New Zealand: Phase Eight - They Sell Umbrellas in Wellington

After a very early start, and a period of time sitting in the queue for the ferry (thank you Beautiful Girls for making it enjoyable). We hopped on to the ferry, and wandered upstairs to find a good seat - which we did. I wandered out and around on the decks every now and then, took a few happy snaps. Actually they were more 'slightly sad snaps' because it was sad to leave the South Island - we promised ourselves to bring the family back there.

After finding some food and some coffee we settled in for the journey. A nice couple - retired, travelling, empty nesters - sat near us and we got talking. Although it consisted mostly of small talk it was interesting; indigenous affairs, politics our jobs etc.

Our introduction to Wellington was, how should I put it, windy?

Wellington is a funny city, with funny, tight little streets, and funny little intersections and funny one way bits that don't make any sense. We made it to our hotel, the Duxton. Lahdy dah. Two people in a weird, orange backpacker van hop out, looking slightly feral and smelling slightly like weird, orange backpacker van. Needless to say the people were very nice to us - although they probably pitied Stacey more than anything. I thought everything in the van was organised and ready. It wasn't. There were undies, bras, beers, ginantonics, food, and more undies strewn through the van. I also didn't realise that some poor bugger had to chauffeur our van to a special car park. Smelly.

After settling into the room, we went for a mosey around town to get some lunch. Me, being my predictable old self, found the thought of eating lunch at Mac's Brewery irresistible, so we settled in for a couple of excellent ales and some excellent food. I had a smoked fish pie. Mmmmmm smoked fish pie...

Note the tasty beer (Sassy Red) and the number 88. I thought the number 88 was a good number to have. Two fat ladies.

From the brewery we moved on to our walk around Wellington. I took the opportunity to observe some fine Edwardian and Art Deco architecture. I also took the opportunity to observe some architecture that was clearly inspired by a hairy arse. The 80's was truly a repulsive decade. And what is with the beehive? I don't understand! AAARGH!

The Wellington tramway was fun, albeit a bit slopey, and the tramway museum up top was really quite interesting. It had trams. Slopey trams.

On the way back to the hotel we stopped in to the Te Papa museum. I think this is what the National Museum of Australia was trying to be before it died in the arse. By the time we had finished in the museum we were truly buggered, so it was back to the hotel room for a couple of yummy beverages.

For dinner we stopped in at a little, very funky, cafe called Plum. I had the best mussels since getting to NZ. The mussels had; sake, ginger, kafir lime, lemongrass fish paste and lotsa love. Oh yes, they were good.

I told you it was windy.

New Zealand: Phase Seven - Pancakes, Beer, Wine, Abalone and Chips

We arose early, again. Not by choice but by habit - probably a good thing with the baby on the way. After a loud night with the ocean smashing into the beach below us we drove onto Punakaiki, or Pancake Rocks. I failed to see what was so pancakey about them, I thought that they more resembled the side on profile of a book that had been eaten by termites. I suppose the name 'Side on Profile Eaten Book Rocks' wouldn't roll off the tongue as well.

Conceptual culinary confusions aside, they were quite interesting to look at - especially if you like rocks like I do. I did geology at uni and was like, pretty good at it and stuff. I bored Stacey to death explaining how they were formed. She didn't seem to understand the petrified giant filo pastry and hungry, hungry hippo theory anyway.

Most of the country on the west coast seems pretty inhospitable, I imagine a bit like hanging out with David 'Golden Balls' Beckham at a tea party. Like typical Kiwis, however, they have not only managed to build a road out of cliffs, but put houses next to it as well. I reckon Blue Tac has to be a Kiwi invention. Uhu Tac would be Australian because it is gold and waaaay better.

We continued on to the appropriately named Westport. The Kiwis are as good at naming things as us Aussies are. The town, once a bustling port in the west is now but a port in the west. Apparently the sunsets are pretty good there, due mostly to the westerly aspect, but also because it is a port on the ocean on the west coast. Got it? Shut up Jum. If they named a town after you it would be called Tooltown, or Knobville.

They have a brewery at Westport, and if you haven't guessed it, I like the odd beer. Even at 10am as it happened to be that day. We dropped into the Miners Brewery (now West Coast Brewery) and I sampled a few beers, and then a few more beers. Thankfully the roads in New Zealand are straight .
Drink driving jokes aside we travelled up through to the north east again, sadly waving good bye to the west coast, and all other things west.

Over an hour the terrain changed from temperate rainforest to mountainy, rocky sharp stuff. We travelled up through Inangahua Junction, which was the home of a massive earthquake in 1957. Apparently it was one of those ones where entire chasms formed - kind of like an apocalypse I suppose. We didn't stop, even though we probably should have. It had this eerie unnatural feeling.

We continued to follow the Buller River which was typical of New Zealand in its clarity, power and beauty. Again the road there is hewn through the rock (no houses this time), but I thought this photo shows how crazy the Kiwis really are...

We ended up having lunch just east of Murchison, above the swift and clear Buller River. Again I was assaulted by these massive, loud killer bees. I mean they are friggin huge and bloodey inquisitive. I was not amused by this so we ate lunch inside the van. With the windows shut.

After a very hot lunch we continued eastwards. It seems that we hit every possible straight road in New Zealand, actually I am sure they go out of their way to make a straight road there. You can see the road workers standing around, cups of tea in hand:

Cuz: 'do we need a road here Bro?
Bro: nah, but boss sez we should do it anywayz
Cuz: why?
Bro: coz it will be the fucken straightest road ever made Cuz
Cuz: bitchen
After St. Arnaud (yawn) I was forced to do some of the worst driving in the worst conditions. Ever. It was so windy I could hear Mary Poppins screaming mercy. It was hot, straight, boring, windy, straight, boring and windy and hot. Everything was bent over like some twisted old sentinel of dry twisty wood. It was horrible. May we never go there again.

We made it to Renwick and headed straight for the Cloudy Bay winery. The only thing that impressed us was how pretentious the bitch was behind the counter:

'Oh lahdie dah this and schnooty that' with 'oh, our chaaardonnnays are $38 because they are so waaaaaarnderful'. 'My norse is schtuch up my baaam'

'This wine is a bit yeasty - like a thrush in the front of the palate - with that hint of chocolate that only comes when the bean is passed through the bowels of a meercat and licked by a sloth. There is an aftertaste of bulldust that lingers like tendrils of bovine spongiform at the back of the throat - yet overall there is the creaminess straight from a cats arse that is the true essence of this wine'.

I will tell Angry Man about you!

We drove onto Blenheim. Ahem, yes, the town did fit under the van. From there we went to Picton, our last stop on the south island. We had some absolutely fantastic paua (abalone) and amazing chips (a secret - it is right up the top of the town and the inside of the shop kinda reminds you of the inside of a fridge built in 1962). We then packed ourselves into our little van park, had big, fat, warm showers and packed ourselves away for a wonderful nights sleep. After a couple more of those Miner's beers mind you.

New Zealand: Phase Six - Easter Monday on the West Coast

We both woke up to a new and very special day; the sun was barely showing itself in the mountains to the east and the ocean was barely taking notice of anything - smashing big rocks into smaller rocks and entire trees onto the beach nearby.

We hopped out and looked around, noticing in particular that I had parked the van surprisingly well into the coastal heath the night before. The coastal heath itself was thick, rough and sharp. A bit like Britney Spears if she didn't shave. We mucked around in this inhospitable, yet beautiful place and then moved on at a leisurly pace northwards to the glaciers.

After a slightly windy, yet beautiful drive we found ourselves at the Fox Glacier. I stand corrected, we didn't find ourselves there, we found our way there. I found myself back in 1998 when I drank too many pints at the Phoenix bar on a 32 degree night. I also found myself being pretty sick too.

The glacier was much greater, majestic and mysterious than I expected. Its peaks rose above us like the icy crown of a King that struck down all before him. The glacial valley was steep and powerful in its immense silence. It made me think how I really can't stand it when people say that things make them feel insignificant, like 'when I think of how large the universe is it makes me feel so insignificant'. The glacier didn't make me feel insignificant - it certainly made me feel a bit smaller than the boulder the size of a house that I was standing next to (I think the glacier dropped it there). It didn't, however, make me feel insignificant. Being crushed like an ant by the glacier would, on the other hand, make me feel insignificant because I would have to be so pathetically slow for it to catch me.

Stacey and I have a knack for getting ahead of the various packs of dickheads that are as much of an inevitability in tourist areas as a wedgie is when you wear satin boxers on a long drive on a hot day. On this occasion we managed again to get ahead of the tool box and enjoy a moment of silence with our friend the glacier. There were a pack of young American idiots that decided to jump the well sign posted (you will DIE if you go beyond this point) rope and head up to the glacier and climb on it. Just as Stacey and I had left we heard the most almighty crash, similar to the sound you hear when standing on the precipice of Yasur volcano. A large chunk (probably the size of four or five buses)had fallen from the roof of the glacier mouth - right next to the stupid Americans. I bet there were some brown dacks that day.
After this we went on to enjoy a lunch with the ducks and trout at Lake Mapourika in the Westland National Park.

The Rain forest on the New Zealand west coast is impressively dense and mysterious. I could easily find myself dreaming of Maori legends, and running from mythical beasts through the thick foliage. Oh wait, that was those mushrooms I ate at lunch - no wonder the duck was looking at me kinda weird...

We pressed on through the forest to Hokitika at the heart of greenstone (jade) country. We had a look around, shrugged our shoulders at the expense, bought some groceries and again moved on to the suitably named Greymouth. Looking at my travel journal I used words like 'pooh', 'featureless' and 'violent in its mediocrity' to describe Greymouth. On hindsight it was more 'bleg'.

We drove on north from there to seek out our place of rest for the night, and did we find a cracker of a spot. Fourteen Mile Beach, stirringly beautiful, rough and peaceful. The sand was a funny grey colour and holy crap there were a lot of friggin BITEYS. AAAAAARGH BITEY! I have mentioned the sand flies before, however up until this point in time I hadn't come up with a name. At this beach I did. Friggin Biteys. They suck. They are all up and down the west coast and they are way worse than mozzies. FRIGGIN BITEYS!

Stacey had been feeling the baby up until this point, and increasingly so over the last few days, and this night I felt the little fella for the first time. I didn't know if it was a 'he' or a 'she', all I knew was it was an incredible moment and I couldn't get over how happy it made me feel. Try and spot the third person in the photo...

Aaron With Two 'A's

I know it has been an extremely long time since I made an entry on my blog and I am truly sorry for that. Actually, who am I apologising to? Anyone who may have read my blog in the past certainly won't be checking in to see if I posted anything recently. Maybe they will. Whatever.

I wrote an entry a while ago about grey blobs - well that grey blob that was my child is now a pinkish, burpy, farty, screamy blob that is my newest son Aaron. And he is friggin awesome. So friggin awesome in fact that I can stare at him for hours and marvel at his awesomeness. He clearly takes after his dad in that department. Actually I think he might out awesome me.

After a few hours of causing his mother some extreme pain he was born on Tuesday 21 August at 3:04 pm. My world changed forever instantly, and I really am happy that it did.

At this stage I want to write as much as possible about the little fella, however there are a number of factors that thwart this desire:

1. The weather outside is a-friggin-mazing and I need to go out and do gardeny things while the little man has a feed (my wife is a walking milk bar)
2. It really shits me when people talk non-stop about their children. I don't mind a bit of chit chat, but when it starts to encompass when they eat, what they eat, when they cry, how much they shit and what colour their shit is I get cranky. His is quite regular on the 3 hour mark during the day, and the 1 hour at night. Usually a deep mustard to orange colour with white curds thanks for asking.

There is some rain forecast in a couple of days so I promise to get back to the blog and finish my holiday thing and tell you more about the baby.

Because you will listen - I will force you to.

Jum

New Zealand: Phase Five - Queenstown to Arrowtown to Cardrona to Arrowtown to Cardrona to the Middle of Nowhere

Drunk people are stupid. They say stupid things really loudly. Next to you while you are asleep. Things like 'I didn't realise you could sleep in those Spaceship things' and 'fuck I'm drunk...' We didn't sleep the best, but we slept none the less.

We awoke to a clear and cold morning; the kind of cold that hurts like hell when you stub your toe. We rushed off to the showers for a nice hot shower and the most uncoordinated attempt at getting dressed ever. I will never understand why someone would create a camp shower cubicle with one clothes hook and no bench. WHY DAMMIT?! After struggling like a ritalin kid in a straight jacket for twenty minutes I was ready for brekky and a wander around town.

During the walk I came to really respect the beauty of Queenstown, all the drunk people were in bed hating themselves and all the normal people were happily going about business. We wandered past a pretty church and down to the waterfront where we bought the best damn hot chocolate ever made. It seriously was like melted chocolate. I am drooling again. We sat by the crystal clear water with some ducks and just admired the sheer beauty of the place. We also admired our hot chocolates and this duck.

After this peaceful interlude it was off like an arrow to Arrowtown, an old gold mining settlement near Queenstown.

We wandered the area and an amazing little Chinese mining village, well not a village any more but some abandoned huts. Some of these blokes travelled to New Zealand in the hope of affording the trip for the rest of their family, but never managed to save the money to do so. Many of them spent the rest of their lives in a hermit like existence, never to see their family again.

Arrowtown itself was a little bit touristy, but still quaint with its cute little houses and oldy feel. We stopped in and bought some beanies at a wooly shop. We wandered slowly back to the car and drove the long windy not windy drive over a big fat range to Cardrona. The hills themselves were cool to look at. From a distance they had the appearance of a well loved teddy bear with the tussocky grass looking tussocky, and up close they resembled a hill with grass on it. The view from the top was pretty remarrkable, and considering we could see the Remarkables from up there this was quite unsurprising. We drove down the other side and onto Cardrona.

As we pulled up Stace started to look around frantically, I didn't notice this because I was focussed on getting my hands on my first beer, but when I did it wasn't good. Stacey's wallet was missing, with all of our money and her credit cards. Everything. The panicky feeling was quite sickening and Stacey was understandably really upset. I ran into the pub, not to buy a beer, but to try and contact the Police, or the tourist info area in Arrowtown. No luck.

I, in all my calmness and wisdom, decided that the only option was to postpone the beer (in fact by this stage I wanted a fat Scotch with a shot of Scotch with a Scotch chaser) and to drive back over the big teddy bear like hills and down to Arrowtown to run around looking. I reckon I made it in record time (little GPS fanged and smelt like brake dust when we got there). I dropped Stacey near the tourist centre and I decided to test my fitness by re-walking (running) the Chinese town trail, and everywhere else we had been. I couldn't find anything, and to be honest didn't expect to. Stace wandered the streets trying to retrace our steps in the town centre. Just before she gave up she had an epiphany - check the wooly shop where we bought the beanies! Pure genius! The people there had it in their hands and were beginning to call the credit card people to cancel it. YAY!

When we met up again we had the biggest hug ever. Yes, even bigger than the hills made of teddy bears!

We drove slowly back to Cardrona again where I ordered a beer and some food and sat down in the most beautiful beer garden ever and ate Bambi and roast vegies. Bambi good with cranberry and wine jus.After a very satisfying and relaxing lunch we drove on to Wanaka bought some groceries and moved on again towards Haast. We intended on pulling up somewhere along the way, but never found anywhere that made us happy or didn't make us think of Deliverance so onto Haast we drove.

We got to Haast and I thought we should drive south to find a spot. We pulled up at a few areas, including a Deliverance caravan park, but again weren't entirely happy with them. Bugger it. Onto Jackson Bay we went, home to the most famous diner in New Zealand, an absolutely fantastic view up the west coast and stuff all else. As we drove into the area we were greeted by rednecks with rifles slung over their shoulders wandering around like apes in fluorescent vests.

We finally made it to the diner, I ordered a whitebait sammie and we pulled up a bit north on the side of the road and what felt like the edge of the earth.

Just before we settled in to sleep I, being the man I am, slipped out for a bit of a pee. As I was splashing the boots I heard a few gun shots. 'Hmmm' I thought '.22 rifle, probably those rednecks shooting possums down the road somewhere. Nothing to write home about.' Just as I finished up I heard the report of a shotgun about 200 metres away. Needless to say I hopped straight into the drivers seat, told Stace to hold on tight, uttered the words 'fuck this' and drove very quickly to the first stop we checked out. It was interesting how it fitted our requirements perfectly this time.

I had a stiff ginantonic and crawled into bed.

New Zealand: Phase Four - Milford Sound and Queenstown

We enjoyed a nice little breakfast of marmalade, toast and coffee with the speccy view over Lake Te Anau. There were a number of pretty birds around singing and flashing their colours at us - some little black wrens, some silver eyes and some others that we couldn't see but had a funny song. The sky was clearing and we could just tell we were going to have a magical day.

The drive to Milford sound was truly spectacular, breathtaking and dangerous. Not dangerous in terms of conditions but dangerous because I was always craning my neck into stupid positions to see the huge mountains. I don't know if sometimes we are the luckiest people in the world sometimes, but the cloud clinging to the mountain tops, coupled with the incredibly clear and rich blue skies made me all weird. I don't want to be a Mr. Clever Pants, but the photo to the right is an excellent example of why it was so friggin dangerous for me to drive. Every corner we turned had a new view like this, a view that was capable of convincing you that the world was being born in front of you.

Coincidentally this stop was where we first spotted a Kea, although only a fleeting glimpse we could still tell it was naughty. It was flying away from a frazzled looking tourist.

The terrain we passed through was what we came to New Zealand to see, actually it was more than I could have expected. The sheer size and raw beauty was more incredible than anything I had seen, and the power of it reminded me of when we stood on the edge of the Yasur volcano in Vanuatu.

We eventually arrived at the Homer tunnel, which is to me the epitome of New Zealand in its entirety - man and nature. Here was a tunnel, literally dug through the toughest rock by the toughest men available. The tunnel inside is still as rough as it ever was, jagged protrusions skimming past in the headlights drips of water hitting the windscreen, and a darkness more black than words can describe. The headlights didn't seem to light anything up at all. We were consumed by the earth. We didn't matter a tiny bit.

Fortunately we made it through to the other end, our souls still intact. The scenery on the other side was just as spectacular and we pressed on to Milford Sound down wet, green, windy roads and across clear, blue rivers spanned by wet, narrow bridges.

The tourist area at the Sound was to be expected, so nothing to write about here. Damn, I wrote something. We had made good time so we hopped on to an earlier cruise than planned which I think was good and bad. The cruise had less people on it because it was early, but it also had three of the rudest most obnoxious families I had ever seen. I am not surprised they hung out together; they were like cancer cells on a brain. The stupid, useless and ugly mothers had claimed the entire side of the boat (some of the only window seats available). They hadn't claimed it for themselves, but for their kids by using piles of bags. The kids never sat down because they were too busy ruining every one else's time by running around screaming like dickheads. The fathers had lost their man bits to the succubi, sorry, wives long ago. What happened to the time when 'adults' were more important than 'children'? Anyway I was glad to see that some kid's bag got a good view.

Fortunately Stacey and I weren't as egocentric as those repulsive people and we, and it seemed the rest of the passengers, went on to the top of the boat to get away and appreciate the view. I understand why people travel from all over the world to visit this place. Like the drive it was spectacular, but this time the driving was left up to someone else, and I could just sit back, relax and enjoy the view. Apparently James Cook missed the entrance to this sound on his journeys. He mustn't have yelled enough.

I must write a quick aside on the vegetation in New Zealand. It is very growy. Like the New Zealanders themselves it seems to cling onto every precipice on every cliff and hold on for dear life. Even some of the sheer, rock walls in the sound seemed to mimic the densest rainforest. I therefore dedicate my new word to New Zealand as a whole. GROWY.

We left the sound and headed back to where we came from, on the way we stopped for lunch. This is where we first encountered 'biteys'. These little sand flies were to test our patience at almost every stop we made from here in. We parked the van at a beautiful lake (Lake Gunn) and I wandered off to take some quick snaps of the area. I returned to a vision of Stacey trying gallantly to make lunch all the while swatting these little shitty sand flies. The air was thick with them. We ate our lunch quickly, although the sand fly sandwiches were mighty nutritious, and drove off rather quickly. With the windows open. We stopped quickly at the Reflecting Lakes, but that was a non-event ecause they weren't very reflecty at the time.

We pushed on through to Queenstown, named after Sydney. Sorry, bad joke. We stopped briefly in a town called Garviston, I needed to get some beers and stuff. Garviston is the 'most furthest away from the ocean of all of the New Zealand towns'. It also felt the most furthest away from anything else. Nice pub though.
The drive to Queenstown became more spectacular as we went along, and eventually we started to hit snow country. Except there was no snow. Lake Wakatipu greeted us with its funny snake like shape, apparently the water level fluctuates a couple of inches every 5 minutes. Weird. I felt a strange connection to this lake because my mood fluctuates every 5 minutes. Up, down, up, down, up, down, spaz.

We drove around this lake and underneath the Remarkables (would have been called Pointy Mountain in Australia). Funny enough the Remarkables were quite remarkable. I made a few remarks as we passed, like 'wow, they're quite pointy' and 'I have a driving wedgie'. Stacey remarked on how much of a tool I am. She will probably make a remark about that remark as well.

Queenstown was pretty enough. Pretty much full of adrenaline, hormone and alcohol fuelled boys and girls in loud cars. It is situated on Lake Wakatipu and is a 'real snow town' as opposed to Jindabyne and Thredbo which are 'fake snow towns'. Jindabyne is on a fake lake and Thredbo's snow gets a 'no' from the 'Bureau of Real Snow'. Yo. However all three are filled to the brim with fake people that don't live there. Having said this the town is nice enough to look at, although a tad expensive.

We bought some groceries, got to the van park, ate some dinner and then washed some clothes in the laundromat while I drank beer and intimidated people. In the laundromat.

I showed them all who was the most grown up...

New Zealand: Phase Three - Dunedin to Te Anau

After a quick brekkie and a shower we headed off to Larnach Castle, we stopped briefly on the way and I took a snap of something that was so irresistibly English. I was looking around for a bloke in a tweed suite, a pipe and a shepherds hook. I could hear the words 'touche' and 'old chap' floating around my head as I scrambled over the road cutting with my camera.

The problem with New Zealand is the fact that every corner you turn you want to jump out with the camera and click away like an A.D.D. kid from the Ritalin generation.
We drove onto the castle up on the headland, and yes it did feel like we were stepping back in time. I wished I had brought those coconuts so I could clip-clop my way up to the castle. Having said that I would need some shiny armour and a sword. And a helmet.

The castle was more magnificent than I had expected, although it is less of a castle and more of a bloody big house. It probably shies in size compared to some of the McMansions in any new Australian subdivision, except this one was big for a reason (the bloke that made it had money, not credit), and it was tastefully decorated.

There were a number of things that impressed me with Larnach Castle, most of all was the fact that it felt like a castle. Once we were inside and away from the tourists we felt like we were in something old, even down to that strange creepy feeling old places give you. Another thing I was impressed with was the dungeon. Yes, a dungeon. Naughty Mr. Larnach.

The castle also had a methane collecting system. Human and animal poo was collected, and somehow the methane was captured - I think by lots of slaves with McDonalds straws, and somehow it was piped to a domed repository, and then piped out by foot pump throughout the house where the gas was used to light the chandeliers. I can imagine the dinner conversation: "Lady Heavemud, how could you, you filthy whore!"
"Please, I beg your pardon, 't wasn't me Your Bitchiness Madam Fontlebottom, the chandelier went out!" To which Lord Mountsheep would lift his right buttock and exclaim "Light that one up my ladies!"
Laughter would peel through the hills.
Life must have been hilarious back in those days, I wish I was there to partake. Touche.

Sadly we had to move on from the castle because the bus was coming. Besides that I was having too much fun with my new friends, so without much adieu and some tear ridden farewells on their part and calls of "fare thee well Baron jum Slurryfoot!" we made our way back to Dunedin. The Cadbury Chocolate Factory awaited.

After parking at the big fat Dunedin Gothic train station (which was mightily impressive) we wandered the long way around to the factory entrance. Once we were inside I instantly felt a flash back of the nausea and headache I gave myself as a kid when I at too much chocolate. Everything was purple, wavy, slopey, twirly, chocolatey and sweet smelling. We were like big kids in a silly world. We took the tour and got to see the world's biggest chocolate waterfall! Even I, 'Mr. Notchocolate', got excited. One tonne of chocolate was poured through this thing, 3 storeys of chocolate pouring in a big fat stream of chocolate. I wanted to dive in and swim! I resisted the urge and moseyed back down to THE CHOCOLATE SHOP!

Once we made our purchases we made a quick stop at the information place to get some information. Funny that.
We drove on towards Te Anau and passed through some underwhelming towns, however the beauty of their surrounds was luxurious. The green hills were velvety and rolling and the high, jagged peaks were beginning to break up the horizon. Upon arrival at Te Anau we were instantly impressed by the dramatic surrounds. They were more dramatic than ten episodes of Neighbours. They weren't selling beer because it was Good Friday. How can it be good if they don't sell beer? Good thing I bought enough good beer the other day. Good thing I also had some yummy ginantonic to help me along as well. In some ways I think NZ lives a few decades behind the rest of the world, and this is a good example. The other thing is, and we noticed it at a rest stop at lunch, is that they put their play grounds in the water. This is a silly practice because everyone knows that playgrounds should be put on uncompromisingly hard ground to teach kids lessons about gravity. After a brief and uneventful wander through Te Anau, we drove off to find our campsite. We pulled up at Henry Creek and I put off paying the DOC fee till the morning (same as our National Parks people) because the bus was coming.

We found our spot and wandered out to admire the sheer beauty of lake TeAnau, literally at our feet. Even if we had to go home the next day we would have been satisfied.