Harleynut Tackles The Big White Cloudy Campervan
Trip Start
Apr 09, 2009
1
Trip End
Apr 19, 2009
Highways of New Zealand's South Island, South Island, New Zealand
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Note: SquawJenny is the wife. CalamityBarb and O'l Dolly are the in-laws. Washerwoman is wife's OCD friend & Herr Laurie is her Germanic OCD friend .
Day 1 - As designated trailboss, I led the gallant explorers through the cattle crush to the Jetstar check-in, where our saddlebags were weighed in. No problems there and then we were off to tackle our first major obstacle. Duty Free. Diversionary tactics failed miserably, with SquawJenny wooed by the sly Bundy Rum merchants. I left her to fight her own moral battle (2 for $65) while I attempted to negotiate the trail, booby trapped with walletsnakes. I nearly made it unscathed until the Free Samples Tequila Counter loomed into view. "i might be interested in this one. Can I try it a few more times to be sure?" I was gone. The walletsnake bit hard, but left a litre of smoooth venom in my carry-on. SquawJenny stocked up on bourbon & rum antivenines for the journey ahead.
Boarding of the big winged wagon was uneventful. Cattle Class lived up to it's name. Halfway through the flight a young squaw who we will call Feralfeet decided to push her sweaty sandshoe feet onto SquawJenny's armrest beside the window. I was told the offending articles were overripe and SquawJenny suggested to Feralfeet a better position for them to reside. As we approached The South Island, we gasped in amazement at the outstanding landscape unfolding beneath us. We travelled over a vast, snow-capped, mountainous wilderness that kept us captivated by it's visual magic. In a word - WOW!
We landed smoothly and customs was fast & friendly to negotiate. We hopped a shuttle wagon and were amazed to find Feralfeet stinking out the back seat. Followed like a bad smell. Made our way to the All Seasons Hotel on Papanui Road. Very spacious rooms, but dated. Would have been in it's prime 30 years ago, but it was clean and reasonable value. Just reminded me of an old retirement home, complete with old hall stands with dust covered plastic floral arrangements. Decided to walk down the road towards village centre for a coffee & snack. A local pizza cafe' was open and we sat down. Thoughts of a feed vaporized with the discovery of the menu. $29 for a pizza. Welcome to NZ. Drank the coffee & bolted. Grabbed a bottle of coke at the servo & retired to the nursing home for a late afternoon duty free cocktail session. The meal in the All Seasons restaurant was exceptional, being plentiful, diverse & tasty at a very reasonable price. Everyone enjoyed their meals - no complaints at all.
Day 2 - Time to hitch up the wagons & hit the trail west. Basic instruction on lighting wagonfires, bunking down & operating the nightsoil "cassette" (what a cute name for a revolting container). We were off and away. Hang on. All the womenfolk were missing, having found a trading post at Merrivale open for business. We tracked them down & filled the wagons with provisions. All essential food groups covered. Smoked salmon, cheese, olives, avocado, insect repellent, crackers, beer, insect repellent, steak, veggies, eggs & insect repellent.
Whipped the VW horses into life & headed for the hills (Arthur's Pass). Stopped a few times along the way to take in the dramatic landscape without a windshield in the way. I understand why signs say "Who's Watching the Road?". You really have to make a conscious effort to keep your eyes on the ROAD ahead. Gave the niceboxes (walkie talkies) a go, finding them relatively useless to relay orders to wagoneers who won't listen anyway. Important information regarding "Ooh, isn't that nice" was bantered about regularly and immediately confirmed by all. Priorities.
Stopped at a lake for a breather and a sandwich (camper +), where I encountered my first NZ sandfly. I despatched it to midgie valhalla with calls of "Die Mother######, Die). Little was I to know that her last calls were heard as far away as Klondyke Corner. With a bellyful of grub, we hit the trail again.
As we traversed the terrain, we were bemused by the small streams flowing in what seemed to be gigantic granite rock riverbed quarries. We were to find out why later. The sun reflected down off the snow-capped mountains ahead, with but a few random clouds to hide the painfully blue sky st behind us. As we galloped over the one lane bridges, I was greeted with a new NZ sign language from the cars on the other side. Apparently a clenched fist or one raised finger must mean "hello stranger" in Kiwi. I smiled and responded with similar digital communication, which left them greeting me with great enthusiasm. Nice 'n friendly these local folks, but we can't stop 'n chat yet. The hills beckon us. Thank goodness for memory cards. We took dozens of images just driving the first section. I have no idea of the names of the mountains as we pressed on for Arthur's Pass area. We knew them only as "fantastic", "amazing" & "bloody hell"!
A couple of possible campsites were passed and we finally settled on Klondyke Corner. Huge mountains towered behind us and a gigantic riverbed unfolded in front of us. Perfect. We backed the campers up under the lush foiliage & quickly set up for cocktail hour, as the sun was getting low over the mountains. There was even a supply of fresh ice (for chilling the venom bottles) laying on the short grass under the ferns (a baited trap).Tables & deck chairs came out, followed by nibblies & drinks. Then it struck without warning. The final death cries of that lone midgie I slaughtered mercilessly earlier had fallen on their ears and they lay in wait for us to become comfortable & complacent.
In a scene which should have featured in Hitchcock's "Birds", we were set upon by hordes of ravenous sandflies. No thought of ozone depletion or environmental contamination crossed my mind as I blasted frantically with Raid and Off, as this was a primeval fight for survival. Several kamakazied into my tequila glass, obviously hoping to mount an attack from the inside but the jokes on them - I drink it neat and they don't. I beat a hasty retreat to the wagon and moved it to the gravel area away from what was now known as "THE MIDGIERATOR". I "locked and loaded", reappearing in full battle dress resplendent with leather gloves and a long bike scarf wound several times around my head. I went in with aerosols ablazin' and the evil black plague which had threatened us with anaemia abated. SquawJenny was in fits of laughter and renamed me "Telulah, the bedouin bride". I glared at her through the eyeslit of my scarfmask and retorted that she'd better not come a cuddlin' when she's covered in weeping sores and looking for me to scratch her itch.
As the night set in, we set about burning processed animal flesh tubes. The midgies had retreated somewhat, but we were then assaulted from the air again. A bloodcurdling scream filled the night air and we bloted around to the front wagon wheel. An aggressive bird with no taste buds whatsoever and a huge, sharp beak was intent on eating the tyre valve on my wagon. A lovingly applied foot nestled upon it's tail feathers and it soon got the message to depart. Ugly car name = ugly bird name. Must be a Kia, err.. KEA. A few hands of cards and a bellyful of duty free venom finished the eventful evening. It was a bit chilly, so it was double-doona night in bed and SquawJenny had drunk a bit too much of the local wine from the Le' Gohpenar vineyard. Midgies aside, we can certainly recommend Klondyke Corner DOC site.
Day 3 - The next day started with a 50/50 sky and a bit of a bite in the air - temp, not midgies. We enjoyed a casual brekky of bacon 'n eggs (forgot the cowboy caviar - beans), then headed into Arthur's pass village. The information building was, well.. informative. SquawJenny did her conservation bit & bought possum gloves. We decided to kick on towards Franz Josef.
It wasn't long before we saw a signpost for the Otira Viaduct viewing area. We parked the wagons up the top which was no mean feat, with smiling minicar owners stopped across the path just looking at you. Lights on and nobody home. I used my newly acquired NZ greeting of a raised finger and fist, It worked - they departed. We waled over to the fence to check the view and what a view it was. A huge raised roadbrige to span a watercourse, along with landslippage & boulders strewn through the ravine. Very impressive. Not so impressive was the young mother using a small gap at the bottom of a giant boulder above the carpark to stuff a nice ripe disposable nappy in. A loud "Hey, what in the hell are YOU doing?" changed her mind and she took off with a red face. We left soon after and crossed the viaduct only to be greeted with another impressive engineering display around the corner. The road hugged the mountainside and a huge concrete awning had been built over the road to deflect land slippage above and across to the other side of the road. This was accompanied with a huge water conduit directing water flow in a similar fashion to burst forth in a waterfall down the ravine. A big dose of manmade WOW.
We pushed on through fantastic valleys, meandering between huge snow-covered mountains and finally emerged at the Kumara Junction. Heading south along the coast road towards Hokitika, SquawJenny pointed to a large flock of ducks frolicking in some large manmade ponds beside the road. When I pointed out that it was an effluent treatment pond, she struck duck off the menu for the week. It was Easter sunday at Hokitika, so not much beside the Jade shop and the fish shop was open. SquawJenny, CalamityBarb and WasherWoman exercised superhero strengths to abstain from emptying their purses on the exquisite jade jewelry on display. I rewarded them with a feed from the local fish 'n chippery and we took off south to find a nice spot to act like seagulls.
We were rewarded for the decision to turn left onto Shanghai Road about 6km south of Hokitika. A tree & fern shrouded dirt road leads quickly to the shores of beautiful Lake Mahinapua. A magic place to enjoy our great feed of endangered sea creatures & kumara chips - yummo. The weather was holding up and the sun was warm & comforting (a bit like a midgie trap). This area would also make a terrific campervan overnighter. I do suggest you make the effort to stop & check it out.
Refreshed, we headed on south and the weather quickly turned bum-up. We turned left well before Franz Josef at a signpost proclaiming scenic helicopter flights. We went down a dirt road for a few kms and ended up at a riverbank hut with carpark and helipad, so I got out to investigate (but not before I doused in repellent). I had a chat with the owner who proclaimed that he offered the best glacier flights and the cheapest. I heard little, because mt eyes were affixed to the sandflies gnawing and burrowing into his face. There must have been a dozen at any one time and he didn't flinch once. Hmm. Is he used to them? Does he need a fare that much? Is he devoid of sensory input? I err on the side of cowardice and decide to take my first chopper ride with someone that reacts to their surroundings. While parked there, we meet a group of motorcyclists from England that are touring NZ on vintage Panther motorcycles - pre WWII. It was raining, so we offered shelter and a hot cuppa break. After a chinwag, they were back on the road and so were we.
We kept our eye open for a DOC site, as we drove to Franz Josef. The village looked busy, with cars & people everywhere and it just didn't click, so we headed back out about 20km north to the Otto/MacDonalds DOC site. We picked an open area in the carpark near the river and parked two wagon close for wind protection. This turned out to be another excellent camper site. We held round two for cocktail "hour" and the midgies weren't invited. We only had a couple of random winged gatecrashers and partied well into the night. The rain held off for the night and it would have been memorable if I could remember it through the Bourbon & Tequila haze.
Sorry to the other campers if we partied too late, as most were tucked into beddy-byes by sundown. What a bunch of va####s! Washerwoman & Herr Laurie had already used all their water, so no hot showers for them that night. They were banished to one caper width away downwind. Washerwoman hadn't worked the bit out about wetting - STOP - lather - rinse. Long showers are inversely proportional to covered wagon independence. She tried bribery for the use of ours, but had nothing of value to barter. That's the woes of a non-drinker. SquawJenny was a bit timid on the DOC dunny's, so had been using the on-board poopchute and it was getting riper. I think the previous occupants were into vindaloo and didn't rinse it out, because it stank like "old folks" from the first day. CalamityBarb & Ol' Dolly reckon their s### don't stink...
!! Let me take a moment here to reflect. Have I told you I don't like campervans? No? Well, I hate campervans and caravans. I am neither a gypsy nor grey nomad and will remain that way. If I was meant to wander aimlessly, I wouldnt have things that look like sprouting roots on the ends of my legs. And I have not achieved my workcover confined spaces ticket. All is well until between 10.00pm and 9.00am. I hate sleeping (loose term) in them. I hate eating in them. I hate showering (what a joke) in them and I get stagefright in the boombox in them. How anyone can attempt to sleep up top is beyond me. I want a coffin bigger than that bed and I'll be dead then! I had the window open and sucked in the cold night air as if it was my last breath before drowning. Stressful. Downstairs, not much better. Waking with an arm jammed in a broom cupboard, nose pushed onto the seat back or a foot caught in a seatbelt buckle doen't do it for me. Late night pacing inside & circling outside were the norm. I have as much chance of sleep as K-Rudd has of saying r-r-r-re-re-rec.. er.. economic downturn.
Day 4 - We parked in the centre of Franz Josef, while SquawJenny & Ol' Dolly made a b-line for the public voting booths. Had 'em bluffed at first. Sure are different. You push a button and the door opens. Enter, push a button and the door shuts. A voice pronounces that the door will remain locked automatically for a maximum of 6mins (don't bother reading). Then the music starts and "What The World Needs Now" oozes from the speakers, which really opens the sluice gates (no need for laxatives). You push a button for paper dispensing. PANIC - no paper - door going to open soon - find paper napkins in handbag - stress off - not flushing - PANIC - pass hands under tap - toilet flushes. Door opens. Next please. Left them with a feeling of processed ablution. They didn't expect that one in the middle of the wild west. Meanwhile, I'd walked up to the information board to find where the glacier was situated. I looked at the board and noted it's position. Must be very close now, I thought. I glanced behind me and there over my shoulder was a big white, snowy, icy thingamajiggy sitting as proud as punch right there in the mountains. That was easy. Gee, I'm such a good wagontrain guide....
We piled into the wagons and ploughed on to meet the glacier. Out we get and after a couple of minutes, walk to the top of a hill for a better view of this glacier thing. A bit of a steep climb, but very pretty and not really a long way to walk at all. The platform gave us terrific views of the glacier & valley, complete with gushing waterfalls booming down. SquawJenny and the others made for the dry of the wagons, but I decided to go further for a closer view. I walked up as far as the big waterfall on the riverbed and watched some young American men showing off by stripping to shorts and seeing who could stand under the icy waterfall the longest. The winner gets hypothermia. I thought it was very entertaining and offered to hit them on the head with a rock to see who's the last conscious winner, but had no takers. Wusses. I made my way back in pouring rain - but there was no midgies. Yeehah!!!
We took of in the wagons in heavy rain to find the next glacial encounter. Ya gotta love this place, The next one's only as far away as a quick kneetrembler. The Fox glacier parking area was getting pretty sloppy with the rain as we appeared from the track. The rivers & waterfalls were really beginning to work hard. Being colorblind, I usually miss the features in the landscape associated with minor color changes (and traffic lights - later). Not in this place. A large pond at the entrance of the carpark that we drove around, fluoresced with brilliant blues and greens against the grey granite & white quartz. And then the damn picturebox battery went bum-up right at that moment. Bugger. Viewing of the glacier required less walking here, but the rain was pelting down really hard as we traversed the huge riverbed of granite. 4 tubby people in tight clear plastic raincoats approached and they seemed to be shocked when I told them they looked like vacuum-packed chickens. Well, they did. Right then and there, one of CalamityBarb's baby seal-lined asian joggers hinged a sole and did an impression of a slapstick clownshoe. We flap-flap-flapped back to the wagons double-time, because the rain was coming down in torrents. Washerwoman then saw her version of the ultimate camper in the carpark - an old modified schoolbus with a full size washing machine lashed to the back door! "Please, just let me touch it" she cried in an OCD whimper, as we galloped past as fast as possible.
The weather had closed in pretty bad, so now maximum concentration turned to the road conditions. Calls of "Wow!", "Look at that!" and "f#####g hell!" didn't help me at all. Those big wide riverbeds were now big wide raging rivers! We pulled into Haast briefly for a quick nature stop and stretch (osmosis fills the bladder), then swam on down the road. The Haast Pass area loomed up ominously and we passed on by Roaring Billy Falls due to the traffic congestion there, but opted to stop at the Thunder Creek Falls. The river was absolutely blasting past in whitewater fury and the waterfall leaped violently from the mountain wall, before crashing loudly on the rocks beside the river. The dense canopy of trees gave us shelter from the torrent of water from the sky. Although inconvenient, we felt blessed that we were able to experience this area in all it's liquid fury. We took happysnaps and jumped back in the wagons, soaked through. Washerwoman staayed with the wagon, explaining that she didn't need to see white water if there was no laundry foam involved.
We weaved our way down the western side of the pass and the rain abated, finally turning to sunshine as we approached Lake Wanaka (thanks for the assistance "Wanakalakes" - you must have connections). The ensuing drive around the shores was beautiful - and dangerous because of the captivating scenery. We hit (figuratively - not yet) Wanaka late in the afternoon, filled the wagons & headed off for a commercial campsite before dark. We stayed at the Aspiring Campervan Park, a Km or so through town. We had sweeeet toilets and loooong hot showers, not to mention WasherwWoman's intense affair with "Kleenmaid" in the laundry. Another cocktail session and Jose' was dead 'n empty. Jack was looking a bit second-hand as well. This was a nice van park, with friendly staff. We took the advantage to fill the fresh and empty the grey waters. Then it was the inevitable. Time for "THE CASSETTE". Did I tell you I don't like campervans? I obeyed the instructions rligiously and in a flash it was out and I was hanging onto it's handles. I hopeed beyond hope that's it's just rinsing water dripping off the outside! With Conan stength, I held the unholy grail with outstretched arms. I stretched out so far, I expected to drag knuckles like a Sydney bouncer after this. I gingerly walked the "green mile" (dedsmell man walking) to the "Dump Station". What a pleasnt name for an open sewage hole. I took off the cap and started pouring. Hot bile burned the back of my throat, as I shook out the reluctant blind mullet. I opened it up and gave it a rinse, as I hacked and coughed. 'Ol Dolly beat a hasty retreat, asking me to please retch more softly, or he'll be next. I refitted the now-sweeter cassette back into the wagon and made a proclamation to all. Forthwith, nobody - but nobody - is to use our poopchute for the duration of the expedition or ye shall fear of personal injury from me, as I will never emptyeth that evil recepticle again. I'd rather do a 24hr stint in a mexican hospital during a dysentry epidemic.
Day 5 - All through the journey, our mobile internet connection was deplorable, even though It showed high signal strength. It was slower than morse code, but still managed to chew $90 worth. We were going to invade Wanakalakes fort, but all their info was on my TA site and the laptop was as useful as a flyscreen on a submarine. Stopped at other B&Bs to check, but expected the sheriff to mount a posse if we kept it up. We decided to burn & pillage later, so we took off towards Queenstown. The sun was out and the scenery was splendid. Minutes out of Wanaka we came to a fluffy halt, marooned in a veitable ocean of bleating sheep. Waltzin' Matilda crossed my mind, as sat there mesmerised by the gigantic fleecy flow. We sat patiently for several minutes watching "Footrot" the dog running over the tops of their backs, barking orders to the flock as he went. Fairy tale stuff. Visions of shanks, ribs & roasts floated through the air on a fluffy cloud of mash. Er... sorry. As suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. Was it an aparition? No, SquawJenny commented on how cute they looked, as she noticed me trying to hide that little bit of drool in the corner of my mouth. Mmm... Lamb...
In the next valley, vineyards and fruit orchards were everywhere and I decided to stop for fruit. All that cheese 'n bikkies we'd had and I was bound tighter than Madam Lash's boyfriend. Gave the big supermaket-looking barn a miss and hauled into a small roadside stall displaying apples. Apples! An apple a day, you know what they say. Excellent Johnagold apples as big as grapefruit. They were so juicy and they cracked like a whip when bitten. Nezt stop was at a "gold camp", accessed from across the river canyon bu a nice 'n bouncy suspension bridge. SquawJenny failed to see the humour of me walking with a sping in my stride with her across the bridge. I pointed out it was man's destiny to irritate womenfolk. I was informed that if I didn't behave, I,d be locked in the cassette room. I behaved. It was an interesting enough place for a toilet stop (apple had kicked in), but my interest in the place disappeared the moment I dried my hands. Rock heaps and tin just don't do it for me.
We also made another stop at a cheesmaker & vineyard a few km before the "leap of faith" (bungee) and bought some great cheeses, venison sausage and some local alcoholic fruit juice. They had a sign proclaiming wine cave tours, but I bet it's just an interrogation pit where they torture Aussie Novocastrians to try and get the secret of how to make good wine. I'll just duck for cover for a moment. Have they finished shooting? Here's a good tip for the cheesemakers shop. Move the septic tank transpiration area further away from the front door. I like my blue vein cheese to smell more like dirty socks, than dirty undies. I guess I'm really just a sophisticated kinda bloke...
A stop at the Bungee cliff fort was mandantory. We winced, then cheered as the young men & women bravely proved themselves (Wait 'till you get older, kiddies. Meet my friend. Don't be shy. Say hello to Arthritis). Ol' Dolly walked onto the bridge for a better look and I informed him he'd look more at home below the bridge, because he looks like a troll. He asked me if I'd need a push to bungee jump and I informed him that he'd better be pushing me in the back with a loaded revolver! My heart was happy where it was and I didn't need to taste it in the back of my throat. My chiropractor had also warned me that if I bungeed, i'd surely get first seat on the plane ride back home, but I'd probably find the wheelchair a bit inconvenient. WasherWoman & Herr Laurie had a quick snooze in their wagon seats during all this. The excitement of eating an apple was just little a bit too much for them.
A few minutes later, we arrived in the congested mess commonly called Queenstown. A bit of advice from experience here. Forget it in a covered wagon. We rattled up and down looking for a park. Yes! There's a blue "P" sign, so we follow it up into the hills. Ha Ha - very funny - 2.1m clearance. Sticker says 3m on windscreen. Give it a miss. Lovin' Queenstown. Did I tell you how much I like campervans? We drove through the middle of the village and WasherWoman began howling & bleating on the radio about shopping deprivation being inhumane and how it had been banned by the General Assembly of the United Nations . She commented that this was Queenstown, not Guantanamo and she was a tourist - not terrorist. It seems that she caught sight of a "50% OFF SALE" flag being flown from a trading post and was beginning to shake a finger uncontrollably in it's direction. I made a trailboss tactical decision and we stopped for lunch just out of town on the rising lakesedge road, near a track sign that said "waterfall walk". I'll go for a walk. Ha Ha - a steep clambering slide downhill to the waterfront for the next joke - no waterfall. Obviously the same signwriter as the parking lot. Lovin' Queenstown. I gouged my way back up the track to the wagons. SquawJenny waited patiently at the hilltop with my lunch in hand and comments that I look nice in purple, face that is. Nobody's perfect...
We then gave the womenfolk a real treat by throwing them out on the road in the middle of the village to forage for finery. We men forged on and found lodging in the campervan park on the hill above Queenstown. It was quite empty and fairly priced, but were told you had to pay with coin for a hot shower. The dumpsite was crude & messy, but I had nothing to dump - Ha Ha! We walked down the hill for a brew at the Rattlesnake bar (apt name) and were bitten $8 per beer - and in a bottle. We decided to go save the womenfolk (or our bank accounts) from the possumfur traders. CalamityBarb & Squawjenny were waiting patiently in the village centre, as WasherWoman darted frantically from shop to shop to make sure there were no bargainwolves hiding in the clothesbushes. A brave woman and she did a thorough job.
SquawJenny and I decided to have a light meal at a bar/cafe' in the mall, to try these Bluff oysters that everyone raved about. 6 tempura and 6 sashimi (must be a Jap pub - battered & raw for the roundeyes). They stuck 2 into each shell, so I'm guessing they snuck a few bottled ones in for us tourists. They were nice enough, but really not worth the $45 charge. I noticed most supermarkets charge $25 for a dozen bottled Bluff oysters, so I'll stick to our Coffin Bay and Nelson Bay oysters for $15 a dozen, opened in the shell or $10 for 18 bottled. But, I can still say I tried 'em. It makes $5 a jar for mussels look good. Ol' Dolly bumped ito a local character and had a chinwag with him. He called this place "the town of broken dreams", because of all the high rents and failed business ventures. He said the only winners were "the old money". Eureka Stockade came to mind as he talked. Lovin' Queenstown.
When we returned to the van park, there had been dozens of wagon arrivals and people were everywhere. One feral wagoneer had begun draining his grey water on the ground, only a couple of vans away. Gross. We only had a short coctail party that night, as the women were worn out from bartering at the trading post and it was getting a bit chilly outside. Herr Laurie told us that he'd heard a woman's foreign voice in the men's shower area and when he exited his shower cubicle, there was a european woman standing in the men's shower room, washing her teeth in a towel (her, not her teeth in the towel). He asked her partner if she knew it was the men's room. "Oh, yes!" was his only reply and Herr Laurie just walked off puzzled by it all, none the wiser with the answer. We self-administered a few bottles of local "neck oil" for medicinal purposes only, just to keep the sanity happening. Not liking the camper city around us, I try for a wagon sleep session. I kick back and listen to some Jimmy Buffet on the ipod - "Boat Drinks.. Just Shot Six Holes In My Freezer.. Must Be Gettin' Cabin Fever.. Boat Drinks". Now, where'd I put the Colt?
The time has come to make mention of the Norwegian travellers. We met them at Klondyke Corner and it happened like this: We'd endured the midgie assault and had positioned the vans in an honorable fashion, so as to give all some privacy and peace for the night ahead. Herr Laurie ( a 2.1m, placid, non-drinking, ex-copper) was having a nanna-nap, as he suffers from a debilitating ilness which saps his energy. One wagon had already pulled in and began parking between us, when he saw us scowling and decided to beat a hasty retreat out of "Klondyke" (hey, I don't look THAT bad).
Minutes later, in comes (let's just call them) Bjorn & Inga and they back in so close to Herr Laurie, that his door nearly hit's the covered wagon. There is acres of room elsewhere. As the womenfolk look over and cackle on about "cheeky", I decide to remedy the situation. Bjorn & Inga walk to the gravel road near my wagon to take photos of the sunset on the mountains. I greet them and seriously suggest that they should rethink the parking plan, as there is a mountainous, half-drunk, foul tempered bikie type in the van beside them and if you wake him up, hell burst out his wagon and kick the s##t out of your wagon and then you'll be next. I told them that I'm no pipsqueak, but was parked over here because he'd already warned me off before he passed out drunk. I told them I know my match.
Bjorn thanks me and sneaks back to his wagon, stelthly moving as far across the parking are as possible from Herr Laurie. Problem solved. He returns to Inga and initiates a pleasant conversation with us about their travels and homeland, all the time glancing in the direction of Herr Laurie's wagon. Apparently, they'd been told not to stay in campgrounds by themselves - for safety purposes. Whilst sensible, I pointed out that actually camping on top of people was probably not needed. Nice enough couple, just not thinking. We left them that night none the wiser to Herr Laurie's real character. They were gone before we woke the next morning. Later that day, we met up with them near Franz Josef, where they mey Herr Laurie in person and WasherWoman let them off the hook. Poor Herr Laurie assured them that the panels on their wagon were safe, but they still had an aprehensive look in their eyes behind those wide smiles. Bjorn exclaimed that I'd got him a good one. I decided to keep an eye on him and my tyre valves just in case. We crossed paths again in Queenstown. They might be stalkers, but they still chuckled about the bikie.
Day 6 - Up early and off to the Shotover Jetboats. We had a thrilling and wet ride, but so much for the theory of sitting at the back to avoid the wash. "Just put this long waterproof coat under your lifejacket to keep you dry". The other big one is "the cheque's in the mail". Ha Ha. It'd be long enough if I was only as tall as the busload of asians sitting in front of me! I felt very second-hand after the ride (motion sick - thanks mom for your stomach) and the red racing bus trip back to town topped it off. We bought the Jetboat video & picture pack for CalamityBarb's birthday present, so she can relive the fear forever.
Then it was off for a gondola ride to the top of them thar hills. What a great view and we finally found the source of all the screaming coming from the mountain last night. Another bungee site. Those people that jump off the side of the cliff must have kahoonies the size of rugby balls, but it wouldn't be a good look for a young lady. That is unless you're a thai girlieboy. We had brunch at the cafe' up top which was good value and tasty. Nice maggot bags (pies). Quite a pleasant surprise for such a touristy spot. We also had a couple of runs on the louge ride. I was bermused, because I was looking for the Lazyboy recliner. I thought it said lounge ride. It sure makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck when you're launching into the corners and the brakes won't work, because you're so tall that the control bars hit your legs. I had that baby standing on it's nose every second corner and I still didn't get a dose of road rash! The best fun you can have with your pants on! The gondola ride down was also a bit of a thrill as you exit into space.
We regrouped and set off to Te Arnu. Along the way we saw heaps of deer farms and I started drooling again. We stopped at a village proclaiming that it was the venison capital. Checked the shops and you guessed it - no venison. I drove off with visions of Bambi-burgers floating in the air around me. Mmm... Bambi... Te Arnu was only a short journey and we stopped into the local supermarket for supplies, then checked the glowworm tour times and had a quick scout around. Loved the street sign "Wong Way" and the aptly named "Sandfly Cafe'". Herr Laurie decided that the supermarket fence was too close to the carpark, so he gave it a gentle shove with the back of the wagon. The landholder in the yard on the other side of the fence voiced his thanks loudly. Apparently he didn't really want it moved and was happy with it in it's original position. He had a marvellous grasp of simple, short words to impart this information to us. Rain was beginning to fall and rather than stay in town, we pushed on to find a suitable DOC site out of town. We decided that this would make our assault on Milford Sound easier the next day.
The area between Te Arnu and Milford Sound has a very good selection of DOC sites and we chose the Walker Creek campsite, about 50km out of Te Arnu. It had a large, dense & robust tree which afforded us good protection from the rain for the evening "cocktail party" and a fair-smelling dunny with a skylight panel (this one was a flaash one aye). NZ DOC sites don't seem to be big on the campfire/bbq bit and this area was no exception. A campsite a bit further on did have some rudimentary fireboxes, but we'd need a litre or two of hi-octane "woofwood" to get it lit in this climate. Our campsite was fine. A dry tree canopy & a dunny in sight. What more could we want? Maybe foxtel, plasma, recliner, ice cream, big bed! Er.. sorry. At least the midgies had the night off. The womenfolk did a mighty fine job of whipping up a hearty meal, then we rugged up and did battle with our old friend Jack Daniels. The establishment closed a bit berfore official time due to excessive nocturnal headwetting and wind (atmospheric type). As I lay in bed I pondered the chances of the tree above flattening the wagon. Did I tell you how much I like campervans? I found my triggerfinger twitching invouluntarily for the non-existent foxtel remote, as I drifted into fitful sleep.
Day 7 - It fair pelted down all night and was still turning it on as we woke. We had a basic brekky, then hit the road-river early. Not long into the drive, we encountered a sign proclaiming "Mirror Lakes". Well, guess we'd better stop for this! We were the only ones there. A pretty spot, but forget the mirror bit if it's raining. Off we go and we are absolutely astounded at the water launching off the mountains from every angle in a thousand waterfalls. It's a sight I'll remember all my sober days! Due to heavy cloud cover, we gave some of the lookouts a miss, because we know what clouds look like and we wouldn't see anything else. The river beside the road was a arging torrent, leaping high into the air at every boulder it encountered. Spectacular. We turned right onto a gravel road and travelled about 800m to an access spot for a pedestrian suspension bridge over the raging river. Great fun & got some good photox here. SquawJenny decided against the bridge, leaving Ol' Dolly & I to forge on across. Bouncy little bugger! Drenched through, we hopped back in the wagons and continued towards Milford Sound.
A couple of more happy-snappy stops and we were at "The Tunnel". In true pioneering spirit I shot straight in, with guns ablaizin'. There was some sort of sign saying something about some lights or something, but not seeing any red light, I was in like Flynn. What a long tunnel. I thought it'd be flat. Most tunnels are flat. Fairly steep for a tunnel. Can't see the end yet. Hmm, nobody's behind me. Hope the other's didn't break down. Oh, well. I'll wait for them on the other side. Nobody around, so I'll just do about 40k. Must be one-way. No hurry. Bloody long tunnel, this. Ah, here's the exit ahead. Hey get the camera ready, this'll make a great photo - a little like being born, only the tunnel's bigger & you're older. Wow! What a view!! Hey, that guy's parked over our way a bit at the front of the tunnel. I'd better give hime some room.
BANG! The covered wagon lurched and shuddered with the impact, as we exited the tunnel. "What was that?" yelled SquawJenny. "We just hit the tunnel." I said in the calmest voice I could muster. "S##T! yelled SquawJenny. Not in our cassette, I thought as I pulled off the road at the first parking spot. "Have a look and see if the bed & fridge are back on the road." I mutterd in half-mirth, half-expectation. "I cant see any damage" said SquawJenny. "Have a look UP" I added. "S##T! S##T! said SquawJenny. I decided this may need my opinion. "Ooer" "Ouch" and "Coulda been worse" were some words used by me. A few more words also appeared, but shall remain nameless to protect the innocent. The top LHS front corner of the van had suffered a fair whallop and had distorted the fibreglass sufficiently to dislodge the seal between the panels. This left a gap of about 50mm opening up at the overlap of the panels. The damage was better than I expected, being no more that 3-400mm long. the impact had been hard enough to also distort the interior lining in the top bunk area.
In a show of male reasoning & bravado, I announced that I didn't like sleeping up there anway. SquawJenny says it's now official. I do have "Tunnel Vision". She added that everyone would be so jealous of our wagon now, because it had a brand new sunroof! The other Wagoneers arrived moments later, stating that they had stopped to phograph the tunnel entrance. They surveyed the damage with "Ooh" and "Tsk, Tsk" noises. We continued on to Milford Sound, all the while amazed at the fantastic scenery unfolding around us.
We parked and headed for the booking office for the Redboats. We opted for the longer "Nature" voyage. and boarded the bus. We met some people from San Francisco. Asked if they were gay, but they said no. Strange. Never saw any when we were there last year either. Must just be a rumour... 20mins later we pulled out on the "Little Red Boat". The clouds were still with us, but the rain was abating. The waterfalls were everywhere around us. It was just mind-numbing in beauty. I'm glad we took the longer, more involved tour. The commentary was good and we were getting "up and close" to the walls of Milford Sound. The skipper placed the boat under a few of the waterfalls for added thrills. On one such venture. he asked 2 passengers to don raincoats and hold glasses in wire cages out to catch the water as he nosed the boat into the falls.. Judging from the faces of the crew, I'd say it's a local joke, as the volunteers were absolutely saturated. They had good fun, though.
All was well until we hit the sea swells. I'm not a seafarer & started to turn a nice fern green colour immediatele. Lucky for me, it was only a taste and we quickly returned to the smoothness of the Sound. We passed a small colony of seals who showed less interest in us than us them. The clouds broke and we noticed that a substantial amount of the waterfalls had disappeared, leaving inly a select few to continue the torrents. We were rewarded with photography of rainbows, backed by enormous granite mountains breaking through white clouds. Word nor photographs do it justice. The trip ended all too soon, but we were a little weary from our early start, so we had a snack in the wagons before heading back to Te Arnu. Busted wagon eyebrow aside, it had been a great day.
We arrived in Te Arnu mid-afternoon and the womenfolk hit the stores for a forage. Had a quick beer at the hotel near the freey terminal, then we took the waagons up to the van park at the other end of main street. Checked in and found the place ok. Nice sites & ok facilities, but not as good as the Aspiring in Wanaka. SquawJenny and I decided to do the &.00pm Glowworn Tour, so we wnt back to the nearby hotel for tea. What a feed! We both had chowder and it arrived at the table by the time I'd bought drinks. For mains she ahd a great risotto & I had THE BEST venison steaks I've ever had. So tender, I could have cut hem with a spoon and cooked to perfection. Reasonably priced as well.
6.45pm and we lined up for the boat trip to the caves. A relaxing boat ride and we were there. The cave experience was great and the female guide knowledgable. Never seeing glowworms before, I found the evening quite fascinating. It was over quickly and we had a bit of a snooze on the boatride back. We got back to the vanpark about 9.15 and Squaw Jenny decided we better visit CalamitBarb & Ol' Dolly for drinkies.
I was a bit worn out from the drive & boat trip, so went to bed an hour or so later. O'l Dolly wasn't far behind. The womenfolk deciced to make a night of it, which turned out to be a poor call. SquawJenny woke me up in the wee hours entering the wagon, giggling like a schoolgirl and telling of rocking Washerwoman's wagon until they yelled complaint. We setlled down and ther was a loud BANG from CalamityBarb's wagon. When asked I assured SquawJenny they'd probably dropped the empty bottle on the floor, so we went back off to sleep.
Day 8 - The following morning, CalamityBarb emerged from her wagon to reaffirm her nickname choice. She was sporting a giant red bump on her forehead above her eye, courtesy of where she had passed out and done a "Leaning Jowler" to the floor out of her bed! Ouch. It appears the night of drinking was a bit excessive, because she didn't even remember doing it. That empty vessel hitting the floor in the middle of the night was actually ger head! It was one of those really angry - looking bumps. The type you can see a pulse in... What a start to the day! When everyone had recovered enough (women), we pushed off for Dunedin.
Along the way, Herr Laurie queried about going to Invercargill to view the bike featured in the film "World's Fastest Indian". Good on ya Laurie! What a role player. Indians. Ol' Dolly & I weren't too keen because of the timeframe, but Herr Laurie was, so he and WasherWoman bade us farewell and they were gone. The road was good enough and we were making ok time, but we found the area a bit boring after the dramatic landscape of the last few days. We stopped a couple of hours later for a feed of fish 'n chips. The road to Dunedin was tirinig and we entered it mid-afternoon. I'm afraid I didn't find the town all that inviting and we didn't have an extra day to explore the peninsula. We stopped at the Harley dealer and purchased a t-shirt (been there, ect..) then took off for a campsite north.
The navigator had other ideas and had us running around town like nutters for 15mins. That's why they use women's voices in them, so you won't punch them. I was sure we had to hang a left over the brige, but I listened to her and off we went. Up a hill beside a servo, barely wide enough for the covered wagon, then she decided I needed to do a u-turn, because she'd made a mistake. I'm hanging on the side of a mountain with the foot on the brake and the blood draining back from my foot to my head. The evil vixen in the squawkbox wanted me to cut down lanes that'd remodel the wagon even more. I had a one-way argument with her (pulled the plug) and we escaped from Navman Peak, taking off north in afternoon traffic to find a campsite.
We soon came across a couple of possibilities near the beach, but they weren't so inviting with the cool wind & overcast skies. They offered little protection from the elements, so we consulted the DOC bible and decided to check out Trotters Gorge. It was about 4.5km off the beach road. We noticed a sign hanging on a fence adjacent to the final entrance road to the gorge proclaiming "Please Don't Shoot our Pet Pig". Hmm. Oh well, what's to lose? My mind drifted back to the sign hanging in the sprts store a few days ago. "Spend over $100 & go into the draw for a free 12 gauge shotgun!" Dinga-ding, Ding - Ding. Did I hear a banjo? Where's Burt Reynolds?
We arrived at Trotters Gorge wth plenty of light to spare. What a great place! We were aprehensive as we approached a causeway under a fairly tight canopy of trees, but it opened out immediately into a beautiful grassy campground surrounded by birch trees, with a bubbling stream curling around it. Magical. There was even a dunny on the hillside - and it flushed. Luxury! WasherWoman & Herr Laurie arrived about an hour later. They must have been fair galloping along. The wagons were formed into a rough circle to ward off sobriety attacks and we set about setting up a veritable banquet for our last night in the wilderness. We invited the neigbours for cocktails, but they quickly jumped into their dome tent and zipped it up tight. Noticed the squaw was wearing anit-rapes (thick PJs). We didn't look THAT bad, did we?. Maybe our flannies and beanies were a bit too fashionable for them and they were embarrased with their evening apparel.
Well, Ol' Dolly had a special surprise for the whole wagon train. He'd purchased a "Disposable BBQ". Hey, now we're cookin'! It was a disposable baking dish containing 5 heat beads, a firestarter and covered in some gauze. Flaash one, aye! We sat it on the ground and lit 'er up! Scene shot: 3 blokes standing 'round a smouldering dish on the ground, with 3 womenfolk rolling around laughing. This was basic male firebonding & the ritual must be upheld, no matter what the utensil. Laurie lamented that he was hanging out for a nice feed of fish 'n chips. Not tonight, baby. Tonight we feast on seared meat! The kero flame eventually subsided, so on went the snags (sorta meat). "That'll get 'er goin' " announced Ol' Dolly to the masses, through a haze of black chemical smoke. "I never met a hydrocarbon I didn't like" I added, as the smoke stung my eyes. We waited for the fire to slowly rise, as the fat from the snags would burst forth. Nope. The snags just sat there and sooted over with kero smoke, so we put on the couple of steaks as well and poured cooking oil over the lot for a fiery baste.
Flames shot up about half a metre and things were cookin' a fair bit faster than anticipated. Actully, it was a bit hard to differenitate between food & fuel... The womenfolk engaged in a sexist, derogatory session of laughter and took photographic evidence of the solemn ritual. Damn non-believers. After a minimal period of cremation time, we attempted a rescue of sorts. You could tel they were done by the clanking noise they made landing on the plate. The official coronial inquiry came up with the verdict that they were almost edible, after cutting off about 5mm of chemical encrusted carbon and we all know carbon's good for your teeth. Ol' Dolly & I toasted (with bourbon, not on the BBQ) ourselves on our success, but the womenfolk had turned into laughing vegans for the night. Philistines. They wouldn't know gourmet drinkin' snacks if it bit 'em on the bum. All you needed was a good amount of duty-free venom and you'd eat wagon tyres if they were put on a plate in front to you. Just ask any Kea... Ya' cant beat a set of borbon goggles at a barbie for improving the taste of suspect snags.
After a respcetable amount of time rolling about in drunken laughter, we began bunking down for the night. I decided to sneak behind the wagon for a pee, just down along a small track to the stream bank. My plans came unstuck when I walked straight into a big spider's web and felt the monster slap my face. It felt as big as a bloody mangrove crab! Peter Garrett had nothing on my writhing dance I did out of the track, as I tried to extract myself fron the sticky mess and avoid the Arthropod from the Paleozoic Era. I took shelter in the covered wagon and decided it was time to fill up "the cassette" instead, for the DOC rangers have 8 furry legs around here. With the Ipod filling my head with the sounds of Phil Collins "In The Air Tonight", I folded up in bed in a foetal position and went to a "happy place" in the back of my pickled mind. I hoped that the "land crab" was bigger than the hole in the wagon's roof, because I'm sure it was running around up there trying to catch a Kea. Did I tell you how much I like campervans?
Day 9 - Day broke all too early and I emerged from the wagon with sobered trepidation. A little voice was repeating "You must go... You must go...", so I waddled up the hill to the best seat in the house. The Trotters Gorge camp was even more beautiful in the morning light. I can certainly recommend this spot for a Covered Wagon overnight retreat. As I stood in the centre of the clearing and contemplated possibly shaving the hair off my tongue, It dawned on me that this was to be the last bush camp of the wagon trek. Today we forge on to Christchuch to depart tomorrow. I saw last night's leftover snags sitting heavily on a plate & SquawJenny asked if I wanted them warmed up for brekky. No way! In the light of day, they resembled long BBQ heat beads. Urgh! I'd need a bowl of bourbon bubbles for brekky before I could deal with those.
We bade farewell to our Canadian camp neighbors with a friendly jump-start for their car. Serves them right for refusing our drunken hospitality. See? Karma gets ya every time. We were off to Christchurch. A short gallop later, we came across a sign spruiking on about some rocks, so we turned in to investigate. Weird little spot. A cafe' & a gift shop sat across a staircase & track to Moeraki Boulders, but there was a sign requesting a gold coin for use their track to the beach. Ok, It must be worth it so in goes the coin.
A short walk down to the hill and we weren't really at the boulders. Stitched up. After another short walk, we came to the famous Moeraki Boulders. They're ok for a look, I suppose. A bit like oversized thunder eggs. As we walk back to the steps up, SquawJenny comments that they remind her of the film "Cocoon". The one where the aliens grow in giant rocks in a swimming pool and really old people visit them to experience youth. With that, we look up and a tour group of retirees stumble and waddle down the hill like an avalanche of wigs, walking frames, dentures & padded incontinence pants. She must be right, we say! We stand patiently on the beach waiting for the wave of dementia to flow down off the stairs. The threat of sand in the spangled sandals was too much for several and they stood midway on the stairs, fully blocking the exit. I loudly announced to the deaf masses that the view was much better down on the sand. "Is it really?" a wrinklie with teeth that could eat corn through a picket fence croaked. "Not really. I just want you to get out of our way!" I retorted. They shuffled a small opening for us to pass and I reminded SquawJenny to put a pillow over my face when I'm asleep when I get that bad. "I do. Every night, but you only try to eat it." she mutters. They smelled like our on-board "cassette" room, mixed with popouri talcum powder. A fast look through the gift shop and we were on our way. Would have spent up if they didn't charge to walk down their steps. They said that it was to cover stairs upkeep, or there was the rough DOC trail to use instead. Get over it shopkeepers. You get customers at your door. Everyone has operating costs in business.
Next stop was Oamaru. A nice little harbour town with a sign announcing "Penguins". Everyone loves penguins, so we turned in to see the penguins. Guess what? No penguins. They're nocturnal. We look at the seawall where penguins might congregate later, and leave. I must admit, Oamaru has some quaint old buildings that look inviting for a peek, but we scarper off anyway.
We pulled up in a town just north in order to satisfy Herr Laurie's hunger for fish 'n chips. While we were waiting for our cholesterol dose to bubble in the vat, we noticed that there was a constant dribble of motorcyclists on the road. We asked the shopkeeper and they told us there was a "Show 'n Shine" event at "The Shed", so we went to investigate after lunch. An ok little event, with 20 or so custom bikes on show. The gold coin donation was better value than the previous boulder steps. "The Shed" was a large barn-type bar behind a local hotel. Not a bad watering hole. Had a light beer and a squiz at the rides and pushed off again.
The drive to Christchurch passed quickly. A bit of an anti-climax though, after our exciting trek to the west. We civilization and pulled up in a "Golden Arches" car park, the only place with parking for the covered wagons. It was across the road from a huge "malled" trading post and all the womenfolk took on a look of zombies hunting brains. Us menfolk conferred that we'd best let them free to hunt & satiate their need for finery, else the womenfolk would be wearing our kahoonies for earrings. Washerwoman led the charge across the busy wagon road, oblivious to all the traffic busily swerving around her. SquawJenny renamed her - acknowledging her royalty bloodline. Henceforth, she is to be known as "Mary, Queen of Shops". The menfolk departed in the covered wagons to find safe lodging for the night.
We forged ahead to the Riccarton Holiday Park. It sounded okay in the AA bible. It was getting on a bit and this was the closest one. What do they say about not believing everything you read? The sites were very cheap and we found out why. Although clean, the van park was very basic and very old, mainly populated by those less fortunate. 50 years ago, it would have been a big hit, with flushing toilets and everything. We parked the vans, showered up & relaxed in the TV room to wait for the womenfolk. A resident joined us for a chinwag. Wrap-around sunnies in the dark, tatts, face jewelery, braided hair, hoodie, designer jeans & runners. This big bloke was really happening. "Where 'yas from bro?" he asked of Ol' Dolly. "I'm from Queensland." replies Ol' Dolly. "Ah. I've got a cuz in Brizzy." announces 2Pac Twin. "Yo want to visit him." says Ol' Dolly. "Can't bro. Been bad and your government won't let me in, bro." growls 2Pac Twin. Hmm... Silent pause. "Hey, who's winning in the V8 race?" Ol' Dolly asks Herr Laurie.
The womenfolk arrive in Prius Taxi style, jumping out and growling at the suntanned, golly-gosh driver. "Deaf as a board, ignorant & didn't know where he was going." they exclaim. My opinion of cab DRIVERS remains unchanged. Some good'uns but I wouldn't feed the majority with a slingshot. Mary, Queen of Shops beamed radiantly as she made her way to her wagon, tightly clutching the most valued possessions in her kingdom - Shopping Bags!! We sniffed out our freshest socks & finest flannies for a night in the big city.
Suitably resplendent, we waited for a maxitaxi at the front gate for a ride into town. A shiny doof-doof wagon passed by and the occupants screamed a peculiar greeting to us. They were of the local tribe which must have a vision handicap, because they screamed "N#G#ERS!" at the top of their lungs. I waved and replied "Yo Bro!" loudly, as our group began laughing uncontrollably. The womenfolk examined their make-up, thinking that they may have overdone the rouge a bit. The ride into town was uneventful and we disembarked in the centre, surrounded by eateries and clubs.
After a swift scout of available chew-n-spews, we settled for an "Olde English Pub". The meal was excellent and fairly priced. We did find most establishments were priced well, which was a far cry from our $29 pizza shock on our first encounter with Christchurch. After dinner & a drink or two, we strolled around to check out the area. We went past a small shop with a collection of rock & punk miscellanea for sale. A sign out the front proclaimed "WE SELL PARTY PILLS". Well, being the "organic chemical enthusiast" of the expedition, it was too much for Ol Dolly's curiosity and in he went to find out about these concoctions. He asked "What are these pills you sell?. "We sell lots of types of pills. What are you after?" came the reply. "What are these Party Pills? he asked. "Oh, they're SEX pills" she explained. "And what do I use these SIX pills for?" he asked. "They're SEX pills." she explained louder. "Ok, I now know there's SIX of them - but what do you do with them?". "SEX! SEX! They're for SEX! You Aussies are so funny! I worked over there for a while in a pub and the patrons continually asked me to say Fush 'n Chups!" she laughed. "Oh. Now I get it." brightly blushed Ol Dolly, with a grin on his face. "And what do they actually do for sex?". "They are full of caffeine and keep you awake." she explained. "Thanks, but I'll just have a big cup of coffee." Ol' Dolly replies, as he beats an embarrassed retreat.
It was a quick beer in an "Irish Pub" across the road as we waited for the maxitaxi to reappear and then we headed home. The driver engaged in pleasant conversation and switched off the meter without announcement. We arrived back at the van park and he asked for the fare - $10 more than the outward journey. "I'm not that bloody drunk!" I growled at him and he immediately apologized and settled for the previous fare. We made our way to a picnic table near the dunnys and had a quiet drink to end the night's celebration of CalamityBarb's half-century achievement. She thanked us for wishing her good fortune for the next half, as her forehead & black eye radiated in the pale moonlight. We retired to the covered wagons, double-checking all was locked & secure. We didn't need any nocturnal visits from 2PAC Twin or his cuz's in the night. I slept fitfully, dreaming of comfortable beds and modern conveniences that I didn't have to empty with a gas mask on...
Day 10 - Our last day in UnZud. We transferred all remaining supplies to CalamityBarb & Ol' Dolly's wagon, because they were staying on for another 3 days. They were going to make their way up to Nelson & Hanmer Springs. Pity we couldn't do it with them, but the salt mine requested me home. Herr Laurie and I did the "Dump Station" exercise and filled the wagons with go-juice. Hugs & kisses flowed around and we sadly set off for the giant wagon shed.
Upon arrival, I made my way to the returns desk where I had to fill out the accident report on the damage to the wagon's forehead. The photographic evidence can be examined in my TA member site under "photos of Milford Sound". The returns staff took photos and asked what I'd hit. "Milford Tunnel" I replied. They told me that it'd been done a few times before and it'd happen again. They informed me that there had been seven previous accident reports before me that day and it was only 10.30am. I felt a little better and thanked SquawJenny's sensibility on taking full insurance cover with no excess. Here's the keys and I'm outa here! A fast free shuttle around the corner to the airport and we were the first to check-in for the homeward flight.
We were re-bitten by duty-free walletsnakes again on the way out. This was to restock cabinet supplies at home that our son had announced he'd consumed during parties at our place in our absence. Hmm... I settled down to have a lunchtime snack before boarding Jetstar cattle class. Another pleasant surprise. The airport cafe' offerings were tasty & economical! I had a pie and SquawJenny had a huge piece of pizza. Both were delicious. The return flight was smooth and uneventful - just the way you want air travel to be. My mind just drifted away with the warm, syrupy voice of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole flowing from the headphones of my ipod http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZFkXQKCuBc ("and I think to myself what a wonderful world"). A drop of moisture forms in the corner of my eye and I ponder whether it is attributed to the loss of such a great man to the world, or to my own disappointment at leaving such a magnificent land.
Back in Oz and off to customs. We'd declared "food", because SquawJenny had a packet of chockys. The customs guy sighed and waved us through as quick as a flash. Works a treat every time, especially if you don't look like a sweaty, stressed out drug mule. Outside and I call the son to meet us with the wagon in the car park. As I walk by the empty bus & taxi area, I observe 2 guys pushing their backpacks quickly into a Subaru whilst the driver kept the car running. The huge, ugly, female, parking Nazi rushed over to the otherwise empty section of the pickup area and shouted at them to remove their bags from the car and meet the driver in the car park 30 metres over. This meant the driver had to exit the pickup area, drive around the block to the car park entrance, drive across the car park to pick up the two passengers, then drive out the exit to pay a parking fee of about $7. As I walked past the guys with my bag trolley rattling, I said "I see you've met our parking Nazis. Welcome to Australia". "What a hostess she was." he retorted with an English accent. "Have a nice day and don't judge us by that creep." I replied. He smiled and waved, as we packed up and left for home, riding off into the sunset (really a huge & violent electrical storm).
In summary:
We loved our time New Zealand. We did find the farmland areas a bit boring, as we come from a similar area. Beaches? We've got bucketloads of great beaches around us. The more mountainous regions were our love. They were so VERTICAL. Mountains in Oz rise gradually, but in NZ. It's SMACK! - there's the mountain. They make your very soul tingle with their magnificence. I must say that it's one of the few places that you could enjoy no matter what the weather. Seriously, the campervan was heaps of fun and we thoroughly enjoyed the evenings with the vans circled up so we could enjoy pleasant "cocktail parties", which is a signature of the way we travel with friends. I wasn't all that taken with the bedding bit. I do suffer from tight spaces anxiety a little and I'm not a small person, so sleeping over a week in a camper was pushing the friendship. If I did it again, I'd probably spend every 4th night in a motel for a decent sleep.
Generally, we found the locals to be warm & friendly, with most travelers the same (so busy enjoying themselves). I take the opportunity to deeply thank all those that entertained and assisted us before, during and after our brief (but wonderful) time in New Zealand. I especially thank all you who have spurred me on to complete this epic chronicle of stupidity. May you all live long, happy and prosperous lives. TIKA HOKI. KA KITE ANO. (I think I said "Thank you & see you again". I hope it wasn't something like "Your mum's a hooker". Ha Ha.).
Comments
GREAT BLOG
Harleynut, I absolutely loved your blow by blow description of your journey through the Sth Island. We're hoping to do the same trip also in a campervan with the added stress of a 12 y.o. onboard. If we have half as much fun as you did it will be a great trip. We're also doing the Nth Island. I still don't get how your van got its brow beaten and not the other two vans. Is part of that tunnel higher at one and you missed it? I would have loved some of Squawjenny's input on girl stuff. For example, cooking in the van, how much room for clothes and do you get enough bedding etc. Thanks again for your funny blog.