New zealand: Phase Twelve - Raglan to the Remnants and Reminiscences

It was a cold, windy night in Raglan - pretty much what you would expect for a New Zealand night, however we awoke to a lovely sunrise in beautiful Raglan. A quick brekky and a quick drive around the area and on to achieve our goal for the day - drive all the way through Auckland, and all the way up the west coast to Waipoua. The day was going to be tough.

The first half of the day was taken up by driving through the outer suburbs of Auckland, the inner suburbs of Auckland, the centre of Auckland some more inner suburbs of Auckland, and then finally the other outer suburbs of Auckland. Needless to say, Auckland is quite pretty for a city (much prettier than Sydney, although how hard is it to look better than a horse's testicle?). As we travelled north it became noticeably warmer; more of a Sydney like temperature.

Our first touristy stop was the Kauri Museum. Being a museum employee, I was deeply impressed by this place. It had enough hands on thingys, readable information, tangible experiences, and those things that make you go 'woah' to keep me happy for hours. I also got a little lost and disoriented which is also a sign of a good museum. Except if it were a map making museum. Then it would suck.

Lots of the Kauri harvesting was done by Dalmatians, hence the movie 101 Dalmatians with that dirty transvestite, Glen Close, didn't make much sense. What a hag. I didn't really understand why the movie didn't feature more tree chopping by Yugoslavians, instead it was about spotty puppie dogs? Oh well, the Yanks can't get everything right. *cough* Iraq *cough cough*

After the museum we drove on north to our last vancamping spot in the Kauri forest at Waipoua. It was a beautiful place to be for our last night on the road, the last remaining pocket of Kauri forest in the entire country. Just being out for one evening, trying to write my journal with the clouds of mosquitoes, sand flies and other bities makes you realise how tough it must have been for the white pioneers of the area. Luckily I could crawl back inside for a ginantonic and a beer and watch a DVD. What a pack of pussies.

The journal that I have been transcribing from (and taking liberties with) for the past year takes on a more reflective and melancholic feel. It was our last night in the wild, and the last time we would sleep in little GPS, our faithful van. Every now and then I think I catch a whiff of GPS, only to realise that it is a woman wearing cheap perfume and no deodorant.

I sat out there with my family to be, reminiscing, and reflecting on humanity in general - from the conspicuously inconsiderate to the incredibly patient and forgiving - and hoping that we would turn out 'just fine' and that our little boy or girl would get to appreciate and feel the would as we felt it.

New Zealand: Phase 11 - Rotorua to Raglan

If you ever visit Rotorua don't ever wake up, look at your wife accusingly and say 'holy crap, that stinks!'

It isn't a good way to start the day.

Thankfully I said something like "you are more beautiful than a million roses plucked by a million angels playing golden lutes and silver flutes".

Whilst cooking breakfast in the communal kitchen we met a nice chap from French Canada (the part of Canada that speaks French, as opposed to the other part of Canada that speaks Gibberish). He was most of the way through riding around New Zealand on a pushie. Something, I fear, that I possess too great an intellectual prowess to even consider doing. That sentence just proved how smart I ain't. Riding a pushie around NZ, with its undulating friggin mountains, steep winding curves, and indescribably brutal wind (read my previous post regarding the Minister for Road Fans) is ridiculous. I mean doing something like this must be more frustrating, and require more patience than waiting for Alexander Downer not to say something stupid, arrogant or slightly gay.
Either way, Frenchy Kanuk was a nice bloke and we wished him good luck as we departed on the next leg of our journey.

After visiting a few more interesting areas around Rotorua, a Maori/Anglo chapel and the park full of farty springs we drove on through a swathe of very annoying bike riders (I think they were secretly trying to compete for the 'Mr. Tight Pants New Zealand' award).

Out the back of Rotorua is a little place called Te Wairoa - it once was a hotel, and a place for Missionary whities to stop by and brainwash the locals. Now it is a museum, and a true credit to the people that manage the area. Again, New Zealand impressed me with its power, and its proximity to what feels like the centre of the earth. The village was destroyed by a volcano in 1886, however much of it was preserved like a modern day Pompei - suffocated under mud and ash. We had a lovely, ye freezing bloody cold, walk around the village and down a little waterfall walk.

In the shop I found the Tiki I had been looking for. He is so little and cute and like a little Aaron.
After this wonderful little detour we went on back past 'Titus Pantus Maximus' towards the glow worm caves at Waitomo. It was like night time inside, all serene and pretty. Kind of like if you covered your bedroom walls with those glow in the dark stickers and pretended you were drunk and the eye doctor had put that stuff in your eyes that makes everything really bright. Yeah, kinda like that. Except you were on a boat with other people that were generally quite annoying and stupid. Perhaps they would have been less annoying if I were drunk and in high contrast.

After our dotty experience in the dark caves we moved on to an unusual (well for Stacey anyway) point in our travels. Where were we going to go? We had driven up to Whatawhata, a little shit hole in the middle of nowhere. I left Stace in the LOCKED van and wandered into the local pub to buy some beer. Inside I was greeted by a reinforced wire cage with a small slot to pass the beer through, and some disconcertingly friendly locals. I said "g'day", they said "eh bro", I said "six Speights" the bar maid said "eh bro", I said "keep the change" the bar maid said "eh bro", the locals kept staring as I wandered out to the van (Stacey was laughing at some local farm produce, like a donkey or something) I started the van, turned it around, pointed at the map and said "were going here".

That's how we got to Raglan - kind of like the Byron Bay of New Zealand. Black sand (it kinda makes you feel dirty), weird pubs that won't let you pee unless you buy a beer, and apparently the best left hand break in New Zealand. Fortunately I didn't hurt myself, although this bloke who was about 40 years old, was drinking with his dickhead mate and two chicks in the van park, and he tried to do, like, this mono on his pushie to look cool in front of the chicks and he stuffed it and nearly broke his back. Ha, and his mate had to help him into the van park shower and they looked gay.

What a cock.

A brief intermission and welcome back big fella (aka Dad)

It's been a while since my last post, however there is good reason. You may recall the post 'The Greyish Blob that is my Child' and the other post 'Aaron with two 'A's' - if you don't, well, you aren't reading closely enough. Either way, my child has grown from a pink/grey blob into a little ball of trouble.

Basically, my wonderful wife has gone back to work this week, and from now on I am in charge of that little bundle of trouble called Aaron. Thankfully I only have to do this in the evenings. As much as I love my time with the little fella, I just don't have that motherly knack that my wife does. We can make mess, we can scream in joy, we can vomit in unison - we just don't seem to have that wonderful sense of order Mum brings. We do, however, break new ground when it comes to babies eating hats. In particular filthy, dirty gardening hats.

What I really wanted to say in this post is that the Overflow of Concentrated Emotion, the Depth of Love and the Fear and Anticipation that comes with raising a child is more than one can bear sometimes.

Stacey went to work this evening,and I cried on and off for hours. It didn't make sense. I AM MAN. I NOT CRY.

I think I was sadder than my wife, who had to go back to work after eight months of maternity leave. Stacey sad. MAN NOT SAD.

I know it doesn't make sense.

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.