The City of Sails

I certainly didn’t look forward to leaving New Zealand, in fact, the more I thought about it, the more depressing it was. New Zealand was my welcoming host for almost two months, and now I was leaving, years until my next visit. Of course, the best way to leave a good friend is on a good note, so I was going to make the most of my time in Auckland, a city where fun is apparently hard to find. Making the most, however, doesn’t mean getting up early, and I furthered my lazy streak by getting up around 10 – I’m am on vacation aren’t I? After a full breakfast at a nearby cafe, I explored the city and quickly realised why people were underwhelmed by Auckland’s exterior: Auckland is just another city. Surprise! Of course, it’s not what’s on the exterior that matters and I set up at the library to enjoy their free internet and discover what was going on under the surface. As it turned out, a lot was going on and I eagerly recorded every possibility in the city to plan my next days. Walking to the nearby Town Hall, I purchased tickets for a concert then wandered downtown to pick up some groceries in effort to reduce my food bills. Of course, making your own food is always cheaper than eating out unless you are in a hostel with some seriously good food deals; rare, but it happens. In this case, $30NZD meant dinner for four nights, sandwiches for four days, and bread for breakfast if I ever get up that early. This evening I made a large pot of spaghetti sauce with fresh veggies and ground beef, making enough for four nights and putting the leftovers in the fridge, a time efficient method of cooking, only requiring me to cook some noodles each evening. Sound obvious? Apparently not to around a dozen people who marvelled over the next four nights at the idea of making too much and putting it in the fridge for later... yikes. Getting dressed in the best clothes I could manage (‘backpacker’ best is a little different from my ‘at home’ best) I headed off for the concert at the nearby Town Hall. The Auckland Philharmonic Orchestra was presenting Pictures at an Exhibition for their opening performance of the season. I personally had not heard much about the APO, but they performed a terrific set and their yearly programme was impressive to say the least, a wonderful selection of pieces in various venues, for various age groups.

One of Auckland’s distinguishing features is its diversity. Myself coming from a country that prides itself on its multiculturalism, I was quite impressed with the figures Auckland touts proudly. With a strong Maori population, around 20%, the city is strong in New Zealand’s roots. Auckland is also home to the largest Polynesian population outside of Polynesia, a population that is not segregated in one part of the city but spread throughout. There are also major populations of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese amongst other Asian countries. It should come as no surprise then that the Chinese New Year, an occasion specific to the Chinese but celebrated by many people worldwide and throughout Asia, is a big deal here. While it is the Chinese New Year, Auckland involves the whole Asian community in what is one of the world’s biggest multicultural festivals, the Auckland Chinese Lantern Festival. Drawing over two hundred thousand visitors in 2009, the 2010 festival was expected to be equally as impressive. After a day of blogging at the hostel, I made my way down to the festival with a couple of new acquaintances. China, in specific, Shanghai, is responsible for the majority of the lanterns at the festival, impressive show pieces made of nothing more than bamboo, coloured silk and lit by regular light bulbs. Before night when the lanterns came into their element however, the daylight was used for martial art demonstrations from the various Asian nationalities in attendance. The festival was later opened by the New Zealand Prime Minister, John Key, and attended by many politicians and prominent businessmen/women. Everyone had to have their 15 minutes, and all of the politicians made a point of thanking everyone they could think of, making for ages of boring drivel. There was food by the cart load from every Asian group for dinner and dessert and I personally went for the sweet side, enjoying a couple ice cream dishes.

On the 28^th, I decided to take a daytrip out of the city, and with my new Swiss friend, Sonja, boarded a ferry to Mt Rangitoto. The entire region has been volcanic at some point, and the dormant Mt Rangitoto in Auckland’s harbour is reminder of the area’s origins. Day tours of the harbour are also available with a brief moment on the island, but for anyone interested in exploring the volcano, a ferry pass is recommended. The island is covered with walking paths, ranging from easy roads to challenging treks through the woods. I found the landscape quite foreign as the ubiquitous black rock dominated the landscape, sometimes interrupted by the occasional foliage, often covered with lush forest. The tracks offer stunning view of the surrounds, whether of Auckland, the neighbouring island or the sight of hundreds of nearby sailboats under sail. Auckland is the city of sail, home to hundreds of thousands of moored sailboats and the start or finish line to multiple sail races. If the sun gets to you on the hot black rock, an intricate network of subterranean tunnels provides an escape so long as you’ve remembered your flashlight for the pitch black journeys. The island holds a unique military history; having hosted military installations as far back as the late 1800’s when New Zealand was worried about Russian invasion. More recently the island was home to the Controlled Mine Base from where sea mines were deployed to protect the harbour from foreign navies in both world wars. Little of the buildings remain after an 80’s demolition plan, but the foundations offer a glimpse into what it might have been like here 60+ years ago. It was here I ran into a group from Scouts New Zealand on their own day hike. I had a great chat with their leaders and discovered that Scouting in New Zealand is active, and well attended. I got some contact information and promised to keep in touch, especially if I ever come back to New Zealand. He reminded me that Scouting is a large network, and no matter where you go there are always Scouts willing to help out – after all, it helps towards your one good turn every day! For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’ve spent a good part of my life in Scouts Canada, participating from around 5-13 and leading for a couple years after that – and a good part of my life it was. I shan’t digress too much, but my time in Scouts taught me many of the skills I would use later in life, whether while camping, in the military, or just the good values which are important for everyday life. The survival skills not only teach young boys – and in many countries, girls as well – self sufficiency, but impart a strong self confidence which will help them to mature. Scouts (more specifically, Beavers, Cubs, and then Scouts) was an important part of my growing up, and I encourage participation. Mt Rangitoto was a wonderful day trip out of Auckland, and while both Sonja and I were quite happy to get off our feet after 25km of walking, we had thoroughly enjoyed our time on the trail. For the lazier traveller, there are road trains which pick up from the ferry and take visitors on a loop of the island and even near the summit; but the trail was not difficult and for anyone with mild physical ability the climb is rewarding and not terribly physically demanding.

My final full day in Auckland was spent exploring the further reaches of the city. Setting off with Sonja and our new Dutch friend Megan, we walked south towards Mt Eden, a location I was unaware of but is famous for its views and history. In this part of New Zealand, it shouldn’t be too surprising to learn that this “Mt” was once a volcano, but today it is a grassy hill which offers spectacular views. We walked the whole way up (not really all that far) and like proper tourists, got our photos. From here we spotted One Tree Hill further in the distance, and after conferring, agreed to walk the distance. Please, no jokes about the name, I’ve heard them all by now. We were semi lost along the way until we spotted the obelisk which crowns the hill, marking a site of historic significance. This was once a Maori Pa, a defensive hill which used European battle tactics to defend against the European threat and enemy Maori tribes. At the base of One Tree Hill is a large park with plenty of space for weekend tomfoolery with the usual free barbeques. We enjoyed a stroll through here before starting our way back. We only then realised how far we had come and how far we had to get back, but we decided against the bus and set off anyway. By the time we returned to our hostel we had walked a good 18km, not bad considering it was stifling hot city walking and we had set out in flip-flops in anticipation of a short walk.

After a Skype call home with birthday wishes for my mom (happy birthday Mom!) and the usual dinner, I was off to the IMAX Theatre at nearby Sky Cinema. Again joined by Megan and Sonja, we were in for a treat, the 3D IMAX presentation of Avatar. Wow, what a film! I know that some people claim there is no storyline, that it is only special for its effects, but I quite enjoyed the storyline – even if it was a bit unoriginal. But it is the effects that make Avatar special, and with the massive screen and characters you can almost touch in 3D, it was an amazing experience. Well done Mr Cameron.

Unfortunately, this was the end of my time in New Zealand. All that was left was a bus ride to and short wait in, the Auckland airport before heading to Australia. More adventures await in Australia, but New Zealand was a special destination along my journey. There is just so much to love about New Zealand that I couldn’t possibly fit it into one of my posts, so read the rest of my New Zealand posts to understand what I mean. But some stand outs are the amicable people, spectacular scenery, ease of travelling, catering for backpackers, lack of dangerous creatures, lush environments, and the list just goes on! I know already I will return to New Zealand. I will revisit some of the places I enjoyed most, check in on some of the places that were on the path to great things during my visit, and I will explore new things. Looking back on my time in New Zealand, I can hardly believe I spent almost two whole months, 53 days in total, because it passed so quickly and without worry. For the prepared traveller, there is nothing to worry about in New Zealand. Accommodation will never be a problem for one with a tent, towns spaced across both islands ensure no one will ever go hungry, and the locals are sure to provide the camaraderie desired by the lonely traveller. My parents and I have both come to the same conclusion regarding New Zealand while backpacking: of all the countries in the world, except Canada, I would most like to live in New Zealand. It has it all, and if it weren’t for my strong connections to Canada, it would have me too.

Paradise Left

As perfect as Opoutere may have been, I couldn’t spend the rest of my trip there and it was time to move on. In fact, everyone had to move on as by 10am an invasion of around 40 12 year olds and their harried chaperones had the hostel overrun, a school trip which had been booked months in advance. The hostel manager seemed unfazed as the kids were the chaperone’s responsibility; she had but to hide in her office until the storm passed. I started the walk back to the main Coromandel highway (State Highway no. 25) but didn’t wait long before a car stopped – two actually. One car had two Canadian friends, Megs and Jesse, both in the mid twenties, and the following car was a German friend they had made who had his own wheels. They were spending another night on the Coromandel and offered to take me as far as I wanted, even as far as Auckland the next day. I agreed to think about Auckland while we continued on. Their – and now my – first objective was Hot Water Beach, famed for the thermal spring water which runs under the sand out to sea. If you arrive two hours either side of low tide, you can dig a hole big enough for yourself, and be amazed as it fills with hot-tub-warm water. We were a bit too late and unfortunately the effect had passed, but we enjoyed a leisurely stroll down the beach taking photos and testing out the water. I didn’t bring my camera along as I was still content with my beach in Opoutere but was happy to be Megs photographer with her digital SLR. After saying goodbye to their German friend, our next stop north along the 25 was Cathedral Cove (not to be confused with Cathedral Caves in the Catlins). This magnificent beach requires a 20 minute hike along the side of some cliffs before descending to the wonderful beach. We stayed here for a while to  have a swim in the magnificent water, playing in the metre high surf and admiring the arched rock which separates the beach in two, also giving the beach its name. We swam, enjoyed the sun, and lazed for a couple hours before taking the far less attractive route back up the cliff. From here, we hit the road up to Whitianga, my original destination before the best sidetrack of my trip to Opoutere. We checked into a shared room, just the three of us, paying a couple extra dollars per person for the privacy. I thought about the rest of my time, trying to decide how I would get to Auckland. My flight out was on the 1^st and travelling to Auckland now would mean five nights in a city which I had heard many negative things about from other backpackers. On the other hand, it was a guaranteed ride with these Canadians all the way to Auckland, and they were willing to drive me to whatever hostel I booked. I decided to travel with them to Auckland and thanked them for giving me the opportunity. Dinner was at a carvery in town where patrons choose a meat and get to help themselves to a buffet of vegetables. Predictably, I went with the lamb and loaded on the crisp roasted vegetables for what turned out to be a delicious dinner choice.

I booked the YHA International in Auckland at reception the next morning before we set out to traverse the rest of highway 25. It was $23/night, which at the time seemed expensive, but only because I was spoiled by the cheap hostels throughout New Zealand’s more rural destinations. The rest of the drive was nearly as twisty as the Queen Charlotte Pass, but with a near empty stomach I managed not to feel sick as I read my way along the highway from the back seat. We reached Coromandel Town on the west coast and stopped for a short while, enjoying a hike to the shoreline which took only an hour return. The towns in this area have little to offer themselves in the way of attractions, although they all seem to have their own rendition of a gold museum, a gold mining experience, and a gold miner’s house to tour. One might start to suspect that the region was initially populated in the late 1800’s by opportunists seeking their fortune in the Coromandel’s own gold rush! One might also suspect that there is still a lot of prospecting going on, and Opoutere’s residents are currently trying to fight off a big mining company that wants to mine the region heavily. We hit the road and enjoyed a considerably straighter ride the rest of the way to State Highway 1, where we joined multilane traffic all the way to Auckland. This was some of the first multilane highway I’d seen in New Zealand, and as we approached the city and got stuck in gridlock (it was around 3pm) I appreciated the need for it. New Zealand has a funny population distribution: of 4.4 million people, just over one million live in the South Island. Of these people, around 400 thousand live in one of the two cities, Christchurch and Invercargill. Of the 3.3 million on the North Island, around 1.2 live in Auckland and its environs. I wonder why the majority of the tourism happens away from the main population in New Zealand, and the majority of the population live far away from the main sights the country has to offer, but I suppose I cannot work my way into the psyche of a Kiwi; or rather, an English settler. This uneven population distribution does leave Auckland alone in the category of ‘large cities in New Zealand’, and often times it shows – usually not in their favour. State Highway 1 for example, as it approaches the city, is nowhere near sufficient to handle the droves of commuting Aucklanders. The city streets – even in the newer parts of town – are far too small or poorly organised to handle the thousands of people who ride them daily. In fact, if Auckland is notorious for one thing, it is the hodgepodge style in which everything seems organised, from roads and public transit, to zoning and public works. It is a constant source of frustration for Aucklanders and – according to my Lonely Planet – tourists alike. This coupled with a poor reputation amongst backpackers for quality of accommodation, sights, and prices; and you might start to understand my apprehension at spending too much time here. Red flags were raised left, right and centre as we fought our way through the crowded city streets towards the hostel, my drivers having a hard time with oddly placed one ways, crowded intersections, and confusing roundabouts. I found myself rather dreading my time here, and even regretting a bit deciding to stay as long as I would. The YHA International however, was a delightful surprise. Lonely Planet says that when most people recount the terrible experiences with Auckland hostels, they are usually referring to the grungy central hostels, and LP recommends staying in the surrounding suburbs. Apparently they missed YHA International. After a quick visit to an incredibly cheap Asian food restaurant (yumm, MSG...), I set about finding things to do in the city back at the hostel.

As I read my way through some brochures, checked out online resources, and perused information on current events; I had to scratch my head when recalling all the Auckland naysayers who claimed it was a boring city with little to offer. During my visit there was the opening of the Lantern Festival, a documentary festival, a 24 hour observathon at the observatory with gold coin donation for entry, and more, plus, of course, the usual attractions. Whatever I ended up doing, I knew my visit to Auckland was not going to be boring and uneventful. The plethora of activities plus the generally cheap prices throughout the city had me thinking that my visit was in fact going to be quite enjoyable, a fitting end to a wonderful time in New Zealand.

A Brief Glimpse at Paradise

Leaving Rotorua, I was headed for a different kind of vacation, the kind that people usually dream of when ‘leaving it all behind’ at home. Time on the Coromandel Peninsula is best spent lazing around the beach, reading a good novel, and forgetting all cares. In order to relax in paradise, one must first get there, and getting there is often more of an adventure, sometimes changing plans entirely. I started walking out of Rotorua until a car stopped, a Scottish man who was able to take me 10km until our paths diverged and he dropped me off, wishing me luck in the rest of my hitchhiking. I waited for a good 30 minutes with no luck before I walked a kilometre further down the road to find a better spot. I found a small town around the corner, the very slow traffic offering promise,  and within 30 minutes a pickup truck had stopped. The driver was a Stihl sales rep returning home from a conference, and he was happy to have some company in the car with him. This is a generally recurring theme amongst drivers; most stop because they want the company in the car. Most of my drivers have been single male travellers who are happy for a bit of conversation and the same (but opposite) was true when travelling with Suzanne, where most of our drivers were single females. I believe that the fundamental benefit of hitchhiking is in the way it connects people. People need not travel alone when the chance exists to meet someone new. There are of course the dangers associated for both parties involved, but that is another matter. This man took me as far as his home town of Tauranga, but decided to give me a tour of the area as well. I had not planned to stop here, but he made a convincing case for it as we drove by stunning beaches on the peninsula which is also the home to a small hill called simply ‘Mount’, and through his relaxed and well cared for town. He dropped me off in the next town before heading back home. I waited here in Bethlehem (no kidding) for a mere 10 minutes before I was picked up by two twenty something gals local to the area, heading home a bit up the coast. Slowly, I was working my way up the east coast of the Coromandel, hoping to get to my objective of Whitianga (pronounced phu-ti-ang-ga), a small town north on the east coast. Dropped off by the two ladies, I found myself closer, but waiting longer as the local traffic petered off. Not many Kiwis find their way to the north of the Coromandel, and backpackers with their own cars are rare around these parts. A half hour later I was picked up by a man in a van with his five (that’s right, 5) young daughters (4-12) in the back as they returned from a shopping trip in town. They were going to a place called Opoutere (Oh-poo-ter-ee) which was down a side road off of the main #25 highway. He encouraged me to consider Opoutere because of its fine beach, the lack of tourists, and amazing solitude. I agreed to think about it but was dropped off as he turned down the side road. I waited here for 40 minutes, waiting for a ride but also checking out Opoutere in Lonely Planet. It was only big enough to warrant 1/6 of a page, but it was reviewed favourably as “a hidden jewel,” and “an untouched paradise”.  Considering it was 3pm and the rides were sparse, I figured what the hell and started off down the side road to Opoutere. It was 6km down the road, but after walking only 10 minutes I heard a car approaching and quickly turned around to give them the finger – my thumb that is. The older English gentleman behind the wheel of the Mercedes had quite a posh accent and inquired quite properly as to my ‘business’ in Opoutere. Arriving at his summer home, he said quite abruptly, “and this is as far as I will take you.” Somewhat stunned, I hurried out and walked the rest of the two kilometres down the road to the YHA which sat near the beach.

As it turned out, the YHA was a collection of buildings built in varying decades with a few sites for tents. As reception was not present, I pitched my tent unobtrusively in a shaded corner, hoping there was vacancy for the night. I spoke with an older lady who was staying there four days on a vacation from work and she had nothing but good things to say about the area and its intoxicatingly relaxing qualities. After reception arrived at 5, I paid my $14 for the night, and got some advice on the area. Unfortunately, there was not a store for miles around and so I was stuck eating OSM bars, but I had enough to get by for two nights. There was not a lot to do in Opoutere, but absurd as it felt in the moment, the postcard views and salty ocean air were getting to me and I found myself considering a second night. I kept it in the back of my mind as I set off to find the nearby beach only a 300m walk down the road and a 700m through a wildlife reserve. I soon found myself on the most gorgeous beach I have ever seen, and was only sharing it with around 15 people – oh, I suppose I should mention it was 3-4km long. I instantly knew I would be staying another night here. The sand was soft and fluffy, the water warm and inviting, and with few souls to crowd paradise, it was an ideal stop. I went for a quick dip, enjoying the waves, before hiking back to the hostel for a shower and some dinner. The lady I was speaking to earlier noticed my diet of OSM bar and offered me some pasta she had leftover, as well as a bit of salad where the lettuce leaves had frozen and then thawed. I accepted with thanks and chowed down, filled by my OSM but happy to have some real food as well (the salad was decent, if a bit soggy as well). I spent the evening on the deck overlooking the estuary until the mosquitoes came out, and I headed into the main building to do some typing before heading to bed.

No sleeping in for David on the 22^nd. Oh no, this was my morning to catch the sun red handed as it rose from the horizon into the sky. I had intended to walk up the rather large hill behind the hostel for the show, but failing to find the entrance to the path up, I went back to the beach instead. Planning for an hour walk the hour to the top, I arrived at the beach a bit early around 5:45 and enjoyed the constantly shifting palette of pastels until 7am when the feature presentation first peaked its golden rays over the horizon and the climbed its way into the sky, through some clouds,  and finally free into the open air. It was the most magnificent sunrise I have ever seen as the solitary setting, picture perfect scenery, and perfect cloud conditions conspired for an ideal experience. I returned to the hostel and to bed until 11am when I awoke, had another OSM and collected a kayak for some fun in the water. The estuary was now at high tide, ideal for the best kayaking, and I made the most of it, paddling from one end to the other. I took my camera along in a handy waterproof bag my mom had sent for Christmas, only taking it out when the water was calm and there were interesting things nearby to shoot. I got up and close with some of the more elusive coastal birds of New Zealand, experienced the tide rushing in, and paddled up a small river which fed into the estuary. It was a wonderful time and  made me miss canoeing back home, prompting me to make more than one promise about returning to it in the summer. I brought the kayak back to the hostel and spent the afternoon reading, blogging, and socialising with the small crowd of people staying there. I was talking with an older lady who told me stories of coming to this YHA as a young adult, then bringing her children there, and eventually her grandchildren. She told me about their local fundraising efforts for getting the hostel a reliable and clean source of running water, and eventually electricity. The hostel today has all of the above as well as high speed internet. She spoke fondly of activities in the estuary and excursions on the beach, recounting shell fishing quite fondly. She told me that the local variety of Green Mussel were quite delicious though she had not had them for some time. I offered her a deal; I would collect an assortment of shellfish if she would cook them. She eagerly agreed and I grabbed an old onion bag kept for this purpose, and headed off for the estuary once again, now at much lower tide and continuing out. I collected cockles, tui-tui (a local variety of small white shellfish), and eventually very generously sized mussels. There are set limits on each, and I made sure I knew the limits before I collected any. The collecting was easy, the cockles and tui-tui in the tidal zone of the esuary, the mussels proving a bit more of an adventure as I waded out to my waist in the warm ocean water to where waves were breaking on a rock. Standing on top, I easily picked my limit of 25 before returning to the hostel for a shower. By the  time I was clean she had them all in a pot and was steaming away. I got chatting with a group of middle aged Canadians and Americans travelling together, and found we all got along quite well. As the buffet of delicious shellfish was served, everyone looked hungrily upon what was apparently seen as my food. I invited everyone to dig in but the Americans and Canadians insisted they trade some salad and wine, an offer I gladly accepted. No OSM for me tonight, it was shellfish and salad all the way, with a lovely Sauvignon blanc to accompany. After the food was long gone, we hung around the table talking and drinking wine as it was decided their bottles needed finished, and I was invited to help them out. It was a great evening of amicable conversation and drinks, one I will long remember as the evening where food came from straight from the sea, and the accompaniments from the generosity of fellow travellers.

This was the end of my time in this paradise, but this is not the last time I will visit Opoutere. The next time I find myself in New Zealand, I am going to make a stop in Opoutere part of my itinerary. It truly is a hidden gem. Attempts have been made to develop the area for more tourism and more residential lots. The local council have flatly rejected any such proposals, and have vowed to keep the area a peaceful haven away from the tourist filled beaches to both North and South. I hope the area remains this way for a long time to come, but I invite you to discover this little piece of heaven for yourself.

Sulphur City

I wasn’t really sure what to expect in Taupo, whether it would be a tourist heavy town with lots to do, or a chill jumping off point for other adventure, but I set off anyway on the 18^th, sticking out the thumb while again practicing my skills at walking backwards with a 20kg bag. I got a ride relatively quickly with an ex-rugby player (missing a finger to prove it!) who acted macho for the hitchhiker, but the assortment of baby toys in the back of his SUV gave away his softer side. He dropped me off at the edge of town where I learned that the main road to Taupo was unfortunately already up to 100km/hr and there were no alternative spots. I got my music out right away, now quite able to predict when a good wait is ahead, and stuck out my thumb, smiling pretty for the passing cars and mumbling immature things at bumpers receding into the distance. It took about an hour before a car of similarly aged backpackers stopped and let me in. They were passing through Taupo and offered me a ride the whole way. The four of them were Peace Corps members taking time off from their posting in Fiji. Hearing some of their experiences in Fiji made me want to visit, but that will have to wait for another trip. They explained that while it was nice to have the modern amenities of the developed world, not even New Zealand felt like a vacation after the laid back atmosphere of Fiji. We stopped off at a winery well off the beaten track and met a man who singlehandedly is running his own wine business and living a slightly alternative lifestyle, delighting in the simpler things in life such as building his own complex – his current project is a bell tower which will be over 10m tall upon completion. He was a Canadian (although for the life of me I cannot remember from where) who studied wine in university in Germany before moving to New Zealand in his late 20’s to open his own winery which he has tended to for the past 30 years; a fascinating story from a fascinating individual. I could have stayed all day and talked, but my drivers had a deadline to keep, and after all, they’re the ones with the keys!

We arrived in Taupo in the early afternoon and I checked into the Tiki Lodge before setting off to discover the town. As it turned out, Taupo is one of the latter categories of towns, a jumping off point for adventure – adventure which requires a generous budget. Finding nothing to do in town, I found a lovely cafe and restaurant on the waterfront and got out my computer, content to spend the day keeping in touch with family and friends back home while working on my blog. The restaurant, Dixie Brown’s, turned out to be a great place to stop and I enjoyed dinner here as well. Internet was free with purchase and I didn’t feel too much like an intrusion as I sat there literally all afternoon and into the evening, packing up around 8 and heading back to the hostel. The Tiki Lodge bills itself online as more of an experience than a hostel; run by Maori and featuring cultural touches. In reality, the Tiki Lodge is your average New Zealand hostel for around 100 people with average amenities and average hosts; albeit with an impressive Tiki statue on the front lawn. But, as they say, it’s a place to rest the head.

My next stop was Rotorua, famed as the centre of Maori cultural experiences and formerly home to the 8^th natural wonder of the world. Walking out of Taupo, I was quickly picked up by a Dane heading all the way to Rotorua. In his late 20’s, he was in New Zealand to hunt deer, a sport greatly endorsed by the Kiwi government for its positive effects on wildlife in the fragile ecosystem which has been invaded by four legged bull dozers. He had no trouble at all obtaining permission to hunt from the DOC, and had only to inform the proper authorities where he wished to hunt and receive a temporary permit for that area. The previous evening he had found himself lost in the bush as the sun set, and he pushed his way through the darkness, shielding his face with his hands which this morning bore the wounds of such a perilous expedition. After a quick lunch break on a lookout over Taupo, we were off and had some hilarious conversation the way up to Rotorua, a relatively short distance. I traded the usual stories of my travels for his entertaining tales of hunting.

I planned to stay only one night in Rotorua at the Crank Backpackers, and after checking in, saw the town at the required breakneck pace, getting in as many sights before closing time in the evening. First off, I should say this; Rotorua stinks! Surrounded by hot springs and thermal vents, Rotorua is permeated with the stench of sulphur, completely inescapable no matter where one tries to hide. Tours depart from Rotorua to geysers and thermal hotspots, some sporting fancy spas or cheap pools, but the absolutely budget option lies within Rotorua, their free-entry Thermal Park. Here I was able to witness the thermal activity which makes Rotorua famous. Wandering around the park for a while, I spotted bubbling mud, steaming sinkholes, and boiling water, all completely repulsive to the nose. Having had enough of the intense stench, I moved on to my next budget attraction. From Rotorua (and also Taupo) busses can take the curious to Maori settlements to experience Maori culture. Certain tours include dinner as well as performances, while others are limited to a walkthrough of typical Maori settlements. While these tours cost an arm and a leg, Rotorua is fortunate enough to have its very own settlement within the town, called Ohinemutu. While the settlement is modern and the inhabitants are dressed similarly rather than the flashy traditional dress of other locations, for a gold coin donation ($1-2) the curious can have a gander at a modern interpretation of the Maori meeting house, a Christian church with a uniquely Maori flair, and talk with some genuinely amicable Maori who are more than happy to discuss their history, culture, and politics – both past and present with a generally balanced perspective. Next, I wandered to Government Park, 55 hectares of land gifted by local Maori, and kept as the region’s best example of Victorian gardening. The crowning jewel of the park is the magnificent Victorian styled Bath House. Taking advantage of the local hot springs, the facility opened in the early 1900’s, featuring treatments to heal all manner of ailments. Whether dry skin, arthritis or anything else imaginable, they had a cure, and the wealthy and bourgeois flocked from around the world for the miraculous treatments. While the validity of the treatments remains dubious, the spa was used in both WWI and WWII, playing an important part in New Zealand for the treatment of the war wounded. Thousands of soldiers owe their speedy physical recoveries to the doctors, both conventional and therapeutic, who worked at this facility during that time. Seeing a decrease in use through the 50’s and 60’s, it was soon shut down and fell into disrepair, until rejuvenation as a  tourist attraction in the 80’s. It remains today a reminder of Rotorua’s history as a resort destination, and is used to showcase the building’s history, and to house the Rotorua Museum, telling the history of Rotorua. Early settlers discovered the most miraculous series of pink and white terraces descending towards a lake, each fed by the hot springs, forming the most amazing of baths and once considered the 8^th natural wonder of the world. Before the local Maori knew it, the area was flooded by all sorts of tourists (sort of like today), from the wealthy seeking medical benefits, to the poor who sought the money of the wealthy (one way or another). All this came to an abrupt end with a volcanic eruption which destroyed the unique plateaus and erased Rotorua from the map as a spa destination until the foundation of the Bath House.

Having had my history lesson for the day, I settled in at the Pig and Whistle, an English style pub, offering English pub fare and live bands every night. I tucked in a chowder and pint before heading back to the hostel for a relaxing evening. I had planned to leave the next day, but after talking to the manager for a bit, I was convinced to stay an extra day to check out the mountain biking scene. Apparently world class, I would find out the next day, setting off to ride some trails and experience the legend myself.

All day bike rental from the hostel was $40, and I set off around 11am for the trails, happy to once again be at the handle bars of a mountain bike. Some of New Zealand’s best mountain biking is here at the Red Wood Forest, and I intended to ride as much trail as possible, aiming to push myself and get a good workout while enjoying the world class trails. There was a national mountain biking tournament taking place (lending credence to the claim of “world class” trails) during my visit, and at times I found myself being drastically outpaced by extremely fit bikers. Luckily I was sticking to the easy and intermediate trails and the instances where I was completely shown up by people who had been biking for three times as long as me that day was kept to a minimum. The trails were indeed amazing, and while there were some well run trails, most were rough enough to maintain the true rugged spirit of mountain biking. Unfortunately, I found myself peddling up enough hills to tire myself out after a mere three hours, and I headed back early, not wanting to give myself an inconvenient injury such as the hot spots I felt forming on my palms (the early beginnings of blisters). The good folk at the hostel were kind enough to grant me credit for the time I didn’t use on the bike, having paid for a full day and only using three hours; I got some free internet time and some beers from the bar, an entirely unnecessary but fully appreciated gesture. I spent the rest of the day enjoying my internet time and blog writing (it takes a while, a few hours per blog depending on distractions!) before bed where I passed out from the fatigue of three hours of the most intense peddling I have ever done.

My mom had spoken of Rotorua as a small town with strong roots in Maori culture, smelling strongly of sulphur but an enjoyable stop nonetheless on my parent’s trip around the world in their own youth. She mentioned how surprised she was to see more recent photos from a relative’s visit a decade back, and was curious about its recent state. Development wise, Rotorua has gone the same way as most other New Zealand towns. The usual suspects have moved into town, offering experiences for those with the money to spend, taking tourists to the sights they read about from home. It’s hard to find a quiet and un-commercialised Rotorua under the bustling tourist trade, but there are glimpses to be had, beyond the cookie cutter main street, through the tour pamphlets, and past the glitzy hotels. In the peaceful waterfront Ohinemutu Maori settlement, sitting and enjoying the erupting thermal springs of Thermal Park, enjoying the sun in Government Park, taking a day trip by bike in the Red Wood Forest; the old Rotorua is still there and open for discovery. How you see a location is entirely in your own hands. The touristy route can be taken, often the most enjoyable way to see attractions as an experienced guide dishes out information laced with enough humour to keep it interesting. But sometimes, the cheap option pays off and you discover something more past the facade. So yes, mom, the old Rotorua is still there, but to get to it you have to get off the mainstream and see the town on a different path – the route would recommend to all.

WellyWood and The Little Town That Could

Having wined and dined properly in Blenheim, it was off to the North Island for both Suzanne and I. We walked to the road out of town and prepared for a good walk until the street was filled with more long distance traffic. On a whim, Suzanne stuck out her thumb anyway and wouldn’t you know it, a car stopped. The thirtyish lady driving was going all the way to Picton and was happy for the company. She was a travelling saleswoman for a medical supply company and would be arriving in Picton earlier than she needed, offering to drive us down the Queen Charlotte Pass a bit, before returning us to Picton. We gratefully accepted and I was happy I would finally get to go down the road I could not hitchhike on before. After a stop at Subway for lunch, we went 20 minutes down the Pass before stopping  for a view and turning back. The scenery was quite spectacular but the ride was another story entirely. I had thought the coastal road through the Catlins was fraught with turns, or the Great Ocean Road in Australia, but this road redefined the notion of twisty-turny. No stretch of road was straight for longer than 10 metres, and turns were rarely less than 90 degrees; all this on a road where the speed limit was 80. Hah! Good luck! Arriving back in the town, we thanked our driver profusely for the sightseeing detour and found our way to a hostel to hang out until our 6pm ferry. Motion sickness is something quite foreign to me as I usually read with ease on most roads, but the Pass is not normal road and even I felt quite sick as we gathered ourselves and planned our stay in Wellington, calling some hostels and checking out some sights. As 6 drew near, we grabbed a couple pizzas and headed for the terminal. For pedestrian passengers, luggage is much like at the airport where your bag is taken, and you are given a luggage return ticket. The ferry passed through much of the Marlborough Sound and as the ferry cruised along we were treated to the sights which we found quite similar to  Doubtful Sound and the Fiordland region. There was not much to do on board the boat except the $10 cinema, so we watched a movie on my computer (the for free option). As is the case with most ferries, everything was overpriced on board so we were glad we picked up some supper before we left.

Arriving in Wellington, we learned from Lonely Planet that InterIslander, the ferry we were on, drops off a few kilometres away from city centre, but provides a free shuttle to offset the inconvenience. Arriving, we learned this was not the case and were directed to a ticket machine where we each purchased a $2 ticket for a shuttle bus. After some confusion, a broken down bus, and some rude drivers, we were told our tickets were good for nothing and we would have to pay $5 to the driver directly, or $7 if we wanted to be dropped off at our hostel. After conferring, we both agreed to pay and were happy to be dropped off at the doorstep of the hostel. Our general state of happiness after wasting money, and feeling slightly ripped off, is another matter. So let this be a warning to anyone travelling as a pedestrian on InterIslander, the shuttle is not free, the shuttle is not the one you pay for at the ticket machine just out of the terminal – just wait for instructions from the drivers as the employees on board the ferry are not aware of shuttle procedures. We were staying at the WellyWood hostel for two nights, a tall seven storey hostel painted with bold zebra stripes on the front. Why WellyWood and why zebra stripes? Peter Jackson has had a large part, but is not the only one responsible for Wellington’s reputation as the New Zealand hotspot for movies. Lord of the Rings and Narnia are only two of the many films that have taken advantage of New Zealand’s vast landscape diversity in a relatively compact area. The zebra stripes...well, the hostel used to be the wild life hostel or something like that, and they just never changed it after the switch – I guess it suits the allusion to Hollywood as well.

The major attraction in Wellington is the famous Te Papa museum. Translating from Maori to “Our Place,” Te Papa is just that, a venue to tell the story of New Zealand, it’s land and the people who have settled it at various times. Te Papa aims at a highly interactive experience to keep the visitor interested and engaged, using videos, sound effects, interactive media, interactive displays, and even an earthquake simulating house to this aim. For the more intellectually interested visitor, there are panels providing ample information, but I found that in many of the exhibits the interactive content was perfect. A full history of the Maori settlement is presented, as well as fair and neutral information on the settlement of the Europeans and the interactions which were to come. An entire section is devoted to the Treaty of Waitanga, where the two officially signed a truce and the Maori agreed to be citizens of the Monarch. It was enlightening, and even after a good deal of reading on the internet I found myself learning many extra details along the way. We entertained ourselves with a brief ride in a motion simulator which presented a brief history of New Zealand along with demonstrations of the plethora of adventure activities which you can partake in the small country. Best yet, the museum is completely free. Like many museums I have run into on my travels, donation boxes are scattered throughout the museum and I believe that an experience  enjoyed is an experience worth paying for, of course to the best of one’s budget. From Te Papa we wandered the rest of downtown Wellington, taking in such sights as the Parliament Building, nicknamed the ‘beehive’ for obvious architectural reasons (when you see the design), the world’s largest all wooden building, and the cable car. Wellington was built on a narrow strip of land with the harbour on one side, and mountains on the other. In order to expand the city, it was deemed easier to fill in harbour than knock down mountain, so fill in they did. Many suburbs of the city exist at higher elevations however, and the cable car was – and in one instance still is – the choice method of transportation to these higher altitudes. We found ourselves riding with other snap happy tourists, but also some locals returning from a day at work. From the top of the hill there are wonderful views of Wellington, a well maintained park and an observatory which was unfortunately closed for renovations. All in all, not bad for $5 return considering that riding an elevator taking you to a similar elevation in other cities costs upwards of $20. Once back at sea level, we went to a Thai restaurant for a tasty treat before heading back to the hostel and crashing after a day full of a lot of standing and walking.

I knew my trip North was going to be a quick one and decided to leave Wellington the next day. Having more time in the North Island than I, Suzanne was unsure but decided she’d had enough of Wellington and came along with me. We were heading for Napier on the East Coast, a twisty 4+ hour drive away. Checking in at hitchwiki.org, I learned that Wellington is not an easy city to get out of as drivers are prohibited from stopping on the motorway until well outside of city limits. The soonest they can stop is when the highway becomes the main road of a place called Upper Hutt, our initial destination by regional train. The ticket cost only $6 one way and we were soon 40 minutes out of the city. Furthering Suzanne’s good luck, we quickly got a ride another 10km away from the city and waited only a few minutes before being picked up by a lady going all the way to Napier – what luck! I dozed in and out during the twisty ride which took us through mountains and valleys while Suzanne chatted away.

We were staying in the Stables Hostel, a converted – you guessed it – horse stable. With plenty of character and the bonus of free internet, it was a great stop. We stayed in the hostel only long enough to drop our things before heading out to explore the town. Napier is famous for its art deco styling, featured throughout the old district, well maintained, and indeed, celebrated. Nearly the entire town was flattened by an earthquake in the late 1920’s, and the whole town needed rebuilding. New buildings were constructed in the style popular at the time, art deco. Unrecyclable rubble was dumped at the edge of the beach and filled in, forming gardens for which Napier is equally famous. Every year, the town plays host to an art deco festival featuring 1930’s cars from all over New Zealand, people dressed in period clothing, food, drink and film. Apparently, visiting during the festival feels exactly like stepping back in time. But a visitor need not visit during the festival to catch a glimpse of 1930’s living; locals (especially of the older generations) enjoy nights out dressed in 1930’s garb and cinemas year round show period films in and around authentic art deco buildings. A not too strenuous walk from the centre of town is a lookout providing views over the port area and ocean beyond, but not, surprisingly, of the town itself (as I expected it would). We refuelled at BurgerFuel (haha...?), a New Zealand chain of burger joints we ran into for the first time here. With burgers like the ‘Bastard’, and the ‘Freakout’ on their menu, they are obviously a chain trying to be different, and indeed their burgers are good, but even they are no competition for the famous FergBurger (if you are not familiar with the FergBurger, I wrote about mind blowing FergBurgers in my entry on Queenstown). For Suzanne and I, this was our last day together as I would continue on the next day inland to Taupo, and she would continue up the coast to Gisborne. We had a couple of beers and watched a movie on my computer to celebrate our travels together.

Napier was nice, but my travels north had to happen a bit faster than in the South Island. I’m not sure if I could have actively filled another day in Napier but was quite content with the day I had. For anyone who enjoys the art deco style, Napier is an obvious destination. For those short on time, Napier might not be in the list of top NZ destinations, but has a charm all its own you can’t find elsewhere in New Zealand. In short, it’s cute, but that’s all.

The Finer Drinks of Life

Feeling much more rested on the 13^th after a solid night of sleep in real beds in Nelson, Suzanne and I packed up our stuff, left it in the hostel and set off to explore the town of Nelson, specifically hoping to see the Saturday market. The market is like any other, filled with local produce, crafts, preserves and the odd food cart. We explored the rows and grabbed a bite to eat at an Asian food cart. We sampled the preserves and were quite taken with some homemade liquorice which we bought to munch on while browsing. We treated ourselves to a cone of Penguino Ice Cream, an award winning locally produced variety – it was good, but overpriced and not quite Cows good. We wandered back to the hostel, got our gear, walked a few blocks to the highway and we were off for our next destination, Blenheim. It took 15 minutes this time as the traffic was faster here, but a 17 year old ‘dude’ stopped and we piled in. He was going half way, and was happy for the company. He did have to make a stop at his house to grab some ‘party supplies’ and since he didn’t want his father to know he picked up hitchhikers, we waited in a small town while he went home. We attempted to get another ride, but the only person to stop was a potentially stoned German who could take us only a little distance “if you’ve got ten bucks...” We thanked him, said we would wait for the next car, and soon our young friend was back with us. He was quite proud of the speaker system in his car, but was a surprisingly responsible driver. He wanted to demonstrate the full power of the bass in his car, and pulled over to the side of the road to do so, aware that it was quite distracting to manage all that and drive at the same time. Sure, it might be silly (in some people’s opinion) to aspire to having a massive, ground shaking speaker system, but serious kudos to him for being responsible and safe about it. Dropping us off, we got our next ride in another 10-15 minutes with two English musicians touring New Zealand. They took us all the way to Blenheim and even dropped us off at our hostel, The Grapevine Backpackers.

Blenheim is in the Marlborough Sounds region, famous for its wines, especially Sauvignon blanc, and soon Pinot Noir also. We were spending two nights, and our second day we would be doing an all out wine sampling tour. The hostel has a veranda on a river so after a quick trip to the grocery store we had a healthy supper here before enjoying some cheese and crackers with a bottle of local wine – life as a backpacker can be hard! We woke on the 14^th and had ourselves a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast before renting bikes from the hostel (only $15 for the whole day!) and setting off down the highway 10km to Renwick, the literal centre of wine production in the area. From here we visited three wineries with free open cellars to sample their best. Each winery tended to have a few Sauvignon blanc varieties, a Pinot Noir, a Chardonnay, and a few had a German wine which I cannot remember the name of. We went to the Arawai River Winery for lunch where I had delicious mussel chowder with a glass of Sauvignon blanc. Suzanne had a blue cheese soufflé and opted for the Chardonnay. From here we did another couple wineries before heading back to the hostel. All in all I estimate we sampled around 30 different wines from five wineries, and we didn’t spit one!

Lunch was so late neither of us was in the mood for dinner, so I made a slightly nutritious dessert later in the evening to compensate. Toffee covering sliced apples and brie cheese, baked in the oven until the brie melted was a delicious treat which filled us and left our palates happy.

I had planned to do Blenheim since I started checking out destinations in New Zealand, excited to sample the wines. It was great to have someone to sample with and we both had a fun time pretending to be a bit more posh than we really are and somewhat overstating our knowledge of wine. It was our observation that those who spoke more knowledgeably or looked more posh were given good samples of the wines, while the less informed (anyone else with me?) were given mere drops in the glass for tasting. After a winery or two we had some of the lingo down and were able to bluff our way through seeming well studied on the matter. The other tasters were a funny mix of backpackers and older moneybags, one of whom ordered “a bottle of that, two of that...no, make that three, and four bottles of that one” without a second glance. We did buy a bottle of wine at the end of the day so we did our part for the Marlborough Sounds wine region. Not only was Blenheim a stop for indulging in the finer drinks, but also food and it was a treat to the palate that I have neglected since Europe (especially Italy) and was long overdue. Blenheim was my last stop on the South Island before heading up to Picton (again) and catching the ferry to Wellington with Suzanne. I was happy that my last experience with the South Island was as pleasant as it was.

A Rainforest by Any Other Name…

As it turned out, hitchhiking all the way from Christchurch to Nelson turned out to be easier than expected. As with my last departure from Christchurch, I walked to the bus exchange and caught a bus to the outer city limits. The driver, noticing my backpack (which is quite hard to miss), asked me if I was hitchhiking and dropped me off at a spot that would hopefully get me a ride as soon as possible. I just love the helpful Kiwis! I waited here only a few minutes before I was picked up by “Dennis the concrete replacer”, a jolly Maori man who introduced himself as just that. Not a kilometre down the road, he stopped to pick up another hitchhiker, a thirty to forty something lady from San Francisco. He dropped us both off down the road some 10km. The San Franciscan awkwardly hinted that we shouldn’t stand together, but I was already getting my bag on my shoulder to walk down the road. Somewhat firmly she said, “I’ll stay here”, insinuating that she preferred the location. I shrugged in indifference and walked along the road back towards town, hearing her shout in the distance “I’ll get there before you do!” In fact, as I was trying to understand what she was shouting, a backpacker van was stopping for me. In I climbed, tossing my bag in the back with me and after quickly introducing myself to the couple in the front, asked if there was room for one more. We pulled up the road the hundred metres to let the now very sheepish looking San Franciscan in as well. The twenty somethings up front were a guy from Alaska, and a gal from Alberta, having met on the road and taken a relocation deal on the campervan to get it to Auckland in a week for $1 a day. A bit too fast for my liking, but it suits some I suppose. They were heading all the way to Picton, the gateway to the North Island, and would take me the whole way before boarding the ferry. We dropped the San Franciscan off not too far down the road and I told them the funny story of her assuming a female would get the first drive. On the ride north we stopped for photos in Kaikoura, the famous scenic north east coast of the South Island. My only real trouble was how to get from the highway going north, west toward Nelson where I would meet Suzanne. Three well travelled Kiwis all concurred that the Queen Charlotte Pass along the North Shore, west of Picton was the best route to hitchhike to Nelson. Arriving in Picton, I walked the short distance to the entrance of the Queen Charlotte Pass and prepared to wait as long as it would take. I knew the ferry would bring my best chance as hundreds of offloading cars would possibly be going my way so I checked the schedule and was disappointed to discover the next arrival would be after 6pm while it was only 4. I stuck out my thumb to every passing vehicle anyway and soon enough a car was stopped. Unfortunately, it was only to deliver bad news, and the DOC officer behind the wheel informed me that I was on the wrong path and should backtrack some 30km to the more significant highway heading west before north again. This part of New Zealand has many roads taking you the same place, highly inconvenient for a hitchhiker as it splits traffic up and confuses route planning. I took his advice, walked to the other side of town and stuck out my thumb, happy to wait only a few minutes before a car stopped, taking me to a junction just before Blenheim, a town to which I would later return. The driver, a grape growing grade school teacher from the area had some good advice on seeing the Marlborough wine region and some interesting stories from his own days of travelling which I enjoyed, taking my mind off the annoyance of backtracking because of bad advice. I waited for around 30 minutes at the next junction, feeling a bit impatient and wishing I could just be in Nelson already. By this point it was 5 and I was getting tired of hitchhiking for the day. Luckily, it wasn’t too long before two Israelis stopped and took me all the way to Nelson after having taken a wrong turn around the Queen Charlotte Pass and done some backtracking of their own.

Finally I arrived in Nelson around 7pm, minutes before reception was going to give up my room to someone else. After checking in I searched the whole hostel for Suzanne but could find no trace; reception said she was looking for me as well but somehow we missed each other. I gave up on the search and used their free internet to catch up on photos. Around 8 Suzanne and I met after she returned from a yoga interlude to soothe the stress that I might not make it. We made a supper of burritos together before sitting down to plan the next days’ adventures. We were off to Abel Tasman National Park, something we each wanted to do, but neither wanted to do alone. How convenient that we were now together! We threw together a rough plan and decided much would have to be planned on the fly.

The next morning we each packed only what we would need for three nights in Abel Tasman and left the rest in baggage storage at the hostel. After booking our stay in the park at the DOC office, we walked to the main road out of town and practiced walking backwards before setting our gear down. Suzanne had done a bit of hitchhiking within cities in Australia, but hadn’t done longer distance hitching so this was a first for her, and was surprised at waiting over a couple minutes for a ride. After those couple minutes we decided to walk a bit further down the road. It was as she continued on her own and I fished through my bag for something that we realised I was a liability to her getting rides. Not one minute after she walked ahead a car was stopped with a seventy-something man looking slightly disappointed as I approached as well. Suzanne and I established that she would sit front seat, handling the socialising while I rode backseat, handling the navigation and ensuring we got off at the right spot. This would remain the same for the duration of our travels together. We were let out at the edge of town and set our bags down. I ran into a convenience store a few metres away to check on the price of One Square Meal bars and apparently as I entered the store’s threshold, a car was already stopping. I’ve heard of hitchhiking being easy, but this isn’t even fair. This time, a middle aged lady was stopped and she could take us as far as the main road into Abel Tasman, a 10km walk from there or another ride if we were so lucky. She frankly admitted that if she saw the two of us standing together she would not have stopped, but getting to talk to Suzanne first, and then meeting me before getting in, it was fine. She does not usually pick up hitchhikers but couldn’t leave a young lady on the side of the road. She dropped us off at the main road as promised and continued on her way. Here we faced a dilemma, wait for a ride that could potentially take ages to materialise, or walk the 10km and be tired before we even hit the park. We opted to wait, and setting down our gear we got ready to wait for a while. The road connects civilisation with a town called Marahau, and Abel Tasman, but aside from the odd local and campers, few travel this road. Suzanne set off to find facilities nearby and in her absence I scored my first luck of the day. Two English gals in the twenties stopped for me and offered me a ride all the way to Marahau. Like the older gentleman, they too seemed disappointed when I said I was waiting for a companion but agreed to take us both. Lucky for me, because if I hadn’t gotten us at least one ride that day, I’m sure I would have heard about it the rest of the time we travelled together, or at least until I got us a ride singlehandedly.

Park fees already paid for back in Nelson, we had only to get into the park and set off on one of New Zealand’s “Great Walks”. We hit the convenience store for supplies and a final ice cream before hitting the trail, happy to get started. I’m not really sure what “Great Walk” means specifically, whether it indicates some element of scenic superiority over other walks in NZ, but at Abel Tasman it meant wide, well developed paths and easy walking. The park is highly accessible and toured by many types of hikers and campers. As it is a coastal trek and graced with many stunning beaches, a water taxi service can whisk hikers to or from any part of the park, a service enjoyed by many day trippers, taking a morning taxi any distance into the park and walking back out before dusk or to a prearranged pickup. The more ambitious, like us, aim to tackle the whole 50km track from start to finish, ending in a place too small to be called a town at the north of the park. The official recommendation by DOC is to do the park in 5 nights, staying at each of their 5 huts and taking time during the day to participate in one of the numerous activities on offer, from day hikes to kayaking. We aimed to hike a third of the way in the first day, another third the next day, and be out of the park by the afternoon of the third day. As many plans do, these plans would change. The track is easy and by the end of the first day we felt like it was good exercise but nothing too strenuous. The scenery is striking coastline with rainforest foliage against a backdrop of aquamarine sea and tan beaches. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate and didn’t give us any of the famous blue skies of Abel Tasman. We camped the first night at Torrent bay, a lovely little beach with room for only a handful of tents. A tap with running water supplied a makeshift shower after a quick dip and water for cooking, but needed purified with tablets or boiling – how convenient that I always travel with purification tablets!

The rain started sometime in the night, a light trickle which woke me but did not worry me. It grew until it was a torrential downpour which my tent luckily stood up to. Neighbours were not so fortunate, and when we spoke the next morning they were hanging their sleeping bags to dry. Their tent had become a bath in the night, the walls not quite waterproof but the floor doing a sufficient job. We were spared a similar fate and woke dry and  ready to tackle another day of hiking. Today we met our first low tide crossing, a part of the path which must be made at low tide. This day’s crossing had a high tide alternate, but it was extra distance to loop around, and the prospect of wading thigh deep in water was somehow exciting. We waited with a growing group of campers as the water receded, before finding a suitable route. Passing by Bark Bay, where many of the campers we met were staying the night, we came to another low tide crossing, this one with no high tide alternate. Fortunately, the low tide crossings all have a grace period of at least an hour either side of absolute low tide, and we made it past two low tide crossings a couple hours apart in one tide. The weather held in the morning, but no sun shone all day. Disappointed with the lack of sun and hoping maybe to catch a ride back to Nelson upon leaving the park,  we modified our plans slightly to travel further this day, and be out of the park by noon the following day. Unfortunately, as we reached Tonga Beach, we realised we were faced by another low tide crossing, this one with no alternate route and were effectively stranded until the next low tide at either 5am or noon the next day. We set up camp and waited out the remainder of the evening, enjoying a quick swim in the still-too-chilly-for-me water (around 18 degrees). Again, water was supplied by tap, the pressure great enough to supply water to flush toilets, of which there were four including ample supplies of toilet paper. Maybe that’s why it’s a ‘Great Walk’.

The rain started as we were arriving at the campsite, but abated by dusk at which point we were treated to a subtle but fantastic sunset. Clouds moved back in and showers came and went throughout the night, finally settling in by morning and holding steady. We awoke to heavy rain and ran to the nearby cook shelter to congregate with the other travellers.   A break was necessary as the low tide crossing could not be attempted until noon, so we killed time chatting. Other travellers brought discouraging news of continued rain showers in the most recent forecasts. Every now and then a drenched hiker would run into the shelter, having come from as far away as Bark Bay, experiencing nothing but rain the whole way. Looking at the mood of these incoming travellers, Suzanne and I had a chat about the rest of the trek. We didn’t come to Abel Tasman to hike in bad weather, and while weather is part of hiking, we are both on vacation and we agreed we could allow ourselves a little bit of luxury. We agreed to find out how much a water taxi would cost back to Marahau, and in the meantime, pack up to leave either way. As we were packing, a water taxi arrived to drop off some customers and we were informed a trip back to Marahau would cost $37. Without so much as a word between us we both agreed it was worth it, hurriedly packed the tent and hopped aboard. We didn’t finish Abel Tasman, but we wished those who persevered the best of luck.

The water taxi ride was also a sightseeing experience and as the driver spotted items of interest he slowed and gave us a chance to get our photos and make our memories. We saw a Blue Penguin in the water, some interesting geological features of note, and spent some time chasing a sting ray around. We arrived back in Marahau slightly tired and glad to be out of the bad weather – so much so that it made up for the disappointment of not making it to the end of the trail.

Hitchhiking back to Nelson was made easy by a lady who picked us up from Marahau, having gone out of her way to drop off two hitchhikers in Marahau and now travelling near to Nelson. From here we could have walked a couple hours but exercised the thumbs instead, quickly landing a ride with couriers, whose van we rode in the back of (quite illegally, I’m  sure). They dropped us off at the limits of Nelson, where we quickly got a ride with a lady who dropped us off at our hostel. Maximum wait time was around 5 minutes. Unfortunately, the hostel had no availability so after picking up our gear and repacking, we headed across town for another hostel, the evidently quite popular Hostel Paradiso. Famed for its resort feel, we felt it was a bit too packed to feel as relaxed as they advertised, but it was a place to get a good night of sleep out of the brush and we thrilled with that!

The trek in Abel Tasman was wonderful and a pain all in the same. The blue sky, aquamarine water, tan beaches, and intense green foliage form a striking palate from what I gather of other photos. Ours are missing the former, and the loss is significant. It was nice to stretch the legs and really move, especially out of the city and experience sleeping quite far from real civilisation once again. I can confidently say however, that Abel Tasman must be seen in fine weather or the lure of paradise is lost. This part of the South Island truly lived up to the title of rainforest.