Jac’s Journey

Because of its odd shape, North Island looks deceptively small on the map. Driving from one end to the other, I realised this deception first hand.

Heading north from Rotorua, I couldn’t resist lunch in Hamilton; from Hamilton, Scotland to Hamilton, New Zealand; I couldn’t pass it by. A large, commercial city, it took me by surprise. It dwarfs another one I know…

With the pedal to the metal, I came across my first proper motorway as I approached Auckland; the City of Sails, a huge place, home to over a million people, a quarter of the population of New Zealand. But I kept going. I would be back this way again. The motorway petered out as the landscape reverted to rural loveliness, catching me by surprise. For the first time since South Island, I found myself stopping the car to gape at the view and snap some pictures. I realised with a degree of annoyance that Northland is spectacular, and that I’d only left myself four days to enjoy it, three of which I wanted to spend diving. The ‘Next Holiday In New Zealand List’ got a few more scribbles on the bottom.

Arriving into Leigh, a tiny coastal village beside Goat Island marine reserve, I found a treasure of a place to stay and bedded down for the night. A delicious meal, comfy bed and dive from Goat Island beach next morning was a joy. A couple of phone calls later, I discovered bad weather was forecast and all diving was cancelled next day, so I wouldn’t get to dive the Rainbow Warrior wreck as well as Poor Knights. I headed for Poor Knights and relaxed while waiting out the weather.

The diving at Goat Island and Poor Knights Islands was really special. The weather was chilly – the air temp was about 10 degrees and the water temp was about 12. My wetsuit was blessedly thick, although this does make it a bit of a performance to get in and out of – especially when you’re shivering.

Poor Knights in particular was fantastic. The second dive of the day was at a site called Blue Mao Mao Arch, and is the dive site that Jacques Cousteau listed as no 7 on his top ten dive sites around the world. Worth a little shivering…?

I swam into the arch and was immediately surrounded by wall-to-wall blue mao mao. They’re beautiful fish; a silvery-blue colour with a rounded mouth giving them a very pretty face. I swam through the middle of them, they parted around me and closed up again behind me. The arch had a hole in the side and sunlight came streaming through, lighting up the reflective blue mao mao, the brightly coloured sponges and splodges of lichen on the rocks. Hanging in the water looking back was a classic Cousteau photo, with the arch framing a picture-perfect view of a diver or two silhouetted against the shoaling fish, the streaming light bouncing off coloured rocks and the crystal clear waters heading off into the blue.

It was exactly what I’d been hoping for, and departed Poor Knights wishing I could stay longer, with a promise to return one day.

But no diving 24 hours before flying, so it was back to Auckland for a day of chores and planning my next destination.

It’s only a few weeks ‘til I get home. New Zealand has been incredible. I’ve packed a massive amount into the six weeks I’ve been here and wish I could stay longer. I’m a little tired from all the dashing about and activities I’ve been getting up to, so I’ve decided Fiji will be about relaxing rather than island hopping, finding a nice spot to settle for a week rather than getting ferries every couple of days.

Mmm. Bliss.

Northland

Auckland

Also, here are my Rotorua photos

Rotorua

I knew it was time to leave South Island, but still couldn’t fully accept it. Ace Rentals were expecting me to turn up with my car at some point, but I considered a quick call to extend by a day or two.

‘I could just take a quick swing by Marlborough wine country. They make really nice wine there. Or maybe walk the Queen Charlotte track?’

‘Not on your nelly’, replied my legs.

I did as I was told and bid a sad farewell to my trusty hire car at Picton and caught the ferry across to Wellington. I’m told this is a beautiful crossing, but it was dark, so I didn’t get to see anything. Well, apart from witnessing a ferry full of Kiwis watching the All Blacks play the Wallabies at Rugby, and win.

Faithful South Island Hire Car

Arriving into Wellington, I pitched up at the YHA and ended up joining a group of girls down on a wild weekend from their home near Hastings. Great fun.

Wellington has a strong arts scene sitting alongside the politicians and bureaucrats. A good arts scene needs good cafes and great nightlife and Wellington has plenty of both; lots of innovative and unique little places; a real delight to explore around funky Cuba Mall and Courtenay Place.

I took in the top attractions of a trip to Kelburn on the red cable car, with its great views across the harbour, strolled around the city and visited Te Papa, the flagship New Zealand museum.

But my feet were itchy and I quickly collected my new hire car and headed north.

Wellington

I was looking forward to Taupo, a town on the banks of the biggest lake in the southern hemisphere, and the jumping off point for the Tongariro Crossing, an 8-hour alpine trek dubbed New Zealand’s finest day walk. But it’s winter, and mountains don’t really care that I’m waiting for a nice day to get up there, so they do their usual; draw cloaks of clouds around themselves, invite the winds from the four corners, pile their snow and ice deep, and the guided walk, complete with crampons and ice axe, was cancelled due to bad weather every day I was in Taupo.

While waiting around to do the Tongariro Crossing I explored Taupo and surrounds, and my favourite thing by far was Orakei Korako. This has been described as the best thermal area left in New Zealand and it was a delight. I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the park, steam pouring from holes in the earth and from pools of bubbling and boiling water and mud, gazing at rainbow-coloured silica terraces, stopping to watch geysers spew forth, climbing down to the mirror cave, where wishes come true, and up to several lookout points.

After my final disappointing call to the Tongariro Crossing people, I decided I could wait no longer and added this trek to my ‘Next Holiday In New Zealand List’. Yes, I have one, and it’s quite long…

Taupo

Orakei Korako

Huka Falls and Craters of the Moon

Rotorua was next on the list. Rotorua is a city nestled in the crater of an extinct volcano. Standing on the viewing platform of the museum, I could see the rim of the crater, resembling hills surrounding the city. Sulphur lingers over the town like a stubborn fart. And it really does smell like everyone in town has been overdoing the beans. I can think of a few folk who would blend in well in Rotorua…

Geological forces usually resident deep beneath do their thing on the earth’s surface around Rotorua; spouting and gurgling heat, steam and gas. It’s been a tourist destination for many years, wealthy Victorian tourists being drawn by the curative properties of the thermal springs and the magnificence of the pink and white terraces. Sadly, the pink and white terraces are no more. They were destroyed during the eruption of Mount Taranaki in the 1880s. The pictures of these terraces look spectacular. If they had still been there, you would have had a gushing blog to read…

I indulged in a massage or two, took a dip in the hot mineral pools, visited museums, thermal villages and went along to a Maori concert, which was excellent. Yes, it was very touristy and hordes of people were there, but it was hugely enjoyable and I learned a lot more about the Maori and their interesting, poetic culture.

Unusually, I’ve written about three places in one blog; over a week’s worth of travelling. It just feels like the right thing to do. Wellington, Taupo and Rotorua are nice places, but they didn’t really grab me. I didn’t feel their magic. It didn’t help that I was driving a bucket of a rental car between Wellington and Rotorua (when I finally called time and asked for a swap) and managed to put my back out in the process.

So with a sore back, cancelled walks and places that were nice but not joyful, South Island was seriously kicking North Island’s butt.

Until I arrived in Northland…

Rotorua

My blogs about South Island have been dripping with superlatives. I can’t help it. Shortly after arriving into New Zealand, I read some tourist literature that said New Zealand was sometimes called the last place on earth, because it was so remote, but that Kiwis preferred to think it was nature saving her best for last.

On South Island, that just might be true. The magnificence of the mountains, rivers, glaciers, coastline, high passes and wildlife is beyond anything I’ve experienced. There is so much diverse natural beauty in a small space.

As I arrived at the northern end of South Island, I could feel the superlatives melting away. The scenery dropped into the common or garden variety of beautiful. Words like lovely and pretty became more appropriate than magnificent or awe-inspiring, which don’t even fully describe some of the places I visited on the south of South Island.

It was here I would do my longer trek. Ideally, I would have tackled the Milford or Routeburn tracks, but with snow-laden alpine crossings on all the major southern treks, I had to pass because I’m not an alpine climber. I don’t have the experience or skills to survive overnight in wintry snow and ice, in a hut that’s officially closed and has no heating. Brrr.

So, the Abel Tasman track it was.

It felt a little like second best. But nonetheless, I was looking forward to a beautiful trek; a relatively flat 50k along the coast of the Abel Tasman National Park, with no snow survival skills required. The weather forecast was for a little rain, but nothing dramatic.

Day one was lovely. After a leisurely breakfast I drove from Nelson to Marahau and started my walk after lunch. On the way to Anchorage, I wandered past curving bays of golden sand, through lovely forest, alone with my thoughts, the call of birds and the splash of waves, plodding steadily with 15 kilos on my back, most of it food and water.

The Department of Conservation huts are pleasant. Bunk rooms are just that; mattresses side by side on wooden boards. Evenings are spent in candlelit conversation with fellow trekkers, while you make your meal on a camping stove and wonder who’s on the mattress beside yours.

The second morning dawned. This was going to be my long day; 7 hours trekking to Awaroa hut. It was forecast to be the wettest day. But nothing dramatic, remember?

The rain started as I set out from Anchorage. And. Did. Not. Stop.

The raindrops were big, fat, wet, globs of water. They dripped off the end of my nose, they ran down the back of my neck, which was clever, because I had my hood up. To take my mind off how wet I was I set about coming up with the lots of different ways to describe the rain.

In the end I decided it was whingeing rain. It was like being locked in a room with someone who was whingeing, loudly, incessantly, and you had no way to stop them. No matter how firmly you stick your fingers in your ears and la-la-la to drown them out, their whingeing creeps into your soul.

I was just beyond half-way, 4 hours into a 7 hour walk, and I was wetter than I’d ever been in my life. Never-ending, whingeing, big, fat, globs of rain had gotten everywhere. My backpack was waterlogged and felt 4 kilos heavier than when I’d set out. Rain had run down the inside of my gaiters and was swishing about in my boots, creating a foot spa effect with each step, which was more pleasant than you might imagine. Water dripped from everywhere, had seeped in everywhere, nowhere was sacred –not even inside my waterproof pack liner.

Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me any further. I’d arrived at Bark Bay hut and although my booking was for Awaroa, I was prepared to sleep on the floor if all the mattresses were taken. I prayed they wouldn’t be; I mean, it’s winter, just how many nutters walk the Abel Tasman track on a day of incessant, whingeing rain?

I stripped off wet layers, amazed at the volume of water I wrung from my clothes. I blessed my investment in quick-drying thermals and stuffed my boots with loo roll to try and absorb some of the mobile foot spa.

There were a dozen of us in Bark Bay hut that night. We couldn’t get near the fire for the wet clothes hanging around it but it was a fun evening, including a surprise reunion with someone who’d been on my Great Barrier Reef dive trip.

Another new friend declared, ‘I don’t like tramping!’ It was her first multi-day trek and she was – I’m amazed it was possible – even wetter than me. Wrapped in her sleeping bag as all her clothes were dripping in front of the fire, she announced her intention to get the water taxi outta there next morning.

She thought I was a madwoman as I set off to walk. She’s probably right…

Day three was lovely. It wasn’t possible to get further than Awaroa hut because of the tidal crossings, so it was another short day, just 4 hours, and I took my time. Because I could look up without getting whingeing rain down the back of my neck, I was able to appreciate the curving golden bays again. I chuckled as I thought of my view-appreciation-techniques from the day before:

Stops. Stares. Mutters. Another beach. Grunts. Starts walking again, cos you get more wet when you’re standing still.

Day three brought another reward. People had been telling me about Awaroa Lodge, a posh resort half an hour’s walk from the DOC hut, and their lovely coffees. As I got closer, I was imagining a frothy cappuccino with chocolate on top, perhaps with biscotti on the side, licking my lips in anticipation.

Arriving there, tired and happy, I realised how ridiculous it would be to buy coffee. I was carrying coffee in my backpack. Awaroa Lodge sells beer! And I had the best beer I’ve tasted in a very long time.

So my 50k walk was shortened to 37k, as people were expecting me back in Nelson next day and I didn’t want to be reported missing. I couldn’t resist another night at Rob and Lesley’s lovely motel, and sat chatting with them over a cuppa, describing the delights and trials of the Abel Tasman Great Walk. With their warm welcome, care and hospitality, and later, restorative red wine and pizza, I was ready to face the fact that it was time.

Time to leave South Island.

Abel Tasman Walk

Fox Glacier

Lake Matheson

Franz Josef Glacier

Okarito Lagoon and Buller Gorge

I knew I’d chosen the right place to stay in Fox Glacier town when I heard Pink Floyd playing in reception; a continuation of my journey through the masterpieces of nature, music and human emotion. The sun was shining, my energy was high and I dumped my bags and set off to Fox Glacier.

I reached its terminal face after some energetic stomping along the track. I watched the late afternoon sun play on the colours, textures and lines of the ancient ice flow. As sunset reds began to dance on the glacier, I bade farewell to my new glacier companions and raced to Lake Matheson to catch the final moments of sunset on the face of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman; the perfect end to a day already brimming over with masterpieces.

Next morning brought yet more blue skies and I walked around Lake Matheson twice. Not intentionally; my camera batteries died half way round and I went back to the car for my spares, then walked around again. I’m glad I did or there’s a certain photo I wouldn’t have got. You’ll know the one I mean when you see it…

Disappointingly, I couldn’t find the mint factory. No one seemed to know where it was…?

Next stop was Franz Josef Glacier town. I was being spoiled; two glaciers in as many days. Another trek up to the terminal face to stop and gaze at its magnificence, followed by a few other tracks to different viewpoints. I had originally planned to go on a guided trek on the ice the following day, but as I watched one group come off the glacier, looked at their faces, and at the guides, I didn’t see the joy I’d felt from my independent meanderings and decided to head further north instead.

Travelling around South Island, I’ve developed a rhythm of driving for a while, stopping, trekking for a while, driving again, trekking again and it’s a wonderful rhythm; it really suits me. So that’s how I got myself north, with another walk around Okarito Lagoon, an overnight stop in Hokitika, a wander around the town in the morning, more driving, another trek at the Buller Gorge and then the final slog to Nelson.

The rest of New Zealand has been battered by storms. There have been power cuts on the east of North Island. Tragically, fisherman died in the storms that lashed the ocean east of Gisborne. On the west coast of South Island, the sun shone and I was in ignorance of the wild, wintry weather beating up North Island Kiwis, as I revelled in the summer-like light and blue skies.

The west coast of South Island is a bit like that. It’s a narrow stretch of land, a brief flat bit between the still-growing Southern Alps and the Tasman Sea. Within only a few miles, you move from coastline to rainforest to alpine territory. The people that live here are hardy, enterprising people. Highly independent with resilient spirits, they live in a harsh climate and carve out a living as best they can. The rest of New Zealand seems far away. Back in the 60s, New Zealand had licensing laws that closed pubs at 6pm. Yes, that’s 6 o’clock in the evening. But on the west coast, you’d find the local bobby in the pub at 10pm chatting with his friends. Wellington laws are very far away from this wild, untamed place.

Sadness passed over me on the final part of my drive towards Nelson. I had finally left the Southern Alps behind, a spectacular snow-capped mountain range that has been in view for most of my time on South Island, as I’ve skirted around the foothills.

New territory lies ahead.

New landscapes and new adventures.

More New Zealand…

Did I say that walking up a mountain cured me of my going-home-anxiety? Don’t believe a word of it.

Well, to be fair, it did for a while, but then, after the mud had fallen off my hiking boots (some lazy mare didn’t clean and wax them…) it came back in a slightly different form, washing over me in my third, and hopefully final, spell of homesickness.

The first spell was over Christmas and New Year in the Philippines. The second was in Chiang Mai in February. Now here we are in New Zealand, only five weeks ‘til I get home. And I’m homesick? In a few weeks’ time I’ll be climbing the walls desperate to get travelling again.

It went like this…

I left Te Anau and headed to Queenstown and Wanaka. These places are winter sports centres in New Zealand, making them quite different in that they’re filled with tourists. I’ve blissfully had much of New Zealand to myself and fellow adventurous nutters during the frigid month of July. Perhaps the volume of tourists wouldn’t have bothered me so much if I’d stuck to my original plan to learn to snowboard and go skydiving, but with time running out in New Zealand, I’ve decided to spend it trekking and scuba diving, two things I really adore doing.

School holidays are kicking around and several varieties of ‘Maw, Paw and the weans’ have been spotted. I was prepared for this and, by a country mile, Queenstown is the worst, so my plan to stop for lunch, take some photos and get a shifty on was a very good one.

Arriving into Wanaka, fewer ‘Maw, Paw and weans’ were to be seen, but what I hadn’t counted on were ‘asshole long termers’.

A little about ‘long termers’; these people are just like me. They’re travelling. Except they’ve stopped somewhere for a while to do some work. Rather than get their finger out and sort a room or a flat, they’ve decided to stay in a hostel for a while. This is the same choice I made when I was in Phnom Penh, but read on for further distinctions…

To be an ‘asshole long termer’, you need to be staying somewhere for a while and think that this makes you superior to those who are passing through for only a few days. You need to be able to toss your silky locks and give patronising advice with a patronising smile, because of course, you know everything about the place, having been there for six whole weeks. But most of all, you need to treat the hostel like you own it. You need to be obnoxious and rude to people who are, heavens above, in your favourite seat. You need to talk at the top of your voice, taking over all other conversations in the room. You need to believe that your decision to stop getting on the bus for a while makes you special.

As you may have already guessed, asshole long termers and I don’t get on.

Normally, I see them for the ridiculous creatures that they are, deriving their self-esteem from the length of time they’ve stayed somewhere. However, having had a bout of going-home-anxiety, followed by homesickness, not to mention the guilt I was carrying for not having cleaned my hiking boots, they caught me during a weak moment.

Mix in some awful weather that foiled my plans to trek; low clouds, biting wind, incessant rain, dull grey and brown landscape, not a mountain to be seen; I was not a happy chappy.

Thank heavens for Cinema Paradiso. A delight of a cinema, with sofas laid out in rows, beer, homemade cookies and a half time interval (very handy for the beer drinkers). I saw ‘In The Valley of Elah’, a great movie, and perfect for my dark Wanaka mood.

When I was 19, I started seeing a boy from Coatbridge. My mum didn’t like him (as ever, she was right) and she told me the best thing to come out of Coatbridge was the A89.

Well, the best thing about Queenstown and Wanaka was the road to the West Coast.

Still smarting from the Wanaka asshole long termers, but smarting more from my irritation that they’d gotten to me, I took my homesick behind to the West Coast. Desperate for a chat with my sister, a cuddle from my niece, a bottle of wine with friends, I turned the music up and took my emotional rollercoaster through the New Zealand west coast rollercoaster.

What a landscape; lakes, mountains, valleys, clouds, rain, blue skies, then that coastline. It was nature’s masterpiece presented to a hungry soul. Watching nature’s masterpiece unfold required some musical masterpieces, and I will forever remember that journey as the Pink Floyd journey, a couple of albums back to back then an hour of Comfortably Numb on repeat (is it humanly possible to listen to that song only once?).

By the time I reached Fox Glacier town, the home of independent-spirited west coasters, I’d got my sense of proportion back. Wan(a)ka long termers were back in the ridiculous box where they belonged, my homesickness was under control, my (still dirty) hiking boots were on and I was standing 50 metres from the terminal face of Fox Glacier.

To quote Pink Floyd, ‘Wish You Were Here’.

Queenstown and Wanaka

Arriving into Te Anau, I was overwhelmed by the choices open to me; visit Doubtful Sound or Milford Sound, or both; walk hundreds of different multi-day or single-day tracks; cruise, kayak, dive, swim, fish; the list was endless.

Fiordland is a beautiful and unusual part of the world. The dramatic shapes of the mountains were carved out by enormous glaciers in the last ice age. At times, the rock face is almost completely vertical, dwarfing you in the same way as a New York skyscraper. Snow perches precariously on ledges, eventually falling as an avalanche when the weight becomes too much. Trees cling to the side of the rock, roots thrust determinedly into crevices, gleaning every nutrient from the tiny amount of soil, moss and lichen. One of the wettest places in the world, it rains two days out of every three. That’s even more than Glasgow!

Iain had mentioned on his blog that he hadn’t been blown away by Milford Sound, so I decided to cruise Doubtful Sound. It’s harder to get to, you can only go on a tour, and therefore more expensive, but it’s significantly larger than Milford Sound. Fog greeted me in the morning, but soon cleared to create a beautiful and atmospheric cruise, with exciting moments like bottlenose dolphins swimming around the boat, fur seals relaxing on rocks at the Tasman Sea estuary and a close encounter with a waterfall, when the boat inched impossibly close to the rock face and we were able to fill our paper cups with waterfall water. At one point they turned off the boat engines and the ‘noise’ of the silence was overwhelming.

I had been hoping to dive either Doubtful or Milford Sound, but unfortunately the only dive shop available to me was closed for the winter. I missed out on a unique experience; because of the amount of rain, there’s so much fresh water running down the mountains that it never mixes completely with the salt water. The layer of fresh water that sits on top of the salt water has picked up tannins from the vegetation it passed through and looks a little like weak tea. The stained fresh water filters out light and just 10 metres below the surface, you find all kinds of sea life that would normally only be seen at depths too great for recreational diving. While I was on the cruise they showed a video shot by an underwater cameraman at Doubtful Sound. Just to rub it in.

My head was spinning about which trek to do. There’s a huge variety, from 5 minute dallies between a car park and a lakeside to 5 day mammoth treks, up and down mountains, through hill and dale and staying overnight in basic huts along the way. In winter, a lot of the multi-day treks in Fiordland close to all but the most experienced trekkers. Heating and water supplies are turned off in the huts, bridges are taken down to prevent avalanche damage and tracks can be blocked by tree falls. This means you need to be able to navigate in alpine conditions, use ice climbing equipment, wade across swollen rivers and survive in sub-zero overnight temperatures at altitude.

It always saddens me when I hear about tourists dying in the mountains in Scotland – we seem to have a few every year. But it’s taught me a lot of respect for mountains; it seems that while I’m more than happy to dive with Bull Sharks, I’ll show a snow-capped mountain the respect it’s due and stay well within the limits of my experience and capabilities. So, after much research into the multi-day treks available, I opted to stick to single day trekking around Fiordland.

Thinking in advance about driving the Milford Road, my expectations were very high. I’ve travelled lots of amazing roads on this trip; the Karkoram Highway in north-west China, the Friendship Highway in Tibet, the Great Ocean Road in Australia, and many other routes of incredible beauty, but interestingly, my favourite road in the world remains the A82 between Glasgow and Inverness. I knew that the Milford Road had the potential to oust it from my top spot.

Driving along the road, I thought of the many times I’ve driven the A82, which led me to think a lot about home. For the first time, I felt anxious about coming home. I was thinking about friends and family, about work, about how I want my life to be when I get back. I thought about the different expectations people will have of me when I get home and how difficult it will be to disappoint those I care about when their expectations don’t match what’s right for me, or what I want. I grew annoyed with myself; I was driving along one of the most beautiful roads in the world with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I was looking at some of the most amazing scenery and had too much going on in my head to feel its wonder in the way it deserved.

As planned, at the half-way point, I parked at The Divide, pulled my hiking boots on, and set off to tackle the trek to Key Summit, the first day of the 4 day Routeburn track. After ten minutes walking, my anxiety knot loosened and I was able to breathe in the freshness of the air and feel my concerns leave me. It was relentless, a 919 metre climb with not one single flat bit! The track zig-zagged up the mountain and the summit rewarded my efforts with panoramic views across Fiordland.

With the perspective brought by a good puff up a mountain, I was able to put away my going home concerns. There will be difficult times when I get back, just as there have been difficult times on this trip, but I can only deal with them when I get back and thinking about them now doesn’t help at all; except perhaps in coming up with smart-ass answers to stupid questions like

“So, have you got travelling out of your system now?”

Leaving The Divide, I pressed my rosy cheeks on to Milford Sound. Arriving there an hour later, I was impressed by the magnificence of the Sound. Maybe it was because I didn’t do the cruise, but for me, the drive was better than the Sound itself; I had passed in the shadow of sheer rock face, driven through the incredible Homer Tunnel, and enjoyed spectacular and dramatic views.

Oh yes, it is most certainly a contender to beat the A82.

But all in all, for me, the A82 pips it at the post. It’s a longer road, with greater scenic variety, moving from the magnificence of Loch Lomond, through the wonderfully bleak Rannoch Moor, spectacular Glencoe, to Ben Nevis and the Great Glen, all the way to Inverness.

Yip, the A82 is still my winner.

Doubtful Sound

Milford Sound and Key Summit

Te Anau

I arrived in Dunedin with yet another ‘to do’ list. Walking the Hooker Valley track had proved that some of the gear I’d hoped to manage without was actually necessary. So, more spending was on the cards. Finally fully kitted out, I was ready to set off into the wilderness again, but not before sampling the cafes and restaurants of Dunedin, and paying a visit to the steepest street in the world.

Baldwin Street sits in a modest suburb of Dunedin. As I turned into it, I thought,

‘No way, it looks steep, but the steepest in the world? Surely not.’

Then I parked the car at the bottom and walked up.

‘Ok’, I puffed. ‘It just might be.’

I was patting myself on the back for having walked up as I watched other tourists drive their cars to the top and take photos before jumping back in the seat and tearing off. Then along came a young gentleman to make sure my episode of self-congratulation didn’t get out of hand.

He ran into view at the bottom of the street and proceeded to run all the way up. He didn’t even struggle at the steepest bit. When he got to the top I saluted him; he had just ran up the steepest street in the world, and was, quite frankly, no more puffed out than I had been from walking.

After a brief chat, I bade him farewell and walked back down. He ran back down. Reaching the bottom, he turned round and ran back up again.

Seems no matter where you are in the world, whenever you get too impressed with yourself, someone will come along and take the wind out of your sails.

Next stop was the Otago Peninsula, a haven for wildlife on the east coast, just a short drive from Dunedin. Sea lions, albatross and yellow-eyed penguins were waiting for me, along with a delicious night in a farmhouse that I had all to myself! I sat around in my pyjamas all evening in the lounge, just because I could. Ah, pyjama evenings, how I miss you.

But back to the wildlife; the huge Sea Lions were play-fighting on the beach, putting on a show just for me. I stopped to watch them, but not too close, they look clumsy and ungainly on land, but boy can they shift when they want to!

After this, I headed to the Royal Albatross Colony. I didn’t really know anything about Albatross’, to be honest. I knew they were really big sea birds, and something to do with sailors and luck, but apart from that, the Albatross section of my brain had tumbleweed rolling through it. In the space of an hour and a half, I learned so much about these fascinating birds. What I hadn’t realised was that they are Southern Hemisphere birds. I wrinkled my brow, thinking I was sure I’d heard people talk about them in Scotland. It turns out one solitary Royal Albatross found its way over the equator and into the Northern Hemisphere. Every year, for about twenty years, he came to mate somewhere on the Outer Hebrides, but of course, he was the only one for many thousands of miles and never found a partner, and then he died. Isn’t that a sad story?

I left the Royal Albatross colony and headed to the Yellow-Eyed Penguin colony. The little Blue Penguins I’d seen at Oamaru are fairly common in New Zealand, but the Yellow-Eyed Penguins are rare and endangered. They have completely different habits from the little Blues; they are shy and solitary where the Blues are very social and live close together. They also come back in from fishing earlier than the little Blues, which means it’s still light and you can take photos without needing a flash (the light from the flash is harmful and frightening for all penguins).

The Yellow-Eyed Penguin colony on Otago is privately owned and funded, and these guys do an excellent job. A system of hides and tunnels means that tourists cause little disruption while getting really close to the penguins. At one point, we were tipped off about the direction Jim the penguin was heading and sprinted through the tunnel system to stand beneath the wooden bridge just as he pattered over it. ‘Oi, Jim, I can see right up your beak.’

As Yellow-Eyed penguins are rare, we saw less than ten birds in the hour we were in the tunnels. I had expected to prefer the little Blues because they are so very small and cute and I saw so many of them, but the way this reserve was set up really won me round and I adored the Yellow-Eyes too. Hope you enjoy some of the extreme close-up photos I managed to get.

Bird-watching, eh? Never thought I’d see the day…

Dunedin

Otago Peninsua

I left Oamaru in bright sunshine, but the forecast was for south westerlies bringing clouds and freezing temperatures up from Antarctica. As I drove the lovely road towards Lake Tekapo and Aoraki Mount Cook, the weather came to meet me.

I was undecided whether to head first to the lake or the mountain, but as I approached the junction where my final decision would be made, you couldn’t even see the base of the mountains, so I kept driving towards the lower ground of Lake Tekapo to give Aoraki Mount Cook the chance to shake off its cloak of clouds and show me its face next day.

Lake Tekapo is a lovely part of the world, with the tiny Church of the Good Shepherd gracing its banks. The altar has a simple glass window behind it to allow worshippers to gaze upon the might of nature, with Aoraki Mount Cook providing the backdrop to prayers.

Some nice walks and hot springs make up the outdoorsy attractions, with St John’s observatory, the most southerly observatory in the world, mapping and observing the night sky. I couldn’t bring myself to strip down to my swimmers in those temperatures, so skipped the hot pools, but was hoping for some star gazing. Unfortunately, the clouds and rain masked the beauty of the night sky, so a Monopoly tournament in the hostel had to suffice.

Next morning, I set off for Aoraki Mount Cook, the weather still hiding the views I hoped for. As the rain turned to snow, I headed inside the new Edmund Hillary centre at the famous Hermitage hotel and was delighted to find a planetarium with 3D movies of a flight around Mount Cook and two films about the night sky, so I got to star gaze after all.

Having explored the Edmund Hillary centre, flown around Mount Cook and star gazed into the deepest corners of the universe, I was filled with a sense of wonder at the magnificence of nature and our own relative insignificance. When the galaxies and star systems extend beyond our imagining, when the mountains reach so far above us, when nature overwhelms with her beauty, it makes all our own little worries seem irrelevant.

That night, the skies cleared and I star gazed in the middle of the night from the car park of the hostel, trying to spot the Southern Cross and the other constellations I’d learned about that day. Next morning, I woke to the clearest of bright blue skies and ran outside in my pyjamas to admire the magnificence of the mountain range in Aoraki Mount Cook National Park.

A trek along the Kea Point and Hooker tracks led me to Hooker Lake and the Hooker Glacier. It was a glorious trek, dotted with snow and ice, but blessed with the warmth of the sun gleaming off the snow-capped mountains. Eventually reaching Hooker Lake, I ate my lunch contemplating the small icebergs floating like sculptures on the lake, listened to the chinking of the surface ice as it washed against the rocks, gazed up at the summit of Aoraki Mount Cook, New Zealand’s tallest mountain, and at the huge glacier at its feet. If only I’d had the gin and tonic the chinking ice made me thirst for…

The hostel was delightful, filled with adventurous and interesting people, who cooked and ate together in the evening, sharing stories. Our dinner table was a cosmopolitan assortment of Israel, Mexico, Germany, America and Scotland. Israel and Mexico joined me in the car next day and we shared petrol costs, music and stories as we headed further south.

I could so easily have skipped Aoraki Mount Cook. With the places I want to visit, there wasn’t an obvious way to include it because the roads are so circuitous round the mountains. I’m so glad I made the effort to go there and experience its splendour.

Aoraki Mount Cook

Lake Tekapo

With the freedom of having my own wheels, I don’t need to decide exactly where I’m going until I turn the key in the ignition. So I didn’t. I even delayed the decision by visiting the Antarctica centre in the morning, and only making a final route decision after lunch.

I finally turned the key and headed south, towards the bright lights of Oamaru, half way between Christchurch and Dunedin.

Oamaru is famous for doing something innovative to enable shipping of refrigerated meat, thereby kick-starting New Zealand’s international meat business. Between that and a one-time gold rush, there was substantial wealth kicking around for a bit. The result is some stunning Victorian buildings and a beauty about the town centre that is quite captivating.

But the lovely buildings were just a bonus. Stopping in Oamaru gave me the chance to see my first ever penguins in the wild. A group of us waited, escorted by the conservation people who monitor and support the Blue Penguin colony. Darkness fell, the sea crashed onto the rocks and I strained my eyes for a glimpse of the smallest penguin in the world.

Blue penguins are, like all penguins, flightless birds that spend a lot of time at sea. They nest on land, head out to sea at dawn, and return to their burrows at nightfall to feed their chicks regurgitated fish. This sounds pretty disgusting, but it’s not as if they could bring the stuff home in a shopping bag, I suppose. No wonder the chicks are chomping at the bit to get out of the burrows and do their own fishing from only a few weeks of age. Eating your parents’ vomit would do that for anyone.

When it’s time to come home, penguins from the same colony form a ‘raft’ out at sea (I have a very cute picture in my head of penguins holding flippers with each other…aw) and come back in together. This makes for exciting penguin-watching as you see several stumbling ashore at the same time. The waves were crashing onto the shore, smashing over the rocks, and throwing penguins ashore with them. I gasped as I watched them getting slung against the rocks, stumbling to their feet, climbing a little higher, only to get picked up by the next wave, pulled back out to sea and have to start all over again. Amazingly, they don’t get hurt by this, but it looked like really hard work to me…

Designed for swimming, penguins are full of grace in the water, but on land, they are a bit clumsy-looking and waddle, holding their flippers out to the side. Their characteristic shaking, which reminds me of a belly dancer, helps them cool down and manage their body temperature. Leaning forward to stay balanced, shaking like a belly dancer, falling over on their tums occasionally and waddling up the rocks, they held me spellbound. Then things get noisy; they call out to each other, recognising their partners and their own nests by sound. The hungry chicks scream for food from the burrow entrance; too much excitement for someone about to eat vomit, if you ask me.

I watched for over an hour, seeing more than 60 penguins come ashore; a real highlight.

Later, I headed out to a traditional bar that had been recommended and ordered a pint of the local amber nectar, Speights, brewed in Dunedin. As I pored over my guidebook, trying to decide between too many options for places to go next morning, I heard his unmistakeable dulcet tones; there was a fellow Weegie in the bar!

Turns out Maurice is not just a fellow Weegie, but a fellow Celtic supporter and also the Parky’s son from Tollcross Park, who lived across the road from where I grew up. What’re the chances of going to petite Oamaru and meeting someone who grew up in the same street? A lovely evening was spent discussing Glasgow, Tollcross, the Cel’ic, New Zealand and beer. Next thing, I looked around and realised the place had actually closed while were inside. Only I could find myself in a lock-in and not realise (rolls eyes).

I headed off with promises to stop back in for a coffee and a chat, because I was off to drive a loop that would bring me back through Oamaru in a few days’ time; I find it amazing that I can stay somewhere for one night and then suddenly have a friend to visit!

Resident Weegies and Blue Penguins; Oamaru has loads going for it!

Oamaru

(PS – photos added to Christchurch and a few to Australia)

Excited about what lay ahead, I departed Aussie shores for New Zealand. The 3-hour flight from Brisbane could have tricked me into thinking I wasn’t really going to the other side of the world, but I was headed for New Zealand – how could I possibly forget?

Flying south, for this Northern hemisphere kid, is synonymous with flying to the warmth; escaping winter. Yet here I was, flying south, straight into the depths of New Zealand’s winter; filled with gleeful plans.

Before I even touched down, New Zealand welcomed me with a birds-eye view of the spectacular Southern Alps. A four-day storm had just blown itself out leaving blue skies and cotton-puff clouds, but not before it had dumped a pile of crisp new snow over the mountains. Our flight path from Greymouth to Christchurch was a glorious gift and my forehead was pressed to the window for much of the time, blank immigration card forgotten in my lap as I watched Aoraki Mount Cook stand proudly head and shoulders above its neighbours and the snow line extend the length of the mountain range.

Christchurch is a lovely city. I gave myself a few days here to get adjusted to New Zealand and go shopping for some warm and waterproof gear. Slowly I worked my way through my list, revelling in my luck at needing new gear in time with Kathmandu’s 50% sale. I climbed to the top of the Cathedral tower, enjoying yet more views across the Alps, strolled around the Botanic gardens and relaxed in a fabulous hostel that had more in common with a country house hotel than some of the scruffy backpackers I’ve found myself in.

The Antarctica Centre was a highlight of my time in Christchurch; this doubles as a tourist attraction and the jumping off point for Antarctic scientific and survey teams who rely on Christchurch for support.

In the storm chamber, they recreate the experience of an Antarctic storm. Combine the windiest continent in the world with the coldest and you have serious brass monkey weather. As I stood in the simulated storm, swaddled in my borrowed down jacket, the temperature dropped from -8’C to -19’C, and the wind whipped sharply across my face.

I retreated further inside my hood, poked my hands deeper inside the fleece lined pockets and wondered how these guys lived out there for months on end. I felt pressure against my leg, looked down and noticed a little body pressed against me, using me as a wind block. He pressed his hood against my hip then locked his arm around my leg. Concerned, I asked,

‘You okay, wee one?’

But the wind whipped my words away.

As the simulated storm died down, he began to release my leg and I bent down to see a crumpled face; tears squeezing out, bottom lip trembling. He was too upset to tell me who he was with and I ended up taking him round the room asking him which adults belonged to him. Eventually we found his adults and I said farewell to my cute little Antarctic leg warmer.

The rest of the Antarctica centre offered lots to interest, but sadly, no more cuddles. I delighted in watching the blue penguins, learning about the weather patterns in Antarctica, the hole in the ozone layer and the history, geology and marine life of this amazing land mass and the Southern Ocean. I was delighted to find buttons I could press to hear humpback whale songs; they had been singing while I’d been diving on the Yongala, but I couldn’t tell whale-song from other underwater noises, so wasn’t able to identify it. Now I know what to listen for!

Leaving Christchurch to head south, kitted-out and ready for the wintry wilds of New Zealand, I turned the music up full blast, sang at the top of my voice and revelled in the novelty of being back behind the wheel; queen of the road.

New Zealand, here I come…

Christchurch