE HAVE JUST GOT HERE AND WE ARE SOOOOO JET LAGGED BUT SO EXCITED....' and you get the picture.
After about 10 minutes of this barrage, as I edged toward the door desperate to leave ( I genuinely was needing to make a phone call) I'd already got a tirade about Californian wines and invited to stay at their house when I was in San Franciso. AS IF! Why would a single female traveller take 2 older men up on such an offer? Do these men think when they say such things?! There are 50 times more serial killers in the US than anywhere else in the world (*statistics from the Florence museum of serial murderers 2008*), I would never do such a thing even if they pinkie promised they were not going to murder me. So I made my escape and on my return much later that evening as I got to the door of the dorm all I could hear were strange and terrifying noises. I paused unsure what to do, but being the brave international woman of the world I am, I ventured forth. I boldly pushed the door open and in incredulous horror realised the source of the noises. Both the men were snoring like a marching band being chased by a train. As I climbed ino the bunk (unfortunately above the worst of the snorers) I lay in hopeful anticipation that the snoring would stop. It didn't. I tiried all my usual tricks- shaking the bunk so much it wakes the person below up. Dropping things on the floor, But all these just made it worse and worse.
To add insult to injury at 6 in the morning when I actually finally got to sleep, they got up and oput the light on for 35 minutes (I timed it) and talked in normal voices. ETIQUETTE!!!!!!!!!!! It is 6 in th f**king morning and both of your interminable train like snoring has meant the rest fo us have only slept for 14 minutes combined the whole night! I was angry, but happy in the fact that they were gone.
That day in my weakened state and the weather being uncooperative again, I did very little. Some feeble attempts at sight seeing followed by some cake eating. I went to see a very sad film about the female French resistence fighters during the war and felt thoroughly depressed. However, I thought, tonight I will sleep well. But karma was not finished with me yet. When I got back to the room, the Americans had returned. They had just gone on a day trip. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I prayed and crossed my fngers, snore less, snore less, snore less! But the gods who had listened to me and given me good weather for my glacier hike had turned their back so on me. It was worse.
The following morning I decided I could not make another night of it. It was like the M&S advert "this isn't ordinary annoying snoring, this is unrelenting, super sonic, painful 8 hour long M&S snoring" so when the Americans didn't pack their bags and leave, I did. Some of you may have remember that I made a travel agent friend in Tasmania. Well , she had given me the name of a cool budget hotel in Christchurch and I had been toying with the idea of splashing out on it. The snoring men gave me all the persuasion required and I tooks my rucksack and food bag and went there.
It was fabulous. Cheap, shiney, mini-fridge, flat screen TV, en suite and the best feature of all was the one it didn't have- snorers!
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Sunday, 3 May 2009
American Idiot
(Just to warn you this a long entry. It is about 90% rant so I wouldn't be offended if you skip to end.)
Before I could do the heli-hike on Franz Joseph glacier, I first had to get to Franz Joseph by the bus. I don't think I mentioned before, but on my journey from Nelson to Greymouth there was a rather odd American girl on the bus. I was sitting behind her and she was regailing the bus driver with a tales of her new Irish boyfriend she was to meet up with and get a room with in Greymouth. I thought that prehaps she shouldn't devulge such intimate information to a complete stranger especially one who is driving a large vechicle at high speeds, but I assumed she was just excited. As we stepped off the bus together she began to ramble to me about this 'dreamy Irish boy' with 'eyes so deep you could swim in them' and I near vomited- you must remember she said all this with an extremely annoying American acent as well. I made my good byes and secretly wished the boyfriend luck.
The next day I arrived at the bus station for the 4 hour journey to Franz Joseph and the American girl was there looking somewhat forelorn. She saw me and immediately launched into a monologue of her heartbreak. She had booked the hotel room and met up with him later, but then he dumped her in front of a bunch of his friends and went to the pub. Oh dear I said and tried to be of some comfort, but the words never reached my lips as her constant loud grating voice continued to spew out more and more. And we weren't even on the bus yet.
This diatribe continued and eventually after getting more and more intimate details that I in no way encouraged her to divulge (I didn't get the opportunity!) I was saved by the bus driver giving a very enthusiastic commentary and she was forced to shut up. The only problem was the driver was much like the one in Nelson and he gave a constant 4 hour narration about everything under the sun. There are times you just want to sit back and look out of the window. Play some music and have a little peace. But between the narration on the bus and the American talking at me during breaks, I got no relaxation on that journey.
Fortunately on arrival at Franz Joseph, she was staying somewhere else so I made my escape and found myself walking to the hostel with another infinitely more pleasant girl from Barcelona. She had one of those fabulous Spanish accents when speaking English that I just wanted to give her words to say and listen. We enjoyed the free soup at the hostel together and then I indulged in a bar of chocolate and a fine pinot noir (my new favourite type of red wine- please take note for future birthday gifts) I had purchased in desperation during a bus stop on the way.
Now it is important to mention at this point that the heavy rain was still continuing and my hopes for the heli-hike were diminished. But lo and behold the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, the clouds a mere whisper of what they once were. Joy! The gods were smiling down on me this day (where were they yesterday on the bus journey? They are fickle cruel masters). The ride was on. And what a nice trip it was too. Apart from feeling a little uneasy getting off and on the helicopter (that episode of ER still haunts me to this very day) it wasn't particularly scary and the views of the glacier were fantastic. I even took a little video of the ride on my camera which I felt was an achievement in itself. If I ever work outhow to post it on facebook then you can watch it and be very bored for 2 minutes. The glacier was surprisingly blue and looked like squashed candy floss. I got to put on crampons and carry an ice axe whilst walking over it and I felt like an explorer about to find treasure (unfortunately, I did not).
Afterwards I felt so exhilarated as soon I got back to the hostel I decided to go on a 4 hour walk in the woods, over a gorge (a bridge in situ) and on to the base of the mountain where the glacier was situated. I felt I was going quite a pace with my appropriate attire of hiking shoes and walking trousers when a tall blonde boy wearing a long sleeved white t-shirt and inappropriate shoes stormed past me at a terrfic speed. I continued on across the gorge and noticed that due to the rain, it did seem quite high. A few minutes later I saw the afore-mentioned boy except this time his glowing white shirt was covered in mud as was the rest of him. He told me the path was blocked by the high waters and despite his best efforts (evident by the state of his clothing) he could not get across. So we turned around and started a nice conversation. He was Swedish and was an ex-Kindergarden worker who had quit his job and gone travelling to 'find himself' (sound familiar?). He was touring around NZ in car and also sleeping in it. I expressed my concerns about this as it was now dropping below zero during the night and he said it was a little cold. I then enquired how he washed etc and he said every morning he drove to a lake and had a swim. I must point out again how bloody cold it was. This thought had me aghast and I offered to sneak him into my hostel so he could have a hot shower. But the gentleman that he was, he declined. We then arrived at the vechicle and I memorized its number plate incase in a few days it was found with a frozen body inside and they needed someone to identify the body.
I then then returned to the hostel still concerned about the welfare of my new friend, but I was soon distracted by the surprise of seeing the jail boy from the Abel Tasman walk in my dorm. He was travelling on a different bus service than me, a more organise-y, touristy type affair and had 2 awful days stuck on board with (in his words) 'a bunch of total arseholes'. He had decided to come to a different hostel than the rest of the bus and stay an extra day just to avoid them. Travelling can be such a small world.
As I learned the next day. The lovely Spanish girl and I both discovered we were going on the same bus to Queenstown on the 9 hour journey and this made me ponder somewhat.
My fears were realised as I waited for the bus and who turned up, but the American. As she walked toward me I resolved to try and be nice to her. She was young, had her heart broken and clearly wasn't really enjoying travelling alone. This resolve lasted approximately 14 seconds. She opened her mouth and let loose a complaining whinging whine that I can only describe as painful at best. She complained about the weather, the hostel, the bus and we'd not even got on the damn thing yet. The main problem (apart from her incredible annoying accent adn mis-pronounciation of words) was the fact she seemed incapable of listening and having a two way conversation. She would say something and if you managed to squeeze out a brief comment or answer, she wasn't able to pick up the thread of what you had said. Instead the soliloquy would continue as if your presence was not required (how I wish it wasn't).
As we boarded the bus this monologue continued, the Spanish girl wisely ran to the back of the bus and hid. Unfortunately, the American let me board first then sat next to me. She then asked where I was staying in Queenstown. Every part of me said 'LIE!' but I could not and I told her. "oh that sounds nice, I'll go there too'. NO NO NO. It got worse. She then asked when I was going to Milford Sound (a 12 hour bus trip to pretty fiordland). "Tomorrow" I whispered. "Oh, maybe I'll do it then too!'. Oh where were the gods now!
At the next meal break, I was enjoying my soup having a pleasant conversation with the Spaniard telling her about my previous time in New Zealand. I was discussing my visits to a local prison with a psychologist when the American girl screeched "OH MY GOD! Tell me you are not a psychotherapist! OH MY GOD! If you are I will just have to leave this table right now!'. Firstly, what I should have said was yes and got rid of her. However I was so taken aback by the shear volume of this statement and I couldn't actually gage her sincerity so I told her the truth- no. 'OH MY GOD! THANK GOD! BOTH MY PARENTS ARE THERAPISTS!
And with that statement it all fell into place.
After some more screeching from her, she went to the loo and I finally snapped and let my head fall into my hands and bemoaned the thought of spending yet another bus journey with her and a hostel. The Spaniard immediately gave me lots of sympathy and told me I should just tell her straight - go away. How I wished I was an empassioned Spaniard and had the courage. But I am a self-depreciating Scot and it just isn't in me. Instead I did the mature thing. For the rest of the journey I solidly ignored her, putting on my head phones at every opportunity and keeping my head buried in a book.
Amazingly, she must have got the message as on arrival at Queenstown she didn't follow me to the hostel I was staying at. I didn't exactly run away per say, I just didn't look back. But there was still the next day on the Milford Sound bus trip to face. I actually contemplated cancelling the trip, but then I realised how silly of me that would be and if I had to I would just have to find some Spanish courage somewhere in my Celtic bones.
The next morning I was relieved and delighted on my arrival at the bus stop, that the girl was not there. Joy, joy, joy! However, this was short lived when a taxi pulled up and an aged granny got out. She immediately began to talk to no one in particular and then turned her sights on me. I should have learned my lesson. I should have stayed quiet. I should have run. But I did not, instead I answered her questions and attempted to make polite chat. And attempted is the right word. Now I know I have a reputation for being a bit incomprehensible at times, but when speaking to aged grannies whilst standing by a bus stop in a foreign country, I do attempt to slow down and speak clearly. Obviously not clearly enough. She didn't understand a word I was saying and as such I was getting some very peculailar responses to the conversation we were attempting to have. She then make a incredible racist comment that really threw me - I mean it was only 7am, it was a bit early for that sort of thing. Fortunately, the bus then arrived and we began to board. I was then faced with a choice. Sit near the racist granny and endure a day of garbled conversation or let her get on first and run to the back of the bus and hide.
I'm not proud of what I did, but I did the latter. I just could not endure another 12 hour bus journey in hell. I was temporarily racked with guilt about this decision. As I walked past her, I saw her expectant face fall as I kept moving on toward the back. Guilt, guilty, nasty girl. But as I said, temporarily, as shortly afterwards a Japanese girl tried to sit next to her (the bus was almost full) and she wouldn't let her. Racist granny. My guilt was gone.
Anyway the reason for the bus trip was go and see Milford Sound, a legendary fiord of beauty featured in such films as Lord of the Rings and more recently, the new X-men film (the bit were Hugh Jackman jumps naked into a waterfall). The problem with popular places is 1. they are popular, many other people are there and 2. hype. Hype is a terrible thing. It can make the extra-ordinary disappointing or at least expected. And I have to be honest this was the case with Milford. Beautiful without doubt. A lake with mountains arising from it, waterfalls cascading from everywhere etc etc. So as beautiful as it was I couldn't help but think back to one of my days spent in Napier on the North Island. A place not particularly renound for it's beauty, I walked down from the backpackers (the prison one if you recall) and stumbed upon a black pebble beach with sea stretching out like infinity and mountains on each sides like bookends. It was such an unexpected beauty, I sat down on the pebbles just looking out to the sea for some time, struck by the tranquility. So Milford Sound, as lovely as it was didn't quite have the same inpact as Napier in its surprising glory. And I wasn't hiding from a racist granny there either.
After my seemingly endless days of bus journeying, I spent my final day in Queenstown doing nothing in particular. Queenstown is known for being a gateway for adventure activites, but I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous plus I'd actually been to Queenstown on my previous visit to New Zealand so didn't feel as compelled so explore every knook and cranny of the place. However, I did manage to find a second hand bookshop. If that was a talent that recieved payment, I would be a millionaire.
And then the next day I left (on a day long bus journey of course) to go to Christchurch my final South Island destination. And, yes, you guessed it I wasn't alone on this journey. As I stood waiting in the freezing cold thinking (rather naively of me by this stage) that I would enjoy a quiet journey reading my book, who turns up......... No not the American fortunately, but the racist granny.
Karma is a bitch.
Before I could do the heli-hike on Franz Joseph glacier, I first had to get to Franz Joseph by the bus. I don't think I mentioned before, but on my journey from Nelson to Greymouth there was a rather odd American girl on the bus. I was sitting behind her and she was regailing the bus driver with a tales of her new Irish boyfriend she was to meet up with and get a room with in Greymouth. I thought that prehaps she shouldn't devulge such intimate information to a complete stranger especially one who is driving a large vechicle at high speeds, but I assumed she was just excited. As we stepped off the bus together she began to ramble to me about this 'dreamy Irish boy' with 'eyes so deep you could swim in them' and I near vomited- you must remember she said all this with an extremely annoying American acent as well. I made my good byes and secretly wished the boyfriend luck.
The next day I arrived at the bus station for the 4 hour journey to Franz Joseph and the American girl was there looking somewhat forelorn. She saw me and immediately launched into a monologue of her heartbreak. She had booked the hotel room and met up with him later, but then he dumped her in front of a bunch of his friends and went to the pub. Oh dear I said and tried to be of some comfort, but the words never reached my lips as her constant loud grating voice continued to spew out more and more. And we weren't even on the bus yet.
This diatribe continued and eventually after getting more and more intimate details that I in no way encouraged her to divulge (I didn't get the opportunity!) I was saved by the bus driver giving a very enthusiastic commentary and she was forced to shut up. The only problem was the driver was much like the one in Nelson and he gave a constant 4 hour narration about everything under the sun. There are times you just want to sit back and look out of the window. Play some music and have a little peace. But between the narration on the bus and the American talking at me during breaks, I got no relaxation on that journey.
Fortunately on arrival at Franz Joseph, she was staying somewhere else so I made my escape and found myself walking to the hostel with another infinitely more pleasant girl from Barcelona. She had one of those fabulous Spanish accents when speaking English that I just wanted to give her words to say and listen. We enjoyed the free soup at the hostel together and then I indulged in a bar of chocolate and a fine pinot noir (my new favourite type of red wine- please take note for future birthday gifts) I had purchased in desperation during a bus stop on the way.
Now it is important to mention at this point that the heavy rain was still continuing and my hopes for the heli-hike were diminished. But lo and behold the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, the clouds a mere whisper of what they once were. Joy! The gods were smiling down on me this day (where were they yesterday on the bus journey? They are fickle cruel masters). The ride was on. And what a nice trip it was too. Apart from feeling a little uneasy getting off and on the helicopter (that episode of ER still haunts me to this very day) it wasn't particularly scary and the views of the glacier were fantastic. I even took a little video of the ride on my camera which I felt was an achievement in itself. If I ever work outhow to post it on facebook then you can watch it and be very bored for 2 minutes. The glacier was surprisingly blue and looked like squashed candy floss. I got to put on crampons and carry an ice axe whilst walking over it and I felt like an explorer about to find treasure (unfortunately, I did not).
Afterwards I felt so exhilarated as soon I got back to the hostel I decided to go on a 4 hour walk in the woods, over a gorge (a bridge in situ) and on to the base of the mountain where the glacier was situated. I felt I was going quite a pace with my appropriate attire of hiking shoes and walking trousers when a tall blonde boy wearing a long sleeved white t-shirt and inappropriate shoes stormed past me at a terrfic speed. I continued on across the gorge and noticed that due to the rain, it did seem quite high. A few minutes later I saw the afore-mentioned boy except this time his glowing white shirt was covered in mud as was the rest of him. He told me the path was blocked by the high waters and despite his best efforts (evident by the state of his clothing) he could not get across. So we turned around and started a nice conversation. He was Swedish and was an ex-Kindergarden worker who had quit his job and gone travelling to 'find himself' (sound familiar?). He was touring around NZ in car and also sleeping in it. I expressed my concerns about this as it was now dropping below zero during the night and he said it was a little cold. I then enquired how he washed etc and he said every morning he drove to a lake and had a swim. I must point out again how bloody cold it was. This thought had me aghast and I offered to sneak him into my hostel so he could have a hot shower. But the gentleman that he was, he declined. We then arrived at the vechicle and I memorized its number plate incase in a few days it was found with a frozen body inside and they needed someone to identify the body.
I then then returned to the hostel still concerned about the welfare of my new friend, but I was soon distracted by the surprise of seeing the jail boy from the Abel Tasman walk in my dorm. He was travelling on a different bus service than me, a more organise-y, touristy type affair and had 2 awful days stuck on board with (in his words) 'a bunch of total arseholes'. He had decided to come to a different hostel than the rest of the bus and stay an extra day just to avoid them. Travelling can be such a small world.
As I learned the next day. The lovely Spanish girl and I both discovered we were going on the same bus to Queenstown on the 9 hour journey and this made me ponder somewhat.
My fears were realised as I waited for the bus and who turned up, but the American. As she walked toward me I resolved to try and be nice to her. She was young, had her heart broken and clearly wasn't really enjoying travelling alone. This resolve lasted approximately 14 seconds. She opened her mouth and let loose a complaining whinging whine that I can only describe as painful at best. She complained about the weather, the hostel, the bus and we'd not even got on the damn thing yet. The main problem (apart from her incredible annoying accent adn mis-pronounciation of words) was the fact she seemed incapable of listening and having a two way conversation. She would say something and if you managed to squeeze out a brief comment or answer, she wasn't able to pick up the thread of what you had said. Instead the soliloquy would continue as if your presence was not required (how I wish it wasn't).
As we boarded the bus this monologue continued, the Spanish girl wisely ran to the back of the bus and hid. Unfortunately, the American let me board first then sat next to me. She then asked where I was staying in Queenstown. Every part of me said 'LIE!' but I could not and I told her. "oh that sounds nice, I'll go there too'. NO NO NO. It got worse. She then asked when I was going to Milford Sound (a 12 hour bus trip to pretty fiordland). "Tomorrow" I whispered. "Oh, maybe I'll do it then too!'. Oh where were the gods now!
At the next meal break, I was enjoying my soup having a pleasant conversation with the Spaniard telling her about my previous time in New Zealand. I was discussing my visits to a local prison with a psychologist when the American girl screeched "OH MY GOD! Tell me you are not a psychotherapist! OH MY GOD! If you are I will just have to leave this table right now!'. Firstly, what I should have said was yes and got rid of her. However I was so taken aback by the shear volume of this statement and I couldn't actually gage her sincerity so I told her the truth- no. 'OH MY GOD! THANK GOD! BOTH MY PARENTS ARE THERAPISTS!
And with that statement it all fell into place.
After some more screeching from her, she went to the loo and I finally snapped and let my head fall into my hands and bemoaned the thought of spending yet another bus journey with her and a hostel. The Spaniard immediately gave me lots of sympathy and told me I should just tell her straight - go away. How I wished I was an empassioned Spaniard and had the courage. But I am a self-depreciating Scot and it just isn't in me. Instead I did the mature thing. For the rest of the journey I solidly ignored her, putting on my head phones at every opportunity and keeping my head buried in a book.
Amazingly, she must have got the message as on arrival at Queenstown she didn't follow me to the hostel I was staying at. I didn't exactly run away per say, I just didn't look back. But there was still the next day on the Milford Sound bus trip to face. I actually contemplated cancelling the trip, but then I realised how silly of me that would be and if I had to I would just have to find some Spanish courage somewhere in my Celtic bones.
The next morning I was relieved and delighted on my arrival at the bus stop, that the girl was not there. Joy, joy, joy! However, this was short lived when a taxi pulled up and an aged granny got out. She immediately began to talk to no one in particular and then turned her sights on me. I should have learned my lesson. I should have stayed quiet. I should have run. But I did not, instead I answered her questions and attempted to make polite chat. And attempted is the right word. Now I know I have a reputation for being a bit incomprehensible at times, but when speaking to aged grannies whilst standing by a bus stop in a foreign country, I do attempt to slow down and speak clearly. Obviously not clearly enough. She didn't understand a word I was saying and as such I was getting some very peculailar responses to the conversation we were attempting to have. She then make a incredible racist comment that really threw me - I mean it was only 7am, it was a bit early for that sort of thing. Fortunately, the bus then arrived and we began to board. I was then faced with a choice. Sit near the racist granny and endure a day of garbled conversation or let her get on first and run to the back of the bus and hide.
I'm not proud of what I did, but I did the latter. I just could not endure another 12 hour bus journey in hell. I was temporarily racked with guilt about this decision. As I walked past her, I saw her expectant face fall as I kept moving on toward the back. Guilt, guilty, nasty girl. But as I said, temporarily, as shortly afterwards a Japanese girl tried to sit next to her (the bus was almost full) and she wouldn't let her. Racist granny. My guilt was gone.
Anyway the reason for the bus trip was go and see Milford Sound, a legendary fiord of beauty featured in such films as Lord of the Rings and more recently, the new X-men film (the bit were Hugh Jackman jumps naked into a waterfall). The problem with popular places is 1. they are popular, many other people are there and 2. hype. Hype is a terrible thing. It can make the extra-ordinary disappointing or at least expected. And I have to be honest this was the case with Milford. Beautiful without doubt. A lake with mountains arising from it, waterfalls cascading from everywhere etc etc. So as beautiful as it was I couldn't help but think back to one of my days spent in Napier on the North Island. A place not particularly renound for it's beauty, I walked down from the backpackers (the prison one if you recall) and stumbed upon a black pebble beach with sea stretching out like infinity and mountains on each sides like bookends. It was such an unexpected beauty, I sat down on the pebbles just looking out to the sea for some time, struck by the tranquility. So Milford Sound, as lovely as it was didn't quite have the same inpact as Napier in its surprising glory. And I wasn't hiding from a racist granny there either.
After my seemingly endless days of bus journeying, I spent my final day in Queenstown doing nothing in particular. Queenstown is known for being a gateway for adventure activites, but I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous plus I'd actually been to Queenstown on my previous visit to New Zealand so didn't feel as compelled so explore every knook and cranny of the place. However, I did manage to find a second hand bookshop. If that was a talent that recieved payment, I would be a millionaire.
And then the next day I left (on a day long bus journey of course) to go to Christchurch my final South Island destination. And, yes, you guessed it I wasn't alone on this journey. As I stood waiting in the freezing cold thinking (rather naively of me by this stage) that I would enjoy a quiet journey reading my book, who turns up......... No not the American fortunately, but the racist granny.
Karma is a bitch.
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
April Showers
The ferry across to Picton was uneventful. Not an unpleasent experience, but not one I would rush to do again. Fortunately, unlike my previous boat experience going towards the reef, I was not sea sick and fell asleep for the most part. I know how to have fun.
I arrived in Picton and most people don't stay here, but I decided to and I am so glad about that decision. What a lovely little town. And my hostel was fantastic. Cheap, free breakfast, open fire and to cap it off free chocolate pudding at night WITH ice cream. That may not sound that fab to you, but apart from the cake extravaganza in Wellington, I've not had many desserts recently.
Now Saturday was something called ANZAC day which essentially was the Kiwi and Australian rememberence day for the great wars and everyone gets a day of work. Or so I thought. After the complete shutting down of Auckland on Easter Friday, I assumed that a Saturday holiday in a small town would deem everything closed. As such I hadn't planned to do anything that day. However, to my surprise everything was open. This did not change my plans, I had decided to do a self-guided walk and I was going to do it (plus, hello, free!). However, I got the times slightly wrong and ended up walking for near 5 hours. Well, at least it was a nice sunny day and I'd packed a lunch.
On my return to the lovely hostel I felt very fit and could practically feel my stomach and thighs becoming toned and muscular. As such I felt I deserved 2 servings of chocolate pudding that night. The next morning I caught the bus to Nelson, the 'big smoke' around these parts aka it has more than one supermarket and met a tall chap who not only was going to Nelson, but was staying in the same hostel and doing the same Abel Tasman day walk as I was. After the relative solitude of Wellington and the polite chat of Picton, I couldn't seemed to stop talking to this poor fellow. Verbal diarrhoea flowed from me and I was unable to control or stop it. This continued the entire bus journey, supermarket visit and sausage cooking (yum) that we did together. Fortunately for him (and me, it is very tiring to talk non-stop) by the beginning of the walk the next day, I had finally calmed down some what.
Abel Tasman, for those of you who care, is the smallest national park in New Zealand and is a very popular hiking and camping destination. But as all of you know, I do not camp. So a day walk was in order. My new best friend, Tall boy, and I caught the bus very early to be taken to the ferry site and were surprised by a constant narration by the bus driver. What was surprising about it was that not only did he not stop AT ALL, also he kept making very politcial statements about the loss of green space and telling us all his wife's bad habits. I'm sure she was delighted. After 2 hours of that, escape into the wild unknown was most appreciated.
On the ferry, we met Jail boy, a young English chap who whilst in Thailand had his camera stolen, reported it to the police and then was arrested himself for 'insulting the king'. He languished in jail for 5 days until rescued by the British Embassy and sent home. I'm amazed he ever travelled again! The day was glorious. The sun beat down on us, we sweated like horses and were impressed by views and shared such stories (though non beat his jail time tale).
That evening I was exhausted after the long walk and the return bus journey in which we had the same narrating driver and had planned to go to bed. However, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that and I ended up at the pub. I was very retrained and only had 3 pints, but the people I had come with (all "Magic Bus' tour group) were all drinking like sailors despite their 7am bus trip and when I left at midnight they were still going strong. I would not like to have been their driver the next day. I'm getting very old in my old age and the I wouldn't even contemplate drinking heavily before a journey espcially not an early one. To be honest drinking heavily itself has lost much of its appeal too. I must be growing up.
The next day, the weather turned. It rained, then it rained then it poured and then it rained some more. So I read a book and organised my life (a bit, well I booked a hotel for Vegas). Fortunately I met a nice software analyst and we went out for tea then went to see a film I'm to embarrassed to admit to seeing. However, it was the first time in months I'd gone to the cinema wth anyone so it was a nice change.
Because of the rain, my plans have had to change. They have had 40 days rain in one night (or some such silly statistic) and its still raining so cave water rafting is off (it would be underwater rafting now, not so much fun). As such I have decided to splash out and do a helicopter then hike over a glacier. When it rains, spend. So keep your fingers crossed for tomorrow morning for me as I need a bit of luck to ensure the trip actually goes ahead and a bit of luck if it does as I'll be in a freakin' helicopter!
I arrived in Picton and most people don't stay here, but I decided to and I am so glad about that decision. What a lovely little town. And my hostel was fantastic. Cheap, free breakfast, open fire and to cap it off free chocolate pudding at night WITH ice cream. That may not sound that fab to you, but apart from the cake extravaganza in Wellington, I've not had many desserts recently.
Now Saturday was something called ANZAC day which essentially was the Kiwi and Australian rememberence day for the great wars and everyone gets a day of work. Or so I thought. After the complete shutting down of Auckland on Easter Friday, I assumed that a Saturday holiday in a small town would deem everything closed. As such I hadn't planned to do anything that day. However, to my surprise everything was open. This did not change my plans, I had decided to do a self-guided walk and I was going to do it (plus, hello, free!). However, I got the times slightly wrong and ended up walking for near 5 hours. Well, at least it was a nice sunny day and I'd packed a lunch.
On my return to the lovely hostel I felt very fit and could practically feel my stomach and thighs becoming toned and muscular. As such I felt I deserved 2 servings of chocolate pudding that night. The next morning I caught the bus to Nelson, the 'big smoke' around these parts aka it has more than one supermarket and met a tall chap who not only was going to Nelson, but was staying in the same hostel and doing the same Abel Tasman day walk as I was. After the relative solitude of Wellington and the polite chat of Picton, I couldn't seemed to stop talking to this poor fellow. Verbal diarrhoea flowed from me and I was unable to control or stop it. This continued the entire bus journey, supermarket visit and sausage cooking (yum) that we did together. Fortunately for him (and me, it is very tiring to talk non-stop) by the beginning of the walk the next day, I had finally calmed down some what.
Abel Tasman, for those of you who care, is the smallest national park in New Zealand and is a very popular hiking and camping destination. But as all of you know, I do not camp. So a day walk was in order. My new best friend, Tall boy, and I caught the bus very early to be taken to the ferry site and were surprised by a constant narration by the bus driver. What was surprising about it was that not only did he not stop AT ALL, also he kept making very politcial statements about the loss of green space and telling us all his wife's bad habits. I'm sure she was delighted. After 2 hours of that, escape into the wild unknown was most appreciated.
On the ferry, we met Jail boy, a young English chap who whilst in Thailand had his camera stolen, reported it to the police and then was arrested himself for 'insulting the king'. He languished in jail for 5 days until rescued by the British Embassy and sent home. I'm amazed he ever travelled again! The day was glorious. The sun beat down on us, we sweated like horses and were impressed by views and shared such stories (though non beat his jail time tale).
That evening I was exhausted after the long walk and the return bus journey in which we had the same narrating driver and had planned to go to bed. However, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that and I ended up at the pub. I was very retrained and only had 3 pints, but the people I had come with (all "Magic Bus' tour group) were all drinking like sailors despite their 7am bus trip and when I left at midnight they were still going strong. I would not like to have been their driver the next day. I'm getting very old in my old age and the I wouldn't even contemplate drinking heavily before a journey espcially not an early one. To be honest drinking heavily itself has lost much of its appeal too. I must be growing up.
The next day, the weather turned. It rained, then it rained then it poured and then it rained some more. So I read a book and organised my life (a bit, well I booked a hotel for Vegas). Fortunately I met a nice software analyst and we went out for tea then went to see a film I'm to embarrassed to admit to seeing. However, it was the first time in months I'd gone to the cinema wth anyone so it was a nice change.
Because of the rain, my plans have had to change. They have had 40 days rain in one night (or some such silly statistic) and its still raining so cave water rafting is off (it would be underwater rafting now, not so much fun). As such I have decided to splash out and do a helicopter then hike over a glacier. When it rains, spend. So keep your fingers crossed for tomorrow morning for me as I need a bit of luck to ensure the trip actually goes ahead and a bit of luck if it does as I'll be in a freakin' helicopter!
Thursday, 23 April 2009
I Walk the Line
So I left you in suspense of my imminent imprisonment. As most cliff hangers, this will be a disappointment, I'll level with you now.
I travelled from on from the lovely Taupo to Napier and for me the main attraction to going to Napier was you could stay in a disused prison. Not converted, disused. After a brisk walk, well stagger, up the hill to the gates, I was greeted by a rather forboding wooden door complete with authentic buzzer system like you hear in the movies. I was welcomed by a very enthusiastic girl who showed me round- the cells, the shower block (unchanged!), the hanging gallery (now poetically used for hanging the washing up) and I settled into my room. Alas, I wasn't staying in one of the cells, but a rather rickety out house type affair. There I met a poor lost looking fellow who immediately launched into his travel life story about he'd come for a holiday to see a friend he'd not seen in years. They realised on about day 2 of 30 that they didn't actually get on and now she was desparately trying to ditch him at every opportunity. As such she had gone out with another friend for the night and was left alone in the prison.
I felt uncharacteristically sorry for him and decided to be nice. I had planned on going to the museum that evening to the converted theatre to watch an arty film about people smuggling (cheerful stuff as always) and invited him along. He was very enthusiastic and came along only to fall asleep for most of the film. However, he said afterwards he liked what he had seen, so at least he tried. The next day he and his unfriendly friend left very early (8am!) and I never did see him again. Poor fellow.
However, his suffering aside, my day turned out ot be marvellous! It was gloriously sunny and Napier turned out to be even prettier than Taupo. There was a gloroius pebble beach I just sat on for ages, like a herione in a romantic film then I climbed a big hill and took in the view. I went to the local museum which had a fascinating exhibit on the local cemetary and an interesting documentary on the 1931 earthquake. I then returned to the hostel, thinking with the departure of the friendless boy and his friend, I would be alone. But no as I sat myself down in front of the truely massive TV, a quiet slender chap came into the room. With mush persistence, I discovered he had been living in the prsion since Decemeber and was working locally. He was from Chile. We then watched a terrible comedy together that he had rented. And then as suddenly as he came, he left without a goodbye.
The next day I did a wine tour that included a lovely lunch and general sight seeing around the area. It was another gloriously lovely day, the sun shining, birds singing kind of atomsphere. The other people on the tour were pleasent enough, but don't really warrant mentioning. As expected after the fourth and final winery I was well and truely tipsy and on my return to Napier I felt obliged to buy some candy floss and phoned my mother with great gusto and talked more nonsense than ususal. I promise to phone without the influence of alcohol soon mother.
I then went into the TV room, expecting to find my quiet Chilean but instead discovered 2 Dutchies, a kiwi and 3 Brits. I was bit overwhelmed after 3 days of relative solitiute, but being mildly drunk I started talking at an alarming rate and volume. In retrospect, they must of thought I was quite, quite mad. The good thing about travelling is, unless you make a great effort, you generally will never see people again so embarrassment can be avoided long term.
I had to rise early the next day to get the bus to Wellington and to my surprise as I trudged down the hill, I came across the quiet Chilean who was in a car and offered to take me to the bus stop which was a good half hour walk away. I accepted, he apologised about the state of the car and then we drove for 5 minutes in silence before he dropped me off and disappeared before I got to say thank-you. An odd, but I feel ultimately, pleasant fellow, that if I'd had more time, I would have worn him down and eventually, I would have made him my friend.
Anyway, so began the last few days in Wellington. I have done so little, that one day I feared I may actually cease to exist due to my inactivity. I just been walking around, eating bargain cakes from the supermarket (6 lamingtons for 3 dollars!), finding little cinemas- I actually found the best cinema in the world. They have armchairs with little tables, give you home made scones and tea with your ticket (5 dollars cheaper than normal cinemas) and there are no adverts before the feature, just trailers. Fantastic.
But, yes, essentially I been in a wee cocoon of my own making, floating around and being not very productive. Well, I have been organising some America stuff (I'm very anxious about into getting into the country so I want to have all my travel sorted out so I can prove I'm not trying to illegally emigrate), but other than that I have been a very bad tourist. I did go the museum, once. It was nice.
However, I now waffle. Today I'm getting the ferry to Picton and now a frenzy of travelling is to begin. I'm only going to stay in places for 2 nights and then move on so I can see the country and hopefully not fall into the deluge of lethargy again.
Just before I go, I must just say, thank-you Maggie for becoming a follower! I now have 7! Although, Gin and Tonic- you still remain a mystery? Who are you?!
I travelled from on from the lovely Taupo to Napier and for me the main attraction to going to Napier was you could stay in a disused prison. Not converted, disused. After a brisk walk, well stagger, up the hill to the gates, I was greeted by a rather forboding wooden door complete with authentic buzzer system like you hear in the movies. I was welcomed by a very enthusiastic girl who showed me round- the cells, the shower block (unchanged!), the hanging gallery (now poetically used for hanging the washing up) and I settled into my room. Alas, I wasn't staying in one of the cells, but a rather rickety out house type affair. There I met a poor lost looking fellow who immediately launched into his travel life story about he'd come for a holiday to see a friend he'd not seen in years. They realised on about day 2 of 30 that they didn't actually get on and now she was desparately trying to ditch him at every opportunity. As such she had gone out with another friend for the night and was left alone in the prison.
I felt uncharacteristically sorry for him and decided to be nice. I had planned on going to the museum that evening to the converted theatre to watch an arty film about people smuggling (cheerful stuff as always) and invited him along. He was very enthusiastic and came along only to fall asleep for most of the film. However, he said afterwards he liked what he had seen, so at least he tried. The next day he and his unfriendly friend left very early (8am!) and I never did see him again. Poor fellow.
However, his suffering aside, my day turned out ot be marvellous! It was gloriously sunny and Napier turned out to be even prettier than Taupo. There was a gloroius pebble beach I just sat on for ages, like a herione in a romantic film then I climbed a big hill and took in the view. I went to the local museum which had a fascinating exhibit on the local cemetary and an interesting documentary on the 1931 earthquake. I then returned to the hostel, thinking with the departure of the friendless boy and his friend, I would be alone. But no as I sat myself down in front of the truely massive TV, a quiet slender chap came into the room. With mush persistence, I discovered he had been living in the prsion since Decemeber and was working locally. He was from Chile. We then watched a terrible comedy together that he had rented. And then as suddenly as he came, he left without a goodbye.
The next day I did a wine tour that included a lovely lunch and general sight seeing around the area. It was another gloriously lovely day, the sun shining, birds singing kind of atomsphere. The other people on the tour were pleasent enough, but don't really warrant mentioning. As expected after the fourth and final winery I was well and truely tipsy and on my return to Napier I felt obliged to buy some candy floss and phoned my mother with great gusto and talked more nonsense than ususal. I promise to phone without the influence of alcohol soon mother.
I then went into the TV room, expecting to find my quiet Chilean but instead discovered 2 Dutchies, a kiwi and 3 Brits. I was bit overwhelmed after 3 days of relative solitiute, but being mildly drunk I started talking at an alarming rate and volume. In retrospect, they must of thought I was quite, quite mad. The good thing about travelling is, unless you make a great effort, you generally will never see people again so embarrassment can be avoided long term.
I had to rise early the next day to get the bus to Wellington and to my surprise as I trudged down the hill, I came across the quiet Chilean who was in a car and offered to take me to the bus stop which was a good half hour walk away. I accepted, he apologised about the state of the car and then we drove for 5 minutes in silence before he dropped me off and disappeared before I got to say thank-you. An odd, but I feel ultimately, pleasant fellow, that if I'd had more time, I would have worn him down and eventually, I would have made him my friend.
Anyway, so began the last few days in Wellington. I have done so little, that one day I feared I may actually cease to exist due to my inactivity. I just been walking around, eating bargain cakes from the supermarket (6 lamingtons for 3 dollars!), finding little cinemas- I actually found the best cinema in the world. They have armchairs with little tables, give you home made scones and tea with your ticket (5 dollars cheaper than normal cinemas) and there are no adverts before the feature, just trailers. Fantastic.
But, yes, essentially I been in a wee cocoon of my own making, floating around and being not very productive. Well, I have been organising some America stuff (I'm very anxious about into getting into the country so I want to have all my travel sorted out so I can prove I'm not trying to illegally emigrate), but other than that I have been a very bad tourist. I did go the museum, once. It was nice.
However, I now waffle. Today I'm getting the ferry to Picton and now a frenzy of travelling is to begin. I'm only going to stay in places for 2 nights and then move on so I can see the country and hopefully not fall into the deluge of lethargy again.
Just before I go, I must just say, thank-you Maggie for becoming a follower! I now have 7! Although, Gin and Tonic- you still remain a mystery? Who are you?!
Thursday, 16 April 2009
They call me Morag Christie!
Okay, so the Maori concert in Rotorua is where I left you dangling in suspense.
It almost left me that way when I arrived and they didn't seem to have my booking. However, they were very kind and fitted me in anyway. But then when I got on the bus they told to get on, I was told it was the wrong bus and my name wasn't on that bus's list. but they were very kind and took me to the concert anyway. I saw lots of Maori dancing around, ate lots of Maori food and generally had a jolly time. As is the small world of the backpacker I ended up sitting next to two girls I'd shared a hostel room with in Auckland. On my return to the buses, I found the correct bus and was promptly asked "are you Marie from Ireland?"
Then all the earlier confusion became clear. Clearly when the receptionist from my hostel phoned to book me she made a slight mistake and of course when I arrived they didn't have a booking for Morag from Scotland.... And so continues the seemly never ending confusion around my name. I am sure I have mentioned the Christie Morag's I've been getting, oh say. constantly. The constant 'oh Christie's your SURNAME' and the occasional 'oh I thought that was a man's name'. Who would have thought when my parents were looking down at my tiny frame just after my birth deciding to name me a slightly old fashioned, but not unusual name, that 25 years later it would dog my entire traveling career.
Anyway, that was the end of Rotorua and I got the bus the next day to Taupo. I don't think I mentioned that when I first arrived in Rotorua I didn't like it for no real reason, well the opposite was true about Taupo a mere hour away by road. A delightful little town in which I instantly found a second hand bookshop which I always take as a good sign. It also helped that my hostel compared the slightly odourous one before was marvellous and clean! I arranged then to do the Tongariro Alpine crossing, a 20km hike between two mountains, one of them being Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings. You can guess now why I was so keen to do it.
I was very fortunate as from the morning of the hike it was clear it was going to be a nice day. A cloudless sky and a warm sun. The two mountains standing proud almost side to side, parting slightly to let us pass to gaze up at the wonderous volanic rock that they were created from.
Yes, it was quite a romantic setting and I got quite carried away. I took about 80 pictures of Mount Doom. I also met a nice Australian lady police detective and we had a great chat about the recent bikie (not biker) war occuring in Sydney presently involving an airport murder.
After 7 hours of hiking I finally arrived at the other end feelign very self satisfied and seemed some how poetic that on my arrival back at the hostel that a couple of people were in the TV room watching The Fellowship of the Ring. I had a wee smile to myself. That evening I had a shower and felt incredibly healthy and fit.
I had already decided not to spent too long in any small town so I would time to see everything on my bus ticket (I'm not sure how long that enthusiasm will last) and that day I was due to go to Napier. However, I had a few hours to kill before my bus left so I wandered around Taupo. I walked along the lake and throught the parks. I sat on a bench and ate lunch. I watched a bird sitting on a tree trunk looking very happy with itself some men planting trees. It was all very picturesque, I didn't want to leave. Now imagine my delught when I arrived in Napier to find it was a small town just as fantastic, except I was later to discover it had 2 second hand bookshops!
Napier is famous for being struck in 1931 by a very nasty earthquake that leveled the town and as such it was rebuilt, but as the fashion of the time was art deco, all the buildings are art deco and any new builds have been been made in that style too. It's a very beautiful cute wee town and as all the buildings are in the same style it feels like it has been lost in time somehow, untouched by modern archiecture. However, there is one place that remained standing after the quake. The decomissioned prison that has been turned into a museum/backpackers. So of course, that is where I decided to stay.
Unfortunately, my time on this computer is almost up and I've ran out of dollar coins. This means I must leave you now hanging in suspense, just make sure you tune in next week for the completion of this fantastic installment of 'Marie and the Napier Prison Blues'!
It almost left me that way when I arrived and they didn't seem to have my booking. However, they were very kind and fitted me in anyway. But then when I got on the bus they told to get on, I was told it was the wrong bus and my name wasn't on that bus's list. but they were very kind and took me to the concert anyway. I saw lots of Maori dancing around, ate lots of Maori food and generally had a jolly time. As is the small world of the backpacker I ended up sitting next to two girls I'd shared a hostel room with in Auckland. On my return to the buses, I found the correct bus and was promptly asked "are you Marie from Ireland?"
Then all the earlier confusion became clear. Clearly when the receptionist from my hostel phoned to book me she made a slight mistake and of course when I arrived they didn't have a booking for Morag from Scotland.... And so continues the seemly never ending confusion around my name. I am sure I have mentioned the Christie Morag's I've been getting, oh say. constantly. The constant 'oh Christie's your SURNAME' and the occasional 'oh I thought that was a man's name'. Who would have thought when my parents were looking down at my tiny frame just after my birth deciding to name me a slightly old fashioned, but not unusual name, that 25 years later it would dog my entire traveling career.
Anyway, that was the end of Rotorua and I got the bus the next day to Taupo. I don't think I mentioned that when I first arrived in Rotorua I didn't like it for no real reason, well the opposite was true about Taupo a mere hour away by road. A delightful little town in which I instantly found a second hand bookshop which I always take as a good sign. It also helped that my hostel compared the slightly odourous one before was marvellous and clean! I arranged then to do the Tongariro Alpine crossing, a 20km hike between two mountains, one of them being Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings. You can guess now why I was so keen to do it.
I was very fortunate as from the morning of the hike it was clear it was going to be a nice day. A cloudless sky and a warm sun. The two mountains standing proud almost side to side, parting slightly to let us pass to gaze up at the wonderous volanic rock that they were created from.
Yes, it was quite a romantic setting and I got quite carried away. I took about 80 pictures of Mount Doom. I also met a nice Australian lady police detective and we had a great chat about the recent bikie (not biker) war occuring in Sydney presently involving an airport murder.
After 7 hours of hiking I finally arrived at the other end feelign very self satisfied and seemed some how poetic that on my arrival back at the hostel that a couple of people were in the TV room watching The Fellowship of the Ring. I had a wee smile to myself. That evening I had a shower and felt incredibly healthy and fit.
I had already decided not to spent too long in any small town so I would time to see everything on my bus ticket (I'm not sure how long that enthusiasm will last) and that day I was due to go to Napier. However, I had a few hours to kill before my bus left so I wandered around Taupo. I walked along the lake and throught the parks. I sat on a bench and ate lunch. I watched a bird sitting on a tree trunk looking very happy with itself some men planting trees. It was all very picturesque, I didn't want to leave. Now imagine my delught when I arrived in Napier to find it was a small town just as fantastic, except I was later to discover it had 2 second hand bookshops!
Napier is famous for being struck in 1931 by a very nasty earthquake that leveled the town and as such it was rebuilt, but as the fashion of the time was art deco, all the buildings are art deco and any new builds have been been made in that style too. It's a very beautiful cute wee town and as all the buildings are in the same style it feels like it has been lost in time somehow, untouched by modern archiecture. However, there is one place that remained standing after the quake. The decomissioned prison that has been turned into a museum/backpackers. So of course, that is where I decided to stay.
Unfortunately, my time on this computer is almost up and I've ran out of dollar coins. This means I must leave you now hanging in suspense, just make sure you tune in next week for the completion of this fantastic installment of 'Marie and the Napier Prison Blues'!
Saturday, 11 April 2009
Smooth Criminal
I am now in New Zealand.
But first, let's return to last night in Oz...
Zac the chef made me a fabulous final meal involving hand made gnocci and then oxtail spagetti. This was accompanied by a fine red wine and good banter. It was such good fun, it left me feeling very melancholy and reluctant to leave Australia altogether. The next morning Maggie and Duncan had travel plans of their own and left before me. So I made my way to the airport on my todd ( I must point out I not once ever in the history of this trip been waved off, most distressing) and on the flight over to Auckland I was quite sullen and withdrawn. I sitting inbetween two people and usually I make polite chat, but I was feeling so blue they never even got a smile. I was thinking to myself that I just couldn't be bothered with NZ, I wished if I could skip it all together and go straight to America.
So not the best of moods. I arrived very late and went straight to bed. However the next morning I awoke with a new vigour and zest for life! The world was joyess! Auckland was, well to be honest, not very pretty, but it was new and exciting and fabulous! I think most of this enthusiaism was due to the fact that right round the corner form my hostel was the Civic theatre and it was showing 'A Winter's Tale' by Sam Mendes starring Ethan Hawke. I wandered in and said 'cheap ticket?' They said 'yes' and my good mood was born. Shakespheare is my cure all. Then I discovered a fantastic bus ticket that would take me all around NZ (well the main places) for a very reasonable price and included some day trips (or so I thought, more on that later).
So this bascially meant NZ was planned. In the bag. Done. And despite not being very organised of late, I do like to be organised. The next couple of days in Auckland were the usual ones that come with entering a new city for me. Walking around parks, getting lost, feeling cold and needing to buy new trousers (hmm maybe not that one), climbing a big hill (Mount Eden- in factadormant volcano), discovering the art gallery was under refurbishment (boo) and going to see a Shakepheare play (very good, odd blend of tragedy and comedy). But all in all I enjoyed my first few days there.
Then I decided to go on the first leg of my bus trip. What I thought was included in my journey was a trip to the Waitomo Caves with Glow-worm boat trip then onward to Rotoroua. I got on the bus early (8am!!!) and got chatting to a mother-daughter combo from the borders. The mother was very over bearing and was one of those women who could have been anything from 50 to 90, but acted like she was 120 and a cripple. Everything was such a tremendous effort (apart from eating clearly as her gut was certainly 'healthy') and she told me all her woes.
On arrival at the caves, I followed the rest of my tour group to the entrance where a woman was checking everyone's tickets. Tickets? I had no ticket. It was done over the phone. Hmmm. It then dawned on my that my bus journy did not include the cave visit. Oops, my bad. I was about to turn around and go back thinking 'Darn it', but prehaps not that polite when the ticket lady screeched "Great Sights Bus trip!" and let my entire bus through and I was swept up in it too. So basically I stole a cave trip. 4 days in NZ and already a thief. I've obviously spent too much time in Australia, clearly their ill gotten ways have infected my good, pure soul.
So I thoroughly enjoyed my glow worm spotting (very pretty tiny lights made up of insect behinds, ahh) and then was taken on to Rotoura. I had trouble booking a hostel and ended up in the 'Blarney Stone'. An Irish themed hostel in New Zealand. Hmm. Mild odour in the dorm room, but a very nice staff so one shouldn't complain (but one does).
Today I went to a polynesian spa and spent about 2 hours enveloped in thermal sulphur water, a bit smelly, but very relaxing. Tonight I'm off to a Maori feast or some such thing. I didn't read the brochure, just asked the hostel girl to book me a Maori evening as that's what you do here in this wee town. So hopefully that will nice and relaxing too, although some how I doubt it- I mean have you seen the All Blacks do the Haka?
But first, let's return to last night in Oz...
Zac the chef made me a fabulous final meal involving hand made gnocci and then oxtail spagetti. This was accompanied by a fine red wine and good banter. It was such good fun, it left me feeling very melancholy and reluctant to leave Australia altogether. The next morning Maggie and Duncan had travel plans of their own and left before me. So I made my way to the airport on my todd ( I must point out I not once ever in the history of this trip been waved off, most distressing) and on the flight over to Auckland I was quite sullen and withdrawn. I sitting inbetween two people and usually I make polite chat, but I was feeling so blue they never even got a smile. I was thinking to myself that I just couldn't be bothered with NZ, I wished if I could skip it all together and go straight to America.
So not the best of moods. I arrived very late and went straight to bed. However the next morning I awoke with a new vigour and zest for life! The world was joyess! Auckland was, well to be honest, not very pretty, but it was new and exciting and fabulous! I think most of this enthusiaism was due to the fact that right round the corner form my hostel was the Civic theatre and it was showing 'A Winter's Tale' by Sam Mendes starring Ethan Hawke. I wandered in and said 'cheap ticket?' They said 'yes' and my good mood was born. Shakespheare is my cure all. Then I discovered a fantastic bus ticket that would take me all around NZ (well the main places) for a very reasonable price and included some day trips (or so I thought, more on that later).
So this bascially meant NZ was planned. In the bag. Done. And despite not being very organised of late, I do like to be organised. The next couple of days in Auckland were the usual ones that come with entering a new city for me. Walking around parks, getting lost, feeling cold and needing to buy new trousers (hmm maybe not that one), climbing a big hill (Mount Eden- in factadormant volcano), discovering the art gallery was under refurbishment (boo) and going to see a Shakepheare play (very good, odd blend of tragedy and comedy). But all in all I enjoyed my first few days there.
Then I decided to go on the first leg of my bus trip. What I thought was included in my journey was a trip to the Waitomo Caves with Glow-worm boat trip then onward to Rotoroua. I got on the bus early (8am!!!) and got chatting to a mother-daughter combo from the borders. The mother was very over bearing and was one of those women who could have been anything from 50 to 90, but acted like she was 120 and a cripple. Everything was such a tremendous effort (apart from eating clearly as her gut was certainly 'healthy') and she told me all her woes.
On arrival at the caves, I followed the rest of my tour group to the entrance where a woman was checking everyone's tickets. Tickets? I had no ticket. It was done over the phone. Hmmm. It then dawned on my that my bus journy did not include the cave visit. Oops, my bad. I was about to turn around and go back thinking 'Darn it', but prehaps not that polite when the ticket lady screeched "Great Sights Bus trip!" and let my entire bus through and I was swept up in it too. So basically I stole a cave trip. 4 days in NZ and already a thief. I've obviously spent too much time in Australia, clearly their ill gotten ways have infected my good, pure soul.
So I thoroughly enjoyed my glow worm spotting (very pretty tiny lights made up of insect behinds, ahh) and then was taken on to Rotoura. I had trouble booking a hostel and ended up in the 'Blarney Stone'. An Irish themed hostel in New Zealand. Hmm. Mild odour in the dorm room, but a very nice staff so one shouldn't complain (but one does).
Today I went to a polynesian spa and spent about 2 hours enveloped in thermal sulphur water, a bit smelly, but very relaxing. Tonight I'm off to a Maori feast or some such thing. I didn't read the brochure, just asked the hostel girl to book me a Maori evening as that's what you do here in this wee town. So hopefully that will nice and relaxing too, although some how I doubt it- I mean have you seen the All Blacks do the Haka?
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Goodbye to Oz
Ah, yes the title is true. Tomorrow I leave Oz to continue my journey to New Zealand. So just how have I spent my last week? Well, settle in and I'll begin.
I think I left off about to go to Fraser Island. Fraser is famous for being entirely made from sand and in fact it's original name was indeed the Big Sandy Island. Imaginative. To get to this mecca of sand, I first had to travel to Rainbow Beach which sounds delightful, but is in fact a small street with an over priced supermarket. Unfortunately, I had made an error with my bus booking and the 12 hour journey overnight on a uncomfortable bus turned into 18 hours. As you can imagine I was not pleased with myself for this error and chastised myself appropriately. On arrival in Rainbow, I was quite exhausted as during my long bus journey not much rest was had, hindered by the bus driver that kept waking the bus up to tell us it was time for a meal break. At 4 am?! Really, seriously, come on.
Fortunately, my afternoon nap followed by an early night did not mean I missed anything due to the small and rather unexciting nature of Rainbow and I arose the next day with a new enthusiasm for exploring and adventure. Now, most people when adventuring on Fraser, do a self drive trip wherein you get out together with ten other tourists and drive around and camp. Yes, camp. On an island entirely made of sand, recently a victim of a cyclone. Not my cup of tea. I like a toilet and a bed and a shower and protection fron evil beasties. So I did a guided tour with about 15 other people and a guide called Petre (NOT Peter). My group was a pleasant crowd and to great delight the average age was about 24 unlike the usual 14 that I had encountered on the rest of my trip down the North East coast. We spent 2 days and 2 nights exploring lakes, sand dunes, Scottish ship wrecks (really its called the Maheno, you can google it) and generally having a jolly time. Unfortunately, on the last night one of the girls in my dorm developed a gastroenteritis. Filled with fear, I refused to use the same facilities and became over whelmed with concern that I would be stricken with this on the bus journey to Brisbane the next day. This was not helped by on the parting of the group, the same girl methodically hugged and kissed (yes kissed!! Health and safety people!) everyone, one by one. I made a swift exit across the road, waving goodbye, safe from the transmission of vomit inducing mircorobes.
That evening was spent back in the very small Rainbow Beach so not much excitment was had although I did educate a German on the the language and culture of Gaelic. The next day I travelled back to Brisbane to the hotel of Maggie and Duncan and found myself joined by another guest, Zac the chef, who is trying very hard to get a new visa, but not managing very well. The last few days have as been the usual joyful, fun filled, civilised dinner party days that seem to be customary in the hotel of Maggie and Duncan. I have eaten much fine food, drank some fine wines and even made a salad and baked cakes!!! Morag the chef should now be my name. I also managed to catch up with Amanda, the lovely Tasmania trip travel agent and Luke, the delightful Berlin trip town planner and by lovely coincidence actually ended up in the in a night club dancing ridiculously with both of them.
So now my last day in Oz is upon me. I'm sitting typing this whilst Zac and Duncan are doing the crossword and newspaper quiz from yesterday's paper in a very civilised manner. Later I will post a large package home to my mother of excess belongings that have somehow appeared and will no longer fit in my rucksack. Then tomorrow, I will put my bag on my back and again travel to the airport to start a new journey.
And of course as seems to be the way with me these days, I haven't organised a damn thing!
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