New Zealand: Phase Ten - Welcome to Smelly Land

Our morning was a breakfast of shiny sunshine and icy wind, bodies all squashed into the side of the van like Alaskan Malamutes. After we had brekky we went and washed our plates in the common room. Not surprisingly those stupid idiots were still there staring. Weird. (I used much harder terms in my diary, so you have to be nice to me if you want to read it). Funnily enough - as I write this - I realise that in my previous post I wrote "While I was cooking two people..." HA HA HA! I was cooking them - no wonder they were staring...

Ahem.

Well.

Anyway, they were there again being weird in their inbred-ness. After another quick wander through town to soak in some more significant, stunning, synopses of striking structures we drove on up to the bluff above town. What is it with Kiwis cramming their houses onto cliffs? I have never seen such a wonderful, winding world of wonderous dWellings. Except for maybe in Wellington. Ok I'll stop now. Each street was tiny and curvy and each house was packed onto the next. I reckon if Tolkien went to New Zealand there would have been another race - the Wedgelings of Windycliff. They would have been responsible for thwarting the sadly misled evil doings of the Howhards of Drylandmoresun.

After our little drive through the claustrophobic heights of Napier we headed off towards Lake 'bloody windy' Taupo. Driving there was a task as little GPS was a bit like a kite in the wind. As we are slowly drawing closer to the end of the journey I must comment on the patience, friendliness, and overall politeness of New Zealand's drivers. Australians, in particular, Canberrans, are the most obnoxious, aggressive and pathetically stupid drivers on the planet. Where is the sense in driving faster when it rains? Where is the sense in driving massively overpowered, overpriced machines around in a country where A is so far from B that it cries in loneliness and there are more ungraded, dodgey pock marked curves than Britney's backside?

Speaking of backsides, we made it to Rotorua after a quick stop at Lake Taupo (it was quick because the wind was decidedly unpleasant). Rather than going straight in to the van park we drove to the famous thermal springs. They were smelly and rather excellent. Much like Roquefort cheese, or a beer and pizza burp.

There is something about the sheer power and beauty of New Zealand. You feel like you are walking on Gaia's tickly bits - any wrong move and she will snap, bringing a fury of fire, crushing earth and death. On the left you can see one of Gaia's tickly bits.

As we walked around we kept on bumping into a lovely Pommy couple, and although their camera battery was running out they were still very happy. Good on them.

After the walk, and a number of happy, steamy snaps we drove off to one of the mud pits. It was like dinosaurs and cavemen with bubbling hot, sticky mud. I was waiting for Sam Neill to come out of nowhere. We ran into the Pommy couple again and they had managed to find a spare camera battery in their car. Good on them.

We drove onto the little van park after a brief wander around tourist town. I had a beer and we wandered down to the lake. It was steamy.

We finished our big day by doing one of those things you 'have to do' when in a tourist mecca like Rotorua; pay a fortune for an evening of entertainment and food. We both had a good time, although it was a bit quiet a tourist bus full of people failed to make it. Stupid bus. I wish I could kick its arse.

I managed to do the Haka and look like an idiot. Something I do most mornings. You will not see the video Stacey took.

This isn't me.

New Zealand: Phase Nine - I am NOT Art Deco, so STOP LOOKING AT ME!

After a very lazy and luxurious wake up in our luxurious, plush hotel we had a luxurious shower and then lazed around in our luxurious bath robes until we went down and had a wonderfully luxurious breakfast. I have never seen such a magnificent collection of food stuffs laid out on a breakfast buffet ever. There were chocolate scrolls, luxurious cheeses, croissants, all of the bacon and eggs and stuff, weird shit that I have never seen before, and other stuff that looked impressive - like grapes. Did I mention breakfast potatoes? Yeah, I made an absolute pig of myself. Mmmmmm.

The waitresses fussed over us - they were like guardian breakfast angels. I sat down and realised there wasn't a fork on the table, and *poof* a waitress (not a poof) materialised out of thin air with a fork. I literally thought *coff* and a waitress materialised with a pot of coffee. I probably should have been more creative and thought things like *Wiggles on crack* or *Bindi Irwin in a blender*.

After our luxurious breakfast we left at a luxurious hour.

The road we took out of Wellington was a bit daunting, however thankfully it was windy but not windy. I mean the road wound its way up the range. The Minister for Road Fans must have been doing his or her job that day. The road after the mountain was typical New Zealand, lots of ovines and bovines, green and not too many fauvines (NZ isn't renowend for its art).
We stopped in at Schoc in Greytown for an incredible chocolate experience. I mean, look at those things mmmmmmmmmmm... Tequila and lime chocolate mmmmmmmm...

For lunch we stopped in at a little rest stop near Hamua, where we were kept entertained by a couple of naughty roosters. I didn't feed them anything but I did call them 'dickheads' a lot. After saying 'goodbye dickheads' to our feathered friends we drove onto the Tui brewery where I bought some merchandise.

We drove onto Dannevirke (which literally means Danes work). The town was established by the Danes because the Poms were too soft and squooshy (although they were smart because the Danes had to sort out the Maoris first). Then from Dannevirke we drove through Norsewood which literally means 'the trees are actually Norses'. Like Dannevirke the town was established by over pampered Poms and populated by Norsemen and Norsewomen. The town was filled with trolls.

We drove through Hastings, actually we made haste through there because I hate getting arrows in my eye. Get it? No? Well your knowledge of history is pretty useless then.

Finally we made it to Napier, the most Art Deco town in the world. Well probably anyway. The town was flattened on 3 February 1931 by an immense earthquake. Apparently at one point, when most of the town was on fire, the fire brigade drove to the beach to pump water in, only to find that the beach was 2 metres higher than they expected and the ocean was a good 100 metres further away than it was that morning. Walking on the beach gave me that weird 'insignificant' feeling again and I felt sick for the firemen that night. It must have been horrifying.

The upshot of all this death and destruction is the fact that the town was mostly rebuilt in the style of the day - art deco. This has to be one of my favourite arty things ever. The lines are strong and clean. Mmmmmm sexy.

We took a brief wander around the town in the darkening light and toddled off to our campsite.

Here we witnessed some unusual behaviour. Stacey and I were cooking dinner in the communal kitchen, there were a number of tables around and quite a bit of room. While I was cooking two people (clearly a couple because they were both so ugly they couldn't find anyone else) sat down opposite Stacey at our table. Fat Dickhead Number 1 (the husband) started cooking and cleaning stuff and Fat Dickhead Number 2 decided that sitting directly opposite Stacey and staring at her was the appropriate thing to do. I finished cooking, we ate. Fat Dickhead Number 2 introduced herself to us, we made small talk and then she went back to staring at us like a Fat Dickhead. WTF? Do we have two friggin heads or something? Thankfully we could eat quickly (pizza) and leave because I was very close to punching one of them in the knee...

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.