AUCKLAND AIRPORT, NORTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND - 31st January 2010
2 months ago I was in Singapore, having kicked off my world tour with 7 weeks in India and getting ready to head Down Under. Anyone following The Daily Rod can probably appreciciate that it has been one hell of a 2 months - pound for pound the busiest, most action-packed time period of my life and, almost certainly, the most expensive. As this chapter of my travels draws to a close though, a few Antipodean reflections and conclusions are surely in order.
1. Driving
Visualizar Gap Year - New Zealand em um mapa maior
As the blue lines in the above map illustrate, I did one hell of a lot of driving in New Zealand. A recent blog covered various aspects of my driving experiences, in particular relation to Kiwis' inabilty to maintain decent speeds around corners, but there are other more general oddities to be beheld when cruising around their streets. Most strange is a law that bans parking on the wrong side of the street - that is parking your car facing forwards on the right side of the road (i.e. against the direction of traffic). Admittedly with so few people and so few cars, lack of parking space isn't a massive issue, but the rationale of "this law was introduced to prevent many accidents that take place" is pretty galling - a better idea would be to teach drivers to use their mirrors/eyes/generally look where they're going and save yourself a lot of hassle. The fact that the above quote was from an official note that was placed on my windscreen in Fox Glacier - a town with a population of about 100, on a street with about 10 cars parked on it, says more than enough about the resources being wasted in instigating such a stupid system.
Then, there's the traffic lights, which change straight from red to green - no amber stage in the middle. This isn't unique here in Australiasia - it's fairly prevalent in lots of places - but it sucks. Firstly, it invariably causes congestion as a result of the inevitable lags that come from drivers being slow to react to the sudden change from one to another without warning - fewer cars pass through the junction before the lights change, leaving more cars stuck behind, more traffic jams, and generally more annoyed drivers. Secondly, it is terrible for people who are desperately trying to figure out where they are going on a map in the brief period while the lights change - at least in England you have the second or two of warning while the amber glows to get ready to go - over here you just look up, see green, and have no idea if you've been holding everyone up for 30 seconds or 3. And invariably some numpty will get over-excited and drop the clutch and stall... more hold ups.
2. Weighing in on the age-old Sydney vs Melbourne debate
Sydney and Melbourne have been arguing with each other over who has the better city for the entirity of Australian history. For me, it's no contest. Sydney has the better climate, one of the most beautiful harbours anywhere in the world (in my experience, only Monte Carlo can challenge its glamour), and draws the headlines and the eyes of the world with its New Year fireworks bonanza... but I'd choose Melbourne any day of the week (with the possible exception of New Year´s Eve).
If you were to personify the two, Sydney would have bleached blonde hair, wear a tank top and designer sunglasses and spend the day prancing around on the beach looking like a prettyboy. Melbourne would probably wear jeans and a shirt but wouldn´t really care anyway - he'd ooze the sort of educated, cultured classiness whose sophistication absconds the need to show off particular assets.
It real terms, Melbourne doesn't have the big showpiece attractions like Sydney´s Harbour Bridge and Opera House - both jaw-dropping bits of architecture. What it does have, however, is a cultural buzz through an abundance of art and sport, and a real eclectic multicultural vibe that you can simply feel in the air, and that just does not exist in the same way in its New South Wales rival. Sydney is without doubt a cool city... but cool as a holiday destination. Melbourne is just cool. Period.
3. Getting screwed by currency
There's nothing that can be done about it, but I've got live with choosing to travel at the worst possible time as a Britisher - particularly in Australia. Sterling has tanked, while the Aussie dollar is running at all time highs, resulting in an exchange rate of A$1.70 or so to the pound. Talk to Aussies and they'll tell you about coming over to the UK and being battered by a 2.5:1 rate... so basically things in Australia have got about 60% more expensive for me for absolutely no reason bar British economic collapse. Things in NZ have been marginally better, but not by much - about a year or so ago it was almost NZ$3 to the pound - my stay saw me getting something around NZ$2.10. I guess it all depends which way you look at it - on one side you should be watching every penny when you're burning cash like a anarchist terrorist with a wodge of greenback... but on the flipside a few extra quid doesn't make all that much difference when you're spending money left right and centre anyway!
4. Young countries
Coming from England, it takes some time to get used to just how young the modern countries of Australia and New Zealand are. My first year bedroom in Oxford predates the discovery of Australia by Captain Cook by a good 3 centuries or so, and there is no limit of irrelevant bits of paraphenalia you could find in your average English town that would match the century or so age of New Zealand as a country. "History" as a concept is very different - over here you actually get a sense of history changing around you while you are there... which isn't that ridiculous considering every year is not that much of an addition to the respective ages of the nations. But what's really weird is that when you arrive, you smirk when seeing a "historic" building built in 1900... but after 2 months, you feel yourself thinking "wow - that's old!".
5. Rushing around
As I've regularly re-iterated, the last month has been ridiculously hectic and, although I have achieved an unbelieveable amount and got so many amazing memories from such a variety of places spread by such vast distances, there is a price to pay. Since completing "The Last Nizam" (an excellent read for anyone with the slightest interest in India's princely history) on that terrible night in Sydney Airport, I've been reading Che Guevara's "Motorcycle Diaries" - frankly compulsory for anyone heading to South America. One line stood out as soon as I read it though - "we couldn't get to know the city well because we were there only for a few days and were pressed for time with the many things we had to sort out". Travels have made me aware of a skill I didn't know I had, but one that has come in useful - the ability to thoroughly absorb all facets of a town or city in the process of a good few hours walk. However, if Che and Alberto couldn't get to know a city well in a few days, it says something for what I've been forced to sideline when, with the exception of Christchurch, I've spent no longer than 18 hours in any town since Brisbane.
There are probably a whole host of other random things I wanted to say at some stage over the last 2 months that I've totally forgotten and cannot remember now... but this it pretty much good night and good luck to a fantastic couple of countries, neither of whom I had enough time to cover properly, and both of whom I will be visiting again as soon as I am able.
Sunday 31 January 2010
The dash up north
AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND - 31st January 2010
I´ve made it to Auckland in pretty good time, after disembarking the interislander ferry at about 5pm in Wellington yesterday afternoon and heading straight up north. I finally reached here at about 11am this morning after a brief stop in Hamilton (where there´s nothing to see, especially not on a rainy day like today). Of interest, however, was my overnight stopover in the township of "National Park" - another wonderfully original bit of naming by the Kiwis. The national park in question is Tongariro - the second oldest national park in the world after Yellowstone in the USA - and I was able to see its showpiece peak - Mount Ruapehu - glowing the beautiful sunset as I drove into the town just after 8.30pm. Unfortunately, of the 3 hostels in the town, the first was full, and the other two had closed their receptions at 8pm. Of prime concern to me was finding a TV to watch the women's final of the Australian Open, and always the opportunist I happily sauntered into lounge room of the last place I tried - Howard's Lodge - and made myself at home on the comfy sofa with Serena Williams vs Justine Henin cracking off on the big screen. As time ticked on and the lounge room emptied out, I ended up screwing formalities and just slept on the sofa - it was big, soft and very comfortable, so I was happy as Larry.
The honest intention of paying whatever board fees were due was there - I even took the trouble of writing a note to this effect and leaving it at reception - but after waking at 6.45am and being ready to leave, I found reception still abandoned. Only one thing for it - the note was shredded, and I was off on the road!
Incidentally, back in Wellington I'd been delighted to be met at the ferry terminal by the same chap I'd dropped the Hyundai off with last week, and sure enough he handed me the same crappy bunch of keys to the 1.5L beast that got me my speeding ticket back all those days ago. No such mares this time round, and better still I had the satisfaction of, while pulled over having a tea time pie on the side of the road in Levin, grabbing a photo of someone else getting caught in exactly the same place I was! He definitely won´t be the last.
The day in Auckland has been spent checking out the big Museum (which has the outrageous policy of being "free", but requiring all visitors to get an admission sticker from the ticketing desk where you are asked how much you are donating - $10 being the recommended amount. They need to learn a thing or two from the British Museum) and driving up to the top of Mount Eden for some impressive, if rather cloudy, views across the city centre, harbour and harbour bridge.
But, short of a long evening and night to pass in the airport (yet another night without a bed!), that pretty much wraps up New Zealand. What I can fairly safely guarantee is that there'll be plenty more to be said once I'm in the airport...
I´ve made it to Auckland in pretty good time, after disembarking the interislander ferry at about 5pm in Wellington yesterday afternoon and heading straight up north. I finally reached here at about 11am this morning after a brief stop in Hamilton (where there´s nothing to see, especially not on a rainy day like today). Of interest, however, was my overnight stopover in the township of "National Park" - another wonderfully original bit of naming by the Kiwis. The national park in question is Tongariro - the second oldest national park in the world after Yellowstone in the USA - and I was able to see its showpiece peak - Mount Ruapehu - glowing the beautiful sunset as I drove into the town just after 8.30pm. Unfortunately, of the 3 hostels in the town, the first was full, and the other two had closed their receptions at 8pm. Of prime concern to me was finding a TV to watch the women's final of the Australian Open, and always the opportunist I happily sauntered into lounge room of the last place I tried - Howard's Lodge - and made myself at home on the comfy sofa with Serena Williams vs Justine Henin cracking off on the big screen. As time ticked on and the lounge room emptied out, I ended up screwing formalities and just slept on the sofa - it was big, soft and very comfortable, so I was happy as Larry.
The honest intention of paying whatever board fees were due was there - I even took the trouble of writing a note to this effect and leaving it at reception - but after waking at 6.45am and being ready to leave, I found reception still abandoned. Only one thing for it - the note was shredded, and I was off on the road!
Incidentally, back in Wellington I'd been delighted to be met at the ferry terminal by the same chap I'd dropped the Hyundai off with last week, and sure enough he handed me the same crappy bunch of keys to the 1.5L beast that got me my speeding ticket back all those days ago. No such mares this time round, and better still I had the satisfaction of, while pulled over having a tea time pie on the side of the road in Levin, grabbing a photo of someone else getting caught in exactly the same place I was! He definitely won´t be the last.
The day in Auckland has been spent checking out the big Museum (which has the outrageous policy of being "free", but requiring all visitors to get an admission sticker from the ticketing desk where you are asked how much you are donating - $10 being the recommended amount. They need to learn a thing or two from the British Museum) and driving up to the top of Mount Eden for some impressive, if rather cloudy, views across the city centre, harbour and harbour bridge.
But, short of a long evening and night to pass in the airport (yet another night without a bed!), that pretty much wraps up New Zealand. What I can fairly safely guarantee is that there'll be plenty more to be said once I'm in the airport...
Saturday 30 January 2010
Interislanding
THE COOK STRAIT, NEW ZEALAND - 30th January 2010
With my blog uncharacteristically up to date as I write this, and with the barrage of activities that filled pretty much all my time in New Zealand up to a few days ago subsiding away (to be replaced by days of endless driving with little more excitment than the occasional stretch of dual carriageway), I felt it would be a good time to pen some thoughts to wrap up the loose ends of this stage of my journey.
I say "pen" in its most literal sense - with my mobile out of action I've been forced to shelve my previous strategy of typing blodys as emails to myself whenever I found myself sitting around doing nothing. Instead, I´ve found myself taking a trip up memory lane with a good old fashioned Bic biro pen and a diary journal book that I´d picked up in Mangalore but never really got the best out of. Sitting atop of the interislander ferry´s observation deck, basking in the warm summer sunshine, I have to say it´s a refreshing change from dimly lit air conditioned corner rooms - not to mention the intrinsic satisfaction and emotional appear derived from the handwritten word (hence why I continue to send, and enjoy receiving postcards, despite overhearing wisearses in shops joking "Postcards?! Seriously, who still sends these?).
The interislander I am sitting on has got to making one of the world's truly great ferry journies. The Picton approach section (coming towards the South Island) in particular is a perfect introduction to the majestic scenery South Island has in store for its visitors - winding your way through the seemingly endless bays and inlets of the Marlborough Sounds, the observation decks house as many happy snappers with SLR cameras as your average Japanese tour bus rocking up outside Christ Church (of the Oxford, rather than Kiwi, variety). Of course, my disdain for the latter as a Pembrokian in no way stopped me spearheading the former - photos will appear in due course.
What is telling, of course, is that here on the return journey snaps are minimal. Once you've gone all the way around South Island, you get progressively more desensitised to scenic beauty; Milford Sound won´t be topped by anything, so once you´ve seen it it´s pretty hard to be impressed again!
The other factor to account for though - this particular ferry has very few tourists among its sellout passenger group. Instead, it´s loaded with black t-shirt wearing long haired rock fans gathering en masse to see rock legends AC-DC tear up Wellington for the second night tonight. It is literally all anyone can talk about; it´s hard to imagine what a big deal it is over here when a big band comes over to do a stadium gig, with a population of barely 4.5 million of which a third is in the Auckland/wider north-east region, this sort of thing happens rarely. So every radio station has been talking about it non-stop for the last week (trust me, I´ve been listening to a LOT of radio), and the AC-DC fans on board are looked at with some sort of reverence. When you´re used to Wembley Stadium hosting a succession of sellout gigs all summer, leave alone the O2, Twickenham, and indeed any number of venues across England, it´s pretty easy to be unimpressed. But I guess it just hammers home how, with the UK´s population density, just how much culture we´ve managed to squeeze into a country as physically small as ours.
Once back in Wellington, it'll be into another rented car and straight up north to as far as I can manage tonight. The Daihatsu from the South Island won't be missed, but all said and done it did somewhat grow on me after the rollocking review it got on day one. It's lack of power was crap in infinitum, but the handling was actually not too bad once you got a feel for its transmission. In effect, it had a range of about 750 revs where it performed well - anything higher or lower and it was a hunk of junk - but as a driver it was quite rewarding to have to drive a car, rather than letting it drive you (like the cruise controlled automatic I had back on the Great Ocean Road). But, I´d still take my Polo any day of the week. Or indeed my North Island Hyundai...
And, finally, while I´m on the topic of driving, a quick note about Kiwi drivers. Joe and Simon had warned me back in Whakatane that "they're the nicest people in the world, but Kiwis can´t drive to save their lives". I can happily corroborate this story, with particular reference to one area. Corners. Going down straights roads for mile after mile, they´re fine. But the moment a corner appears, its slam on the brakes, lose all your momentum, and spend the next 5 minutes accelerating again. On South Island, with its twisting hill roads, and in a car whose strong point is anything but power, momentum is crucial - not least for getting decent fuel consumption. But it is inevitable that the car in front of you that's happily bombing it down the straight road well over the speed limit will end up crawling round a slight right hand bend at 40km/h, and it one foul swoop ruin 2 kilometres of gently built up, fuel-burn minimising momentum - and it is pretty damn annoying.
But, aside from that, the Kiwis are great guys - with my mate in Kaikora taking the biscuit.
With my blog uncharacteristically up to date as I write this, and with the barrage of activities that filled pretty much all my time in New Zealand up to a few days ago subsiding away (to be replaced by days of endless driving with little more excitment than the occasional stretch of dual carriageway), I felt it would be a good time to pen some thoughts to wrap up the loose ends of this stage of my journey.
I say "pen" in its most literal sense - with my mobile out of action I've been forced to shelve my previous strategy of typing blodys as emails to myself whenever I found myself sitting around doing nothing. Instead, I´ve found myself taking a trip up memory lane with a good old fashioned Bic biro pen and a diary journal book that I´d picked up in Mangalore but never really got the best out of. Sitting atop of the interislander ferry´s observation deck, basking in the warm summer sunshine, I have to say it´s a refreshing change from dimly lit air conditioned corner rooms - not to mention the intrinsic satisfaction and emotional appear derived from the handwritten word (hence why I continue to send, and enjoy receiving postcards, despite overhearing wisearses in shops joking "Postcards?! Seriously, who still sends these?).
The interislander I am sitting on has got to making one of the world's truly great ferry journies. The Picton approach section (coming towards the South Island) in particular is a perfect introduction to the majestic scenery South Island has in store for its visitors - winding your way through the seemingly endless bays and inlets of the Marlborough Sounds, the observation decks house as many happy snappers with SLR cameras as your average Japanese tour bus rocking up outside Christ Church (of the Oxford, rather than Kiwi, variety). Of course, my disdain for the latter as a Pembrokian in no way stopped me spearheading the former - photos will appear in due course.
What is telling, of course, is that here on the return journey snaps are minimal. Once you've gone all the way around South Island, you get progressively more desensitised to scenic beauty; Milford Sound won´t be topped by anything, so once you´ve seen it it´s pretty hard to be impressed again!
The other factor to account for though - this particular ferry has very few tourists among its sellout passenger group. Instead, it´s loaded with black t-shirt wearing long haired rock fans gathering en masse to see rock legends AC-DC tear up Wellington for the second night tonight. It is literally all anyone can talk about; it´s hard to imagine what a big deal it is over here when a big band comes over to do a stadium gig, with a population of barely 4.5 million of which a third is in the Auckland/wider north-east region, this sort of thing happens rarely. So every radio station has been talking about it non-stop for the last week (trust me, I´ve been listening to a LOT of radio), and the AC-DC fans on board are looked at with some sort of reverence. When you´re used to Wembley Stadium hosting a succession of sellout gigs all summer, leave alone the O2, Twickenham, and indeed any number of venues across England, it´s pretty easy to be unimpressed. But I guess it just hammers home how, with the UK´s population density, just how much culture we´ve managed to squeeze into a country as physically small as ours.
Once back in Wellington, it'll be into another rented car and straight up north to as far as I can manage tonight. The Daihatsu from the South Island won't be missed, but all said and done it did somewhat grow on me after the rollocking review it got on day one. It's lack of power was crap in infinitum, but the handling was actually not too bad once you got a feel for its transmission. In effect, it had a range of about 750 revs where it performed well - anything higher or lower and it was a hunk of junk - but as a driver it was quite rewarding to have to drive a car, rather than letting it drive you (like the cruise controlled automatic I had back on the Great Ocean Road). But, I´d still take my Polo any day of the week. Or indeed my North Island Hyundai...
And, finally, while I´m on the topic of driving, a quick note about Kiwi drivers. Joe and Simon had warned me back in Whakatane that "they're the nicest people in the world, but Kiwis can´t drive to save their lives". I can happily corroborate this story, with particular reference to one area. Corners. Going down straights roads for mile after mile, they´re fine. But the moment a corner appears, its slam on the brakes, lose all your momentum, and spend the next 5 minutes accelerating again. On South Island, with its twisting hill roads, and in a car whose strong point is anything but power, momentum is crucial - not least for getting decent fuel consumption. But it is inevitable that the car in front of you that's happily bombing it down the straight road well over the speed limit will end up crawling round a slight right hand bend at 40km/h, and it one foul swoop ruin 2 kilometres of gently built up, fuel-burn minimising momentum - and it is pretty damn annoying.
But, aside from that, the Kiwis are great guys - with my mate in Kaikora taking the biscuit.
A seafood surprise
KAIKORA, CANTERBURY, SOUTH ISLAND - 30th January 2010
Breaking up the spare day between my relaxing couple of nights in Christchurch and today's ferry back to North Island from Picton, I spent last night in the coastal town of Kaikora, famed for the abundance of whales and dolphins that inhabit the waters just off its coast, as well as the colony of seals that pass their time dozing on the rocks on the outskirts of town.
Arriving late afernoon, I donned the hiking boots and took on the 4 hour 20km Peninsula Walk, that follows the coastline all the way around the rugged Kaikora peninsula, past the seal colony and culminating in an ascent up and over the central hilltop that runs like a spine from the mainland - the latter being timed perfectly for probably the best sunset of my travels so far.
The new camera earned its keep with photos like those above (that will appear soon enough), but having bothered to learn how to take slightly greater advantage of its capabilities over the previous 24 hours or so, I was able to take some pretty special snaps descending the other side of the hill back to town; the full moon glistening over a twillit sky leaving its eerie glow over the wild South Island vegetation.
I never miss the opportunity to talk about good food, and Kairkora can proudly claim the honour of hosting what is surely one of my Top 5 Eating establishments in terms of pure value. Out on its own, secluded from town with no other building in sight in any direction, stands the shack of Kaikora Seafood BBQ - a roadside stall located on the road/track that runs one-way towards the end of the peninsula. Here, you get the day's freshest seafood prepared in front f you at barely a cut above market prices - in effect, the best quality fish in town for the lowest price. LPG recommended, part of the reason for undertaking the big walk was the knowledge I'd be passing this place en route.
Of course, in my world things are rarely so simple, and after walking for half an hour from town to reach the shack, I discovered I had next to no cash... with time running out before the place closed. It was either a return walk back to my car and sacking off the Peninsula Walk (it'd get too dark to complete it if I turned around), or miss the some of best seafood in New Zealand. Bad times...
However, fate clearly agreed that it owed me some good cards, because after glumly walking 5 minutes up the road I starting chatting to a local who was parked on the roadside digging up weeds to take home for feed for his rabbits. I was after a lift back to my car in order to get to an ATM, but he was having none of it - he just gave me a $10 bill straight off on the basis that "it's the season, isn't it?", and dropped me off right outside the BBQ Shack. Crayfish lobster is the local speciality - you can't get it fresher anywhere else - so a few minutes later I was enjoying an excellent crayfish fritter toasted sandwich, all thanks to one geneous Kiwi!
Breaking up the spare day between my relaxing couple of nights in Christchurch and today's ferry back to North Island from Picton, I spent last night in the coastal town of Kaikora, famed for the abundance of whales and dolphins that inhabit the waters just off its coast, as well as the colony of seals that pass their time dozing on the rocks on the outskirts of town.
Arriving late afernoon, I donned the hiking boots and took on the 4 hour 20km Peninsula Walk, that follows the coastline all the way around the rugged Kaikora peninsula, past the seal colony and culminating in an ascent up and over the central hilltop that runs like a spine from the mainland - the latter being timed perfectly for probably the best sunset of my travels so far.
The new camera earned its keep with photos like those above (that will appear soon enough), but having bothered to learn how to take slightly greater advantage of its capabilities over the previous 24 hours or so, I was able to take some pretty special snaps descending the other side of the hill back to town; the full moon glistening over a twillit sky leaving its eerie glow over the wild South Island vegetation.
I never miss the opportunity to talk about good food, and Kairkora can proudly claim the honour of hosting what is surely one of my Top 5 Eating establishments in terms of pure value. Out on its own, secluded from town with no other building in sight in any direction, stands the shack of Kaikora Seafood BBQ - a roadside stall located on the road/track that runs one-way towards the end of the peninsula. Here, you get the day's freshest seafood prepared in front f you at barely a cut above market prices - in effect, the best quality fish in town for the lowest price. LPG recommended, part of the reason for undertaking the big walk was the knowledge I'd be passing this place en route.
Of course, in my world things are rarely so simple, and after walking for half an hour from town to reach the shack, I discovered I had next to no cash... with time running out before the place closed. It was either a return walk back to my car and sacking off the Peninsula Walk (it'd get too dark to complete it if I turned around), or miss the some of best seafood in New Zealand. Bad times...
However, fate clearly agreed that it owed me some good cards, because after glumly walking 5 minutes up the road I starting chatting to a local who was parked on the roadside digging up weeds to take home for feed for his rabbits. I was after a lift back to my car in order to get to an ATM, but he was having none of it - he just gave me a $10 bill straight off on the basis that "it's the season, isn't it?", and dropped me off right outside the BBQ Shack. Crayfish lobster is the local speciality - you can't get it fresher anywhere else - so a few minutes later I was enjoying an excellent crayfish fritter toasted sandwich, all thanks to one geneous Kiwi!
Friday 29 January 2010
The Garden of England on tour
CHRISTCHURCH, CANTERBURY, NEW ZEALAND - 29th January 2010
I've had the unusual and highly enjoyable experience of getting to sleep two consecutive nights in the same town. Better still, I not only had my own bed, but my own bedroom - thanks to the open arms welcome from friend-from-home Dave Booth and his housemates. This was especially generous considering that Dave and I - great friends that we are - have only previously met twice or, at most, thrice, at Speldhurst Cricket Club's indoor net sessions back in 2006; the common link between us is a certain Oscar Renton. And it was thanks to Oscar's tip-off about Dave's whereabouts that one thing led to another, and I managed to claim the bedroom currently vacant while its inhabitant is in Japan.
The drive up to Christchurch from Queenstown was a long one, though I broke it midway with a lunchtime stop at the gorgeous Lake Tekapo - another glacial lake whose water shimmers a lush light blue, reflecting the towering mountains behind it. Some photos will appear at some stage.
Arriving at Dave's place at about 6.15pm, I was soon enjoying a welcome home-cooked dinner - courtesy of Dave - and kotching with a crate of beers and a terrible, terrible movie (Bring It On III does what was generally considered impossible by making its prequel look vaguely good), before an excellent slumber.
Morning featured more chillaxing, a trip to the nets for a bit of a cricketing masterclass, and an awesome lunch in the form of buy-one-get-one-free Hell's Pizzas. Not only are they massive and mega tasty, but the cardboard pizza box transforms into a cut-out coffin after you're done! Fun for all the family.
Another beautiful sunny day saw us head to town in the afternoon, wandering around Christchurch's various sights - an Arts Centre architecturally akin to an Oxford College, punting on the River Avon through the middle of town... no prizes for guessing what the place was named after - and catching a bit of the World Busking Festival currently going on all over the city. Some impressive hoopla dancing girls and a guy catching flaming torches while on top of an 8 foot unicycle were entertaining enough, but there was nothing to beat an ice cold tasting rack of Monteith's 7 beers (the same ones sampled at the brewery in Greymouth) - bar the "Black", which wasn't too great, they went down an absolute treat.
Christchurch has the reputation of being the most English of cities in New Zealand, or indeed anywhere outside of England, and it is easy to see why. The rolling hills of the wider Canterbury region (for some reason, "Canterbury" is a region here rather than a city like its English namesake), the very English town planning, the river and the general apperance of the place is pretty much like walking through a town in Kent or Oxfordshire. The only difference is that the roads are about 5 times broader, and parking is close to, if not, free.
Back home, it was off again to the nets - a proper club session in the evening - before I cooked up some Rodrigues-style green chicken and Mangalore-style cauliflower for everyone for dinner. Then more beers... and wine... and a disastrous game of Ring of Fire. Great times.
I've had the unusual and highly enjoyable experience of getting to sleep two consecutive nights in the same town. Better still, I not only had my own bed, but my own bedroom - thanks to the open arms welcome from friend-from-home Dave Booth and his housemates. This was especially generous considering that Dave and I - great friends that we are - have only previously met twice or, at most, thrice, at Speldhurst Cricket Club's indoor net sessions back in 2006; the common link between us is a certain Oscar Renton. And it was thanks to Oscar's tip-off about Dave's whereabouts that one thing led to another, and I managed to claim the bedroom currently vacant while its inhabitant is in Japan.
The drive up to Christchurch from Queenstown was a long one, though I broke it midway with a lunchtime stop at the gorgeous Lake Tekapo - another glacial lake whose water shimmers a lush light blue, reflecting the towering mountains behind it. Some photos will appear at some stage.
Arriving at Dave's place at about 6.15pm, I was soon enjoying a welcome home-cooked dinner - courtesy of Dave - and kotching with a crate of beers and a terrible, terrible movie (Bring It On III does what was generally considered impossible by making its prequel look vaguely good), before an excellent slumber.
Morning featured more chillaxing, a trip to the nets for a bit of a cricketing masterclass, and an awesome lunch in the form of buy-one-get-one-free Hell's Pizzas. Not only are they massive and mega tasty, but the cardboard pizza box transforms into a cut-out coffin after you're done! Fun for all the family.
Another beautiful sunny day saw us head to town in the afternoon, wandering around Christchurch's various sights - an Arts Centre architecturally akin to an Oxford College, punting on the River Avon through the middle of town... no prizes for guessing what the place was named after - and catching a bit of the World Busking Festival currently going on all over the city. Some impressive hoopla dancing girls and a guy catching flaming torches while on top of an 8 foot unicycle were entertaining enough, but there was nothing to beat an ice cold tasting rack of Monteith's 7 beers (the same ones sampled at the brewery in Greymouth) - bar the "Black", which wasn't too great, they went down an absolute treat.
Christchurch has the reputation of being the most English of cities in New Zealand, or indeed anywhere outside of England, and it is easy to see why. The rolling hills of the wider Canterbury region (for some reason, "Canterbury" is a region here rather than a city like its English namesake), the very English town planning, the river and the general apperance of the place is pretty much like walking through a town in Kent or Oxfordshire. The only difference is that the roads are about 5 times broader, and parking is close to, if not, free.
Back home, it was off again to the nets - a proper club session in the evening - before I cooked up some Rodrigues-style green chicken and Mangalore-style cauliflower for everyone for dinner. Then more beers... and wine... and a disastrous game of Ring of Fire. Great times.
Wednesday 27 January 2010
Mobile mishap
QUEENSTOWN, SOUTHLAND - 27th January 2010
After a long but very enjoyable 4 hour drive back to Queenstown from Milford Sound yesterday afternoon, I was back at the Black Sheep Hostel and caught up with a bunch of Americans I'd originally met down at Fox Glacier. Yesterday was Australia Day, so we were obliged to go out and celebrate - a fact encouraged by a hot rumour going around town about a codeword-activated bar tab at "World Bar"...
Turns out the rumours were true - from 11pm a $700 bar tab was open for as long as it lasted, with anyone saying the codeword "Boom Boom Boom, Let Me Hear You Say Way-Oh" getting their drinks paid for from the tab. Obviously, happy days... and from there the night went on to Buffalo Bar and various other establishments with Australian beers on offer alongside the legendary/infamous Jagerbomber.
Details aren't particularly necessary, but the point of the story is that at some stage I pulled my mobile out my pocked and discovered the screen was smashed. Which means I now have a phone that's it perfect working order, other than the minor issue of not being able to see anything that's going on.
Those familiar with my history of mobile phones won't be surprised by this development in the slightest. After all, this is the same person whose Sony Ericsson W900 came to a sticky end during a nice dinner on the Malia seafront in July 2007 - an attempt to take a photo by balancing the camera-phone on top of a beer mug ended fairly inevitably with the phone falling into the mug. Which was full of fresh Mythos beer.
And this is the same person whose subsequent phone, a Nokia N95, had its 6 month life came to a cracking end when it fell 5 metres from the balcony of Pembroke College Boat House. And, after upgrading to the N95 8GB 2 months later, had the misfortune of having it stolen in the previously mentioned "Curious Incident of the Berghaus Bag".
All in all, my luck with gadgets and travelling continues...
After a long but very enjoyable 4 hour drive back to Queenstown from Milford Sound yesterday afternoon, I was back at the Black Sheep Hostel and caught up with a bunch of Americans I'd originally met down at Fox Glacier. Yesterday was Australia Day, so we were obliged to go out and celebrate - a fact encouraged by a hot rumour going around town about a codeword-activated bar tab at "World Bar"...
Turns out the rumours were true - from 11pm a $700 bar tab was open for as long as it lasted, with anyone saying the codeword "Boom Boom Boom, Let Me Hear You Say Way-Oh" getting their drinks paid for from the tab. Obviously, happy days... and from there the night went on to Buffalo Bar and various other establishments with Australian beers on offer alongside the legendary/infamous Jagerbomber.
Details aren't particularly necessary, but the point of the story is that at some stage I pulled my mobile out my pocked and discovered the screen was smashed. Which means I now have a phone that's it perfect working order, other than the minor issue of not being able to see anything that's going on.
Those familiar with my history of mobile phones won't be surprised by this development in the slightest. After all, this is the same person whose Sony Ericsson W900 came to a sticky end during a nice dinner on the Malia seafront in July 2007 - an attempt to take a photo by balancing the camera-phone on top of a beer mug ended fairly inevitably with the phone falling into the mug. Which was full of fresh Mythos beer.
And this is the same person whose subsequent phone, a Nokia N95, had its 6 month life came to a cracking end when it fell 5 metres from the balcony of Pembroke College Boat House. And, after upgrading to the N95 8GB 2 months later, had the misfortune of having it stolen in the previously mentioned "Curious Incident of the Berghaus Bag".
All in all, my luck with gadgets and travelling continues...
Tuesday 26 January 2010
Milford Sound - so beautiful it's stupid
MILFORD, FIORDLAND, NEW ZEALAND - 26th January 2010
I've already stated how New Zealand's South Island is far too scenic for its own good. That statement came from Greymouth, one hell of a long way up the north end of South Island, and all I can say is that every step you take further south gets progressively more and more scenic; more and more stunning; more and more time consuming as you stop your car, get out, and take yet another ridiculously picturesque photo of some mountain-backed verdant vista.
Then, once you've trekked far enough down the coast and navigated inland through Queenstown and its adrenaline-fuelled activity scene, you end up making the inevitable return trip to New Zealand's most famous attraction; #1 on the 101 Must-Do Things for Kiwis; supposedly the "8th Wonder of the World" - the world famous fjord of Milford Sound.
I realise that over the last 10 days or so this blog has been guilty of the most liberal usage of superlatives - largely in describing landscapes one more stunning than the next. If it were possible at this somewhat late stage, I'd take them all back in order to combine them into one unholy super-superlative and unleash it in description of this, the most spectacularly beautiful, tranquil, simultaneously relaxing and enthralling natural environment on Planet Earth. It never ceases to surprise me how many amazing things there are so see as you go travelling, but I have no hesitation in asserting that Milford Sound will not be topped in terms of outright natural beauty.
Those of you crazy enough to consult a map will find that getting to Milford Sound from Queenstown involves, as the crow flies, a relatively short journey to the north-west. Unfortunately, the hulking great mass of the southern Alps stands in the way of that particular direct journey, and the only alternative is to head 100km south of Queenstown, take a right and head 100km west to Te Anau, and then take another 200km dead-ended road whose culmination is Milford. Given that we're in New Zealand here and the roads concerned are, despite their highway designation, no more than glorified country tracks, doing the entire Queenstown-Milford return car journey in a day was not something I was particularly keen on. Tiredness constraints were one factor, but the bigger factor was the importance of avoiding the glut of tourists who take the day trip from Queenstown, arriving in one of a literal procession of coaches that all arrive in the 12.30-2pm slot after the 5 hour journey from Queenstown. Snobbish and hypocritical as it almost certainly is, one thing travelling soon imparts on you is a passionate dislike of bog-standard tourists...
Avoiding this midday scrum required a touch of advance planning, and my scheme involved an early morning crack-of-dawn drive to Milford from Te Anau - the last town of any significance (and last place to get petrol) before the long ride to Milford and back. An early morning start from Te Anau obviously requires the morning to begin in Te Anau, so following my bungy-jumping exploits in Queenstown yesterday I had time to grab some lunch and hit the road off to the lakeside town that, if it were in any other country, would probably be famous and vastly overpopulated for its location and environment.
Lake Te Anau, on which the town of Te Anau sits, is the second biggest lake in New Zealand and the largest in the South Island - only Lake Taupo up in the North is larger. Through a combination of clear blue skies and water of the highest cleanliness, and as you can see in the photo above, the water here on Te Anau shares the same perfect shade of deep, pure blue that is found in its sister lakes across the country, while rising up over the opposing side of the lake to the township stand the rocky peaks of a few more Southern Alpine mountains - a constant feature in this region, and indeed island. The guy in the statue is of an explorer whose name I forget, but was the first European to reach Milford Sound by land.
The town itself is pretty tiny - it would barely qualify as a village by English standards - but has a gorgeous waterfront walkway that leads around off the road towards a low key but nevertheless well maintained wildlife centre devoted to endangered native birds, including the kea - the world's only alpine parrot, and the takahe - a rare flightless bird that was thought to be extinct before a trekker strayed across a few hidden away in the Murchison Mountains of the Fiordland region. The decent walk to the reserve and back left me looking for some good grub, and happily I stumbled across Olive's Cafe at 9.40pm, giving me 20 minutes to see away the most delicious roast lamb and gravy I've ever been served outside of my own house. It was one of those meals that will be remembered long into the future, it was that good.
Sharing a dorm room with 3 Japanese/Chinese who apparently weren't keen on uttering a word of English, there was little to keep me from the much needed early night, and I was up by 6.30am and out by 7 in order to beat the crowds down the Milford Road. With time on my side I was able to take the advice of everyone I'd spoken to (not to mention the trusty LPG) and stop off at the various points of interest en route (generally a case of taking a few photos like the one above and moving on), the highlight of which was the "Mirror Lakes" whose still, clear waters provided a perfect mirror of the mountains and trees in the background. The clever reflected sign (right) is also, as I'm sure you'll agree, pretty damn cool.
You can't come to Milford without doing a boat cruise around the Sound (i.e. the water), and I'd booked myself onto the 11.30am "Discover More" departure that included a BBQ lunch. Arriving in Milford at 9.45, I had a good couple of hours to chill out and begin what would be a devastating volley of photographs, so proceeded to snap away and, of course, Back the Bid.
Lunch was served as soon as we were on the boat - an orderly queue formed curving around a good salad cart and an even better selection of burgers, sausages, chicken legs - the works. Naturally I piled my plate up, but got a welcome shock a little later when I realised it was a buffet, and there was waaaaay more food than anyone could want. It goes without say I went to town.
Meanwhile, we were cruising in and around a glacial geologer's dreamworld. Milford Sound is actually misnamed - it is not a "Sound", which is created by rivers, but a fjord - created by ice. This is the reason the landscape features massive U-shaped valleys, with other U-shaped valleys culminating at the border of the Sound. Every corner you move around provides yet another amazing view - we were lucky to have a sunny day in a place that has 260 days of rain per year, and made the most of it up on the open top deck of the boat.
The only downside of the sunshine was that the thousands (literally) of waterfalls that cascade down the steep sided rock faces on a rainy day all run dry when there are more than a couple of days without rain - with the surrounding sheer-faced rocky mountains, there is next-to-no topsoil to absorb rain water, meaning that 90% flows straight down into the Sound. However, there still remain a few permanent falls that splash down regardless of the weather, and we cruised right into the spray of Stirling Falls, below, a huge 150m drop whose mass of spray in the bright sunlight resulting in an awesome rainbow around the boat (right).
The "Discover More" cruise also included a stop at the Milford Underwater Aquarium - down an 8 metre shaft you are able to observe the coral and marine life the lives in the glacial waters deep under the Sound's surface. Most abundant were the critters to the right - there were millions of them buzzing around, but more impressive were the starfish (by the hundred) and an appearance from a big black octopus.
Eventually we were back at Milford's dock - which represents the entirety of the village of "Milford" (other than a small information centre, there is literally nothing else here), and soon after I finish writing this I'll be back on the road all the way back to Queenstown. But for now, it's about making as many mental photographs as humanly possible - Milford Sound is a truly special place.
I've already stated how New Zealand's South Island is far too scenic for its own good. That statement came from Greymouth, one hell of a long way up the north end of South Island, and all I can say is that every step you take further south gets progressively more and more scenic; more and more stunning; more and more time consuming as you stop your car, get out, and take yet another ridiculously picturesque photo of some mountain-backed verdant vista.
Then, once you've trekked far enough down the coast and navigated inland through Queenstown and its adrenaline-fuelled activity scene, you end up making the inevitable return trip to New Zealand's most famous attraction; #1 on the 101 Must-Do Things for Kiwis; supposedly the "8th Wonder of the World" - the world famous fjord of Milford Sound.
I realise that over the last 10 days or so this blog has been guilty of the most liberal usage of superlatives - largely in describing landscapes one more stunning than the next. If it were possible at this somewhat late stage, I'd take them all back in order to combine them into one unholy super-superlative and unleash it in description of this, the most spectacularly beautiful, tranquil, simultaneously relaxing and enthralling natural environment on Planet Earth. It never ceases to surprise me how many amazing things there are so see as you go travelling, but I have no hesitation in asserting that Milford Sound will not be topped in terms of outright natural beauty.
Those of you crazy enough to consult a map will find that getting to Milford Sound from Queenstown involves, as the crow flies, a relatively short journey to the north-west. Unfortunately, the hulking great mass of the southern Alps stands in the way of that particular direct journey, and the only alternative is to head 100km south of Queenstown, take a right and head 100km west to Te Anau, and then take another 200km dead-ended road whose culmination is Milford. Given that we're in New Zealand here and the roads concerned are, despite their highway designation, no more than glorified country tracks, doing the entire Queenstown-Milford return car journey in a day was not something I was particularly keen on. Tiredness constraints were one factor, but the bigger factor was the importance of avoiding the glut of tourists who take the day trip from Queenstown, arriving in one of a literal procession of coaches that all arrive in the 12.30-2pm slot after the 5 hour journey from Queenstown. Snobbish and hypocritical as it almost certainly is, one thing travelling soon imparts on you is a passionate dislike of bog-standard tourists...
Avoiding this midday scrum required a touch of advance planning, and my scheme involved an early morning crack-of-dawn drive to Milford from Te Anau - the last town of any significance (and last place to get petrol) before the long ride to Milford and back. An early morning start from Te Anau obviously requires the morning to begin in Te Anau, so following my bungy-jumping exploits in Queenstown yesterday I had time to grab some lunch and hit the road off to the lakeside town that, if it were in any other country, would probably be famous and vastly overpopulated for its location and environment.
Lake Te Anau, on which the town of Te Anau sits, is the second biggest lake in New Zealand and the largest in the South Island - only Lake Taupo up in the North is larger. Through a combination of clear blue skies and water of the highest cleanliness, and as you can see in the photo above, the water here on Te Anau shares the same perfect shade of deep, pure blue that is found in its sister lakes across the country, while rising up over the opposing side of the lake to the township stand the rocky peaks of a few more Southern Alpine mountains - a constant feature in this region, and indeed island. The guy in the statue is of an explorer whose name I forget, but was the first European to reach Milford Sound by land.
The town itself is pretty tiny - it would barely qualify as a village by English standards - but has a gorgeous waterfront walkway that leads around off the road towards a low key but nevertheless well maintained wildlife centre devoted to endangered native birds, including the kea - the world's only alpine parrot, and the takahe - a rare flightless bird that was thought to be extinct before a trekker strayed across a few hidden away in the Murchison Mountains of the Fiordland region. The decent walk to the reserve and back left me looking for some good grub, and happily I stumbled across Olive's Cafe at 9.40pm, giving me 20 minutes to see away the most delicious roast lamb and gravy I've ever been served outside of my own house. It was one of those meals that will be remembered long into the future, it was that good.
Sharing a dorm room with 3 Japanese/Chinese who apparently weren't keen on uttering a word of English, there was little to keep me from the much needed early night, and I was up by 6.30am and out by 7 in order to beat the crowds down the Milford Road. With time on my side I was able to take the advice of everyone I'd spoken to (not to mention the trusty LPG) and stop off at the various points of interest en route (generally a case of taking a few photos like the one above and moving on), the highlight of which was the "Mirror Lakes" whose still, clear waters provided a perfect mirror of the mountains and trees in the background. The clever reflected sign (right) is also, as I'm sure you'll agree, pretty damn cool.You can't come to Milford without doing a boat cruise around the Sound (i.e. the water), and I'd booked myself onto the 11.30am "Discover More" departure that included a BBQ lunch. Arriving in Milford at 9.45, I had a good couple of hours to chill out and begin what would be a devastating volley of photographs, so proceeded to snap away and, of course, Back the Bid.
Lunch was served as soon as we were on the boat - an orderly queue formed curving around a good salad cart and an even better selection of burgers, sausages, chicken legs - the works. Naturally I piled my plate up, but got a welcome shock a little later when I realised it was a buffet, and there was waaaaay more food than anyone could want. It goes without say I went to town.
Meanwhile, we were cruising in and around a glacial geologer's dreamworld. Milford Sound is actually misnamed - it is not a "Sound", which is created by rivers, but a fjord - created by ice. This is the reason the landscape features massive U-shaped valleys, with other U-shaped valleys culminating at the border of the Sound. Every corner you move around provides yet another amazing view - we were lucky to have a sunny day in a place that has 260 days of rain per year, and made the most of it up on the open top deck of the boat.
The only downside of the sunshine was that the thousands (literally) of waterfalls that cascade down the steep sided rock faces on a rainy day all run dry when there are more than a couple of days without rain - with the surrounding sheer-faced rocky mountains, there is next-to-no topsoil to absorb rain water, meaning that 90% flows straight down into the Sound. However, there still remain a few permanent falls that splash down regardless of the weather, and we cruised right into the spray of Stirling Falls, below, a huge 150m drop whose mass of spray in the bright sunlight resulting in an awesome rainbow around the boat (right).
The "Discover More" cruise also included a stop at the Milford Underwater Aquarium - down an 8 metre shaft you are able to observe the coral and marine life the lives in the glacial waters deep under the Sound's surface. Most abundant were the critters to the right - there were millions of them buzzing around, but more impressive were the starfish (by the hundred) and an appearance from a big black octopus.Eventually we were back at Milford's dock - which represents the entirety of the village of "Milford" (other than a small information centre, there is literally nothing else here), and soon after I finish writing this I'll be back on the road all the way back to Queenstown. But for now, it's about making as many mental photographs as humanly possible - Milford Sound is a truly special place.
Monday 25 January 2010
Bungeeeeeeeeeee
QUEENSTOWN, NEW ZEALAND - 25th January 2010
I usually do my best to describe my feelings, emotions, or general sights and sounds in words for this blog. I cannot in any way describe two things:
1. The sheer fear I felt building up to this. Skydiving back in 2007 was easy as pie - for whatever reason I had absolutely no fear at any stage. This, on the other hand, was scary. And the fear only increases as you're carted along a skywire out to the middle of a massive canyon, with the mesh floor beneath you betraying just how far down you're going. The fear increases as you're tied up, get your photo taken (right), and tip-toe out to the edge of the ledge... staring 134 metres down to a river... and you hear "5...4...3...2...1..."
2. The size and scale of the smile that has been permanently etched on my face from the moment I came bouncing back up to 85 metres, only to plunge back down again (and to think other bungee jumps are from just 45 metres in total?!); a smile that has remained right back to Nevis Base Camp and the free internet access while you wait for a bus back to town...
I usually do my best to describe my feelings, emotions, or general sights and sounds in words for this blog. I cannot in any way describe two things:1. The sheer fear I felt building up to this. Skydiving back in 2007 was easy as pie - for whatever reason I had absolutely no fear at any stage. This, on the other hand, was scary. And the fear only increases as you're carted along a skywire out to the middle of a massive canyon, with the mesh floor beneath you betraying just how far down you're going. The fear increases as you're tied up, get your photo taken (right), and tip-toe out to the edge of the ledge... staring 134 metres down to a river... and you hear "5...4...3...2...1..."
2. The size and scale of the smile that has been permanently etched on my face from the moment I came bouncing back up to 85 metres, only to plunge back down again (and to think other bungee jumps are from just 45 metres in total?!); a smile that has remained right back to Nevis Base Camp and the free internet access while you wait for a bus back to town...
Saturday 23 January 2010
Franz and Fox: The Ice Twins
FOX GLACIER, GLACIER COUNTRY, SOUTH ISLAND - 23rd January 2010
Depending how you look at it, the last 3 weeks of my life have been either phenomenally efficient, or one massive rush (or indeed both). It seems patently ridiculous to think that just 3 weeks ago I was in Sydney climbing the Harbour Bridge with the whole Australian East Coast yet to be seen, leave alone New Zealand. It is equally galling that it was a mere 12 days ago that some swarmy git stole my camera - a fact that has inevitable meant many a solitary moment since the 11th has left thoughts to turn to various "what if" scenarios that achieve little else bar leaving me feeling pretty gutted.
Today, however, had a double-whammy of gloom-busting developments. On one front, the nagging annoyance of losing so many fun-filled photos from Fraser Island was lifted upon seeing some classic snaps appear on Facebook courtesy of Nick - one of the crew in our 7 man 4x4. On a second front, a quite breathtaking sunset over the rugged flat plain, rainforest-clad mountains and white icy glacier provided a perfect opportunity for my new camera to show off why I'm far better off with something of its calibre in a country like New Zealand. A few examples can be found below.
On the topic of glaciers, I am in Glacier Country, and today saw me tick off another rather large box both in the Must-Do New Zealand activities, as well as a smaller but still decent one in the general checklist for life experiences. The task at hand was the Franz Josef Heli-Hike, involving a helicopter ride up to, and 2-hour hike around, the upper reaches of the Franz Josef glacier.
The Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers are about half an hour's drive apart from one another, but have international fame due to their unique surroundings - along with another in Argentina, they are the only glaciers in the world that are found rolling down mountains whose banks are populated with temperate rainforest. It is surreal, to say the least, to be standing on top of a good 100 metres of solid ice, in blazing summer sunshine, surrounded by lush green trees. Given there are over 3000 glaciers in New Zealand, leave alone the rest of the world, you can get some perspective on just how unique a sight you behold.
On top of this, Franz and Fox move at a remarkable rate - at their tops the level of snowfall results in as much as 8 metres of downward movement every day. As a measure of comparison, your average glacier would be hard pushed to move 1 metre.
With an unseasonal forecast of blazing sunshine (which, according to Chris at Neptune's, is about as likely as guessing the roll of a die), I'd taken the liberty of booking the heli-hike" from i-Site tourist info centre in Greymouth - although cheaper alternatives included either heli- or hike on their own, once again monetary considerations were thrown out the window after at least 2 people said "the heli-hike is the best if you can afford it". My Visa card being accepted was criteria enough for the above, and after another ridiculously scenic drive down the ridiculously scenic west coast, I was in the Franz Josef township early enough to grab a colossal toasted sandwich from the local "Speight's" bar/cafe.
Helicopters are seriously fun. The physics of their motion is so different to any other method of transport, but what really takes you by surprise is their incredible stability through the steepest banked turns. With a full panoramic view as you ascend the carved escarpments of centuries of glacial erosion, you can't help but hold your breath as the pilot casually pulls a 180 degree banked turn while descending to within 10 metres of the ice below and 20 metres of the rocks to the side, before dropping to a perfect landing on a specified patch of ice.
Out the chopper, crampons on, and for the next 2 hours we follow Essex boy Ned around the sights and sounds of Franz Josef at 1600 metres. First impression? Immediately around you, there's a lot of white; just beyond, a lot of green.
Moving at the rate it does, the glacier is constantly changing, so the guides follow new tracks every time depending on what they've seen earlier that day. Our features included a couple of caves (cue cheesy photos), a tall, thin ice corridor (anyone much fatter than me wouldn't get through) complete with ceiling, and an awesome tunnel of ice that was basically flat at a horizontal angle, requiring you to slide on your front along the flowing water till the you reached a little pool at the other end. Apparently there were some stairs carved in the ice allowing you to avoid the water, but I was too busy posing for sub-glacial photos (see below) to look/notice and, much to the amusement of the rest of the group, ended up balls-deep in icy glacial meltwater. Cold.
A bit more hiking, a chopper ride back down, and I was back on the road heading a bit further south to the Fox Glacier township. 5 minutes outside of Fox lies Lake Matheson which, on a clear day (i.e. once in a blue moon), offers the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous view of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman - the two tallest mountains in NZ - reflected in the crystal clear water. There was a bit of cloud cover over the peaks while I was there so I couldn't get the epic pic, but the one that will eventually appear below isn't half bad either.
A few hours later, and the other side of the car park offered one of the most stunning sunset backdrops I've ever seen - beginning a barrage of photos (one such example below). To top everything off, over at the summit of Mount Cook the cloud suddenly cleared, with snow-capped summit glowing in the evening sun like a beacon of light. Beautiful.
The DAILY ROD's Top Travel Tips:
#12 - Don't travel anywhere without Lemsip. Post-glacial sniffles were destroyed with one mug.
Depending how you look at it, the last 3 weeks of my life have been either phenomenally efficient, or one massive rush (or indeed both). It seems patently ridiculous to think that just 3 weeks ago I was in Sydney climbing the Harbour Bridge with the whole Australian East Coast yet to be seen, leave alone New Zealand. It is equally galling that it was a mere 12 days ago that some swarmy git stole my camera - a fact that has inevitable meant many a solitary moment since the 11th has left thoughts to turn to various "what if" scenarios that achieve little else bar leaving me feeling pretty gutted.
Today, however, had a double-whammy of gloom-busting developments. On one front, the nagging annoyance of losing so many fun-filled photos from Fraser Island was lifted upon seeing some classic snaps appear on Facebook courtesy of Nick - one of the crew in our 7 man 4x4. On a second front, a quite breathtaking sunset over the rugged flat plain, rainforest-clad mountains and white icy glacier provided a perfect opportunity for my new camera to show off why I'm far better off with something of its calibre in a country like New Zealand. A few examples can be found below.
On the topic of glaciers, I am in Glacier Country, and today saw me tick off another rather large box both in the Must-Do New Zealand activities, as well as a smaller but still decent one in the general checklist for life experiences. The task at hand was the Franz Josef Heli-Hike, involving a helicopter ride up to, and 2-hour hike around, the upper reaches of the Franz Josef glacier.
The Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers are about half an hour's drive apart from one another, but have international fame due to their unique surroundings - along with another in Argentina, they are the only glaciers in the world that are found rolling down mountains whose banks are populated with temperate rainforest. It is surreal, to say the least, to be standing on top of a good 100 metres of solid ice, in blazing summer sunshine, surrounded by lush green trees. Given there are over 3000 glaciers in New Zealand, leave alone the rest of the world, you can get some perspective on just how unique a sight you behold.
On top of this, Franz and Fox move at a remarkable rate - at their tops the level of snowfall results in as much as 8 metres of downward movement every day. As a measure of comparison, your average glacier would be hard pushed to move 1 metre.
With an unseasonal forecast of blazing sunshine (which, according to Chris at Neptune's, is about as likely as guessing the roll of a die), I'd taken the liberty of booking the heli-hike" from i-Site tourist info centre in Greymouth - although cheaper alternatives included either heli- or hike on their own, once again monetary considerations were thrown out the window after at least 2 people said "the heli-hike is the best if you can afford it". My Visa card being accepted was criteria enough for the above, and after another ridiculously scenic drive down the ridiculously scenic west coast, I was in the Franz Josef township early enough to grab a colossal toasted sandwich from the local "Speight's" bar/cafe.
Helicopters are seriously fun. The physics of their motion is so different to any other method of transport, but what really takes you by surprise is their incredible stability through the steepest banked turns. With a full panoramic view as you ascend the carved escarpments of centuries of glacial erosion, you can't help but hold your breath as the pilot casually pulls a 180 degree banked turn while descending to within 10 metres of the ice below and 20 metres of the rocks to the side, before dropping to a perfect landing on a specified patch of ice.
Out the chopper, crampons on, and for the next 2 hours we follow Essex boy Ned around the sights and sounds of Franz Josef at 1600 metres. First impression? Immediately around you, there's a lot of white; just beyond, a lot of green.
Moving at the rate it does, the glacier is constantly changing, so the guides follow new tracks every time depending on what they've seen earlier that day. Our features included a couple of caves (cue cheesy photos), a tall, thin ice corridor (anyone much fatter than me wouldn't get through) complete with ceiling, and an awesome tunnel of ice that was basically flat at a horizontal angle, requiring you to slide on your front along the flowing water till the you reached a little pool at the other end. Apparently there were some stairs carved in the ice allowing you to avoid the water, but I was too busy posing for sub-glacial photos (see below) to look/notice and, much to the amusement of the rest of the group, ended up balls-deep in icy glacial meltwater. Cold.
A bit more hiking, a chopper ride back down, and I was back on the road heading a bit further south to the Fox Glacier township. 5 minutes outside of Fox lies Lake Matheson which, on a clear day (i.e. once in a blue moon), offers the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous view of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman - the two tallest mountains in NZ - reflected in the crystal clear water. There was a bit of cloud cover over the peaks while I was there so I couldn't get the epic pic, but the one that will eventually appear below isn't half bad either.
A few hours later, and the other side of the car park offered one of the most stunning sunset backdrops I've ever seen - beginning a barrage of photos (one such example below). To top everything off, over at the summit of Mount Cook the cloud suddenly cleared, with snow-capped summit glowing in the evening sun like a beacon of light. Beautiful.
The DAILY ROD's Top Travel Tips:
#12 - Don't travel anywhere without Lemsip. Post-glacial sniffles were destroyed with one mug.
Friday 22 January 2010
Movie Mares
GREYMOUTH, SOUTH ISLAND - 22nd January 2010
Hot on the heels of my earlier Greymouth post, I've just spent 2 hours sitting through "The Holiday". Starring Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law and Jack Black, it comfortably ranks up there in the worst five films I've ever had the misfortune of putting myself through. Not only does it feature some terrible acting and horrific stereotypes (particularly the one of snowy England - before this year when did that EVER happen?!), but unlike equally predictable chick-flicks, this one didn't even have an amusing twist, or even moment, to it. It wasn't serious enough to be taken seriously, not clever enough to make you think, not funny enough to make you laugh... it was just terrible.
If anyone out there is considering watching it, especially if you are male, I warn you now that it is 2 hours of your life you'll never see again.
And incidentally, the other front-runners for The Daily Rod's worst film awards are Spiderman 3, the newest Indiana Jones movie, Pirates of the Caribbean II, and in a league of its own as the worst movie in history, "The Love Guru". Terrible. Just terrible.
Hot on the heels of my earlier Greymouth post, I've just spent 2 hours sitting through "The Holiday". Starring Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law and Jack Black, it comfortably ranks up there in the worst five films I've ever had the misfortune of putting myself through. Not only does it feature some terrible acting and horrific stereotypes (particularly the one of snowy England - before this year when did that EVER happen?!), but unlike equally predictable chick-flicks, this one didn't even have an amusing twist, or even moment, to it. It wasn't serious enough to be taken seriously, not clever enough to make you think, not funny enough to make you laugh... it was just terrible.
If anyone out there is considering watching it, especially if you are male, I warn you now that it is 2 hours of your life you'll never see again.
And incidentally, the other front-runners for The Daily Rod's worst film awards are Spiderman 3, the newest Indiana Jones movie, Pirates of the Caribbean II, and in a league of its own as the worst movie in history, "The Love Guru". Terrible. Just terrible.
The scenic South
GREYMOUTH, SOUTH ISLAND - 22nd January 2010
I've come to the conclusion that the South Island is far, far too scenic for its own good. The interislander ferry approaches Picton, its South Island terminus, by cruising up through sections of the Marlborough Sounds, including the wonderful Queen Charlotte Sound that surrounds the port. Everyone with a camera is clicking away as if there's no tomorrow - it is stunning - but what you soon realise once you're in your car and driving is that stunning scenery is just a given here.
Having dropped off my Hyundai Accent in Wellington I picked up a new car in Picton - a much newer, but in every other way much worse, Daihatsu Sirion. Without wanting to launch into a Jeremy Clarkson-esque car review, driving the Daihatsu made you realise why no one in their right mind buys the cars. It purportedly has a 1.3L engine, but instead of producing torque it produces a shrilling loud whirr and about 2 and a half horse power. My 998cc VW Polo sitting in our drive back home would blow this thing out the water in a drag race, and that's not even mentioning the handling. I can guarantee there won't be any repeats of North Island's speeding tickets down here, cos I have absolutely no faith in this car to make it round any corner at a speed faster than 80km/h. The understeer borders on criminal, but correcting it requires you to slow down to such an extent that the stupid thing doesn't have enough power to accelerate again on the other side of the bend. In really is a hunk of junk.
Funnily enough, the handling actually improved after I picked up a group of 3 hitch-hiking backpackers along the Queen Charlotte Scenic Drive between Picton and Nelson - my destination for the night. Presumably the extra weight helped distribute its hopeless balance differential, but the flipside was that the already pathetic acceleration became just that bit worse. Nevertheless, it was good to have some company again - this motley crew consisted of two British lads and a Danish girl, who provided some entertaining if inane chat along the way - certainly far more than any of the hitch-hikers I'd offered rides to up in North Island.
The rain that had punctuated our drive cleared as we approached Nelson, and after dropping off the passengers I enjoyed a nice evening checking out the seaside towns parks and Art Deco cathedral (they changed their mind about the design half way through building a classical structure), including a climb to what claims to be the "Geographical Centre of New Zealand". How they've calculated it is anyone's guess, but it seemed slightly more than co-incidental that the point would happen to be exactly at the top of the highest hill in the town. Still, it was a good walk that worked up an excellent appetite for another of the "101 Must-Dos for Kiwis" - sampling the cuisine of Seafood City. Never one to miss out on a good meal, particularly of the seafood variety, I scouted out the "Best in Town" seafood chowder from the Victorian Rose, which went down beautifully with a pint of the local ale and a live duet cracking out some chillout tunes of the Damien Rice/Jason Mraz/Coldplay variety.
A good night's sleep was, frankly, well deserved, and it was up and out sharp this morning for the long drive westward to the coastal city of Greymouth. As luck would have it, the touring bus had failed to pick up a girl who'd been staying in my hostel (Accents on the Park), and she was supposed to be heading down to Greymouth, so in a flash I had a travel companion and halved petrol costs. Turns out Rina was - like me - a second generation Indian, but born and brought up in Reading and now working as a pharmacist, having graduated from Bath Uni. Our journey included a stop at the Pancake Rocks at Punakaiki. In a world where scientists have an explanation for basically everything, it is refreshing to see a geological formation whose creation, to this day, has no good explanation. But sure enough, they do look like stacks of pancakes (see right)!
By about 2pm we'd reached Greymouth, and I was able to spend a few hours kotching at the excellent Neptune's Backpackers, chatting to Chris the Croydon lad running the show for the evening. A trip to the tourist info centre saw me book a big exciting adventure for tomorrow (involving glaciers, helicopters and crampons), and Rina had covered petrol costs by booking the both of us on the evening's tour of Monteith's Brewery - the pride of Greymouth and (according to Chris) "the only thing to do in the town". The tour included tastings (with free top ups) of all 6 of the beers produced as well as their new crushed apple cider, and even threw in an excellent dinner at one of the local pubs.
All that's left is an evening film back at Neptune's...
I've come to the conclusion that the South Island is far, far too scenic for its own good. The interislander ferry approaches Picton, its South Island terminus, by cruising up through sections of the Marlborough Sounds, including the wonderful Queen Charlotte Sound that surrounds the port. Everyone with a camera is clicking away as if there's no tomorrow - it is stunning - but what you soon realise once you're in your car and driving is that stunning scenery is just a given here.
Having dropped off my Hyundai Accent in Wellington I picked up a new car in Picton - a much newer, but in every other way much worse, Daihatsu Sirion. Without wanting to launch into a Jeremy Clarkson-esque car review, driving the Daihatsu made you realise why no one in their right mind buys the cars. It purportedly has a 1.3L engine, but instead of producing torque it produces a shrilling loud whirr and about 2 and a half horse power. My 998cc VW Polo sitting in our drive back home would blow this thing out the water in a drag race, and that's not even mentioning the handling. I can guarantee there won't be any repeats of North Island's speeding tickets down here, cos I have absolutely no faith in this car to make it round any corner at a speed faster than 80km/h. The understeer borders on criminal, but correcting it requires you to slow down to such an extent that the stupid thing doesn't have enough power to accelerate again on the other side of the bend. In really is a hunk of junk.
Funnily enough, the handling actually improved after I picked up a group of 3 hitch-hiking backpackers along the Queen Charlotte Scenic Drive between Picton and Nelson - my destination for the night. Presumably the extra weight helped distribute its hopeless balance differential, but the flipside was that the already pathetic acceleration became just that bit worse. Nevertheless, it was good to have some company again - this motley crew consisted of two British lads and a Danish girl, who provided some entertaining if inane chat along the way - certainly far more than any of the hitch-hikers I'd offered rides to up in North Island.
The rain that had punctuated our drive cleared as we approached Nelson, and after dropping off the passengers I enjoyed a nice evening checking out the seaside towns parks and Art Deco cathedral (they changed their mind about the design half way through building a classical structure), including a climb to what claims to be the "Geographical Centre of New Zealand". How they've calculated it is anyone's guess, but it seemed slightly more than co-incidental that the point would happen to be exactly at the top of the highest hill in the town. Still, it was a good walk that worked up an excellent appetite for another of the "101 Must-Dos for Kiwis" - sampling the cuisine of Seafood City. Never one to miss out on a good meal, particularly of the seafood variety, I scouted out the "Best in Town" seafood chowder from the Victorian Rose, which went down beautifully with a pint of the local ale and a live duet cracking out some chillout tunes of the Damien Rice/Jason Mraz/Coldplay variety.
A good night's sleep was, frankly, well deserved, and it was up and out sharp this morning for the long drive westward to the coastal city of Greymouth. As luck would have it, the touring bus had failed to pick up a girl who'd been staying in my hostel (Accents on the Park), and she was supposed to be heading down to Greymouth, so in a flash I had a travel companion and halved petrol costs. Turns out Rina was - like me - a second generation Indian, but born and brought up in Reading and now working as a pharmacist, having graduated from Bath Uni. Our journey included a stop at the Pancake Rocks at Punakaiki. In a world where scientists have an explanation for basically everything, it is refreshing to see a geological formation whose creation, to this day, has no good explanation. But sure enough, they do look like stacks of pancakes (see right)!By about 2pm we'd reached Greymouth, and I was able to spend a few hours kotching at the excellent Neptune's Backpackers, chatting to Chris the Croydon lad running the show for the evening. A trip to the tourist info centre saw me book a big exciting adventure for tomorrow (involving glaciers, helicopters and crampons), and Rina had covered petrol costs by booking the both of us on the evening's tour of Monteith's Brewery - the pride of Greymouth and (according to Chris) "the only thing to do in the town". The tour included tastings (with free top ups) of all 6 of the beers produced as well as their new crushed apple cider, and even threw in an excellent dinner at one of the local pubs.
All that's left is an evening film back at Neptune's...
Thursday 21 January 2010
Messing with the Man
WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND - 21st January 2010
Travelling alone leaves you a lot of time alone with your thoughts, but it was nevertheless surprising to find myself contemplating, of all things, the nature of money as I sat here in the "interlander" ferry terminal. In particlar, what makes one financially prudent when it comes the cheapest hostels, transport, even meals, and feel bad about splashing out an extra $5 on dinner, but happily write off swathes of cash on crazy activities and put it down as necessary expenditure without giving it a second thought.
The main reason for this slightly tangential line of thought came at some stage yesterday afternoon on my drive down from New Plymouth. After a disappointing detour to the Mount Taranaki visitor centre only to have the whole area swamped in cloud, it was straight down to Wanganui for lunch and then down Highway 1 all the way to Wellington.
Unfortunately, "highway" doesn't mean much short of being a trunk road - it's still a single lane in each direction and heads right through the middle of every village en route. The latter presented the main issue - the speed limit falls from the standard 100km/h to 70, and then right down to 50 as you pass through town centres. Sadly for me, I ignored the latter as I passed through Levin, and a few hundred metres up the road my rear view mirror was full of blue and red flashing lights. 79km/h in a 50 zone? $170 thank you very much - and 28 days to pay up . Not cool.
With money being spent for fun in this country, I'd have expected myself to be seriously pissed off by this development. For some reason though, my financial value system slotted this in the "necessary to have a laugh" file and off I went - more amused than anything else.
Wellington greeted me with blazing sunshine - a welcome change from the meteorological crap I've had to put up with seemingly everywhere else I've been - and I passed a relaxing evening checking out the sights, including New Zealand's "Beehive" Parliament building (right) and the ubiquitous red cable car up to the top of the Botanic Garden Hill. The sunshine had locals out in numbers (the weather having been notably craptacular down here for the last week or so), all centred around a stage area at the foot of the gardens where local Brit-pop inspired band "The Supermodels" were the evening's entertainment in the city's month-long summer festival. Covering bands ranging from The Killers to the Rolling Stones and The Cardigans, as well as the Franz Ferdinand blast below, they were pretty damn good - aided by a fantastic location and a buzzing crowd.
Now, it's cheerio North Island till the 30th, and off to the scenic South.
P.S. Events have inspired me to introduce a periodic addition to the blog - with backdated additions from October, keep an eye out for:
The DAILY ROD's Top Travel Tips:
# 11 - When speeding through small villages, remember to search for cop cars hidden behind other, more innocent, parked cars. Or trucks. Or just slow down.
Travelling alone leaves you a lot of time alone with your thoughts, but it was nevertheless surprising to find myself contemplating, of all things, the nature of money as I sat here in the "interlander" ferry terminal. In particlar, what makes one financially prudent when it comes the cheapest hostels, transport, even meals, and feel bad about splashing out an extra $5 on dinner, but happily write off swathes of cash on crazy activities and put it down as necessary expenditure without giving it a second thought.
The main reason for this slightly tangential line of thought came at some stage yesterday afternoon on my drive down from New Plymouth. After a disappointing detour to the Mount Taranaki visitor centre only to have the whole area swamped in cloud, it was straight down to Wanganui for lunch and then down Highway 1 all the way to Wellington.
Unfortunately, "highway" doesn't mean much short of being a trunk road - it's still a single lane in each direction and heads right through the middle of every village en route. The latter presented the main issue - the speed limit falls from the standard 100km/h to 70, and then right down to 50 as you pass through town centres. Sadly for me, I ignored the latter as I passed through Levin, and a few hundred metres up the road my rear view mirror was full of blue and red flashing lights. 79km/h in a 50 zone? $170 thank you very much - and 28 days to pay up . Not cool.
With money being spent for fun in this country, I'd have expected myself to be seriously pissed off by this development. For some reason though, my financial value system slotted this in the "necessary to have a laugh" file and off I went - more amused than anything else.
Wellington greeted me with blazing sunshine - a welcome change from the meteorological crap I've had to put up with seemingly everywhere else I've been - and I passed a relaxing evening checking out the sights, including New Zealand's "Beehive" Parliament building (right) and the ubiquitous red cable car up to the top of the Botanic Garden Hill. The sunshine had locals out in numbers (the weather having been notably craptacular down here for the last week or so), all centred around a stage area at the foot of the gardens where local Brit-pop inspired band "The Supermodels" were the evening's entertainment in the city's month-long summer festival. Covering bands ranging from The Killers to the Rolling Stones and The Cardigans, as well as the Franz Ferdinand blast below, they were pretty damn good - aided by a fantastic location and a buzzing crowd.
Now, it's cheerio North Island till the 30th, and off to the scenic South.
P.S. Events have inspired me to introduce a periodic addition to the blog - with backdated additions from October, keep an eye out for:
The DAILY ROD's Top Travel Tips:
# 11 - When speeding through small villages, remember to search for cop cars hidden behind other, more innocent, parked cars. Or trucks. Or just slow down.
Tuesday 19 January 2010
The best (small) city on Earth?
NEW PLYMOUTH, TARANAKI - 19th January 2010
The United Nations certainly think so. In 2008's "International Awards for Liveable Communities", New Plymouth - situated at the foot of Mount Taranaki on the northern coast of a peninsula created purely by its volcanic activity - scored the gold medal for cities with a population of up to 75,000, while also (unsurprisingly) scooping a separate magazine award as "New Zealand's best city".
I, for one, am certainly not going to dispute the results. The moment you set foot in the town you feel calm, relaxed, nature and human society in a harmonic balance with one another. Looking in one direction, you can watch the waves of the Pacific Ocean come crashing into rocks lining the city's award-winning Coastal Walkway; turn 180 degrees and you're facing the towering presence of snow-capped Taranaki overlooking the relatively modern cityscape (as in the photo I've stolen from Google Images on the right).
Located where it is, New Plymouth is off the bog-standard tourist trail - backpackers en route to Wellington and the South Island tend to head through the middle of North Island via Taupo and Tongarira National Park. However, with the freedom of movement offered by my own wheels, I was able to schedule a visit to see Dale, my second cousin, and finally meet her husband and daughter. After failing to do so for all of the 2 and a half years they lived in Swansea, I found it quite amusingly ironic that I was more than happy to make a 400km detour to see them in New Plymouth, but never once considered driving a couple of hours into Wales!
Lunch was fantastic. Dale's parents-in-law are in NZ for a few months, and between herself and her mother-in-law we had a proper Mangalore-style feast - green curry, chicken, pilau rice - all were savoured as the first proper Indian food I'd had in weeks.
Post lunch playtime with Rochelle (Dale's 3-year-old daughter) involved an imaginary but nevertheless rowdy tea party, before I headed into the town proper to check out the Coastal Walkway as well as Puke Ariki, the (again) award-winning museum-come-library-come-information centre. My hostel for the night is right next to Pukekura Park - a massive affair that combines a botanic garden with the most scenic cricket ground I've ever seen (right), with the coolest open air concert venue anywhere (the stage is in the middle of a lake!!!). Anyway, throughout the summer the park hosts the annual Festival of Lights, with the botanical walkways lit up in all sorts of colour as night falls, accompanied by different acts and performances every night. Tonight featured a model plane demonstration on the cricket ground's outfield, and included model jet engines making the most God almighty noise; and a live set from some band who did some surprisingly good covers of the likes of Elvis, MJ and The Verve (a google search suggests they're called "Tank Stanley and the Acid Collectives", and that they were gonna "blow your mind").
Dinnertime awaited though, and I was back at Dale's for another long missed dinner - classic Chinese takeaway. My stomach sleeps content tonight, before tomorrow's long drive to Wellington...
The United Nations certainly think so. In 2008's "International Awards for Liveable Communities", New Plymouth - situated at the foot of Mount Taranaki on the northern coast of a peninsula created purely by its volcanic activity - scored the gold medal for cities with a population of up to 75,000, while also (unsurprisingly) scooping a separate magazine award as "New Zealand's best city".
I, for one, am certainly not going to dispute the results. The moment you set foot in the town you feel calm, relaxed, nature and human society in a harmonic balance with one another. Looking in one direction, you can watch the waves of the Pacific Ocean come crashing into rocks lining the city's award-winning Coastal Walkway; turn 180 degrees and you're facing the towering presence of snow-capped Taranaki overlooking the relatively modern cityscape (as in the photo I've stolen from Google Images on the right).Located where it is, New Plymouth is off the bog-standard tourist trail - backpackers en route to Wellington and the South Island tend to head through the middle of North Island via Taupo and Tongarira National Park. However, with the freedom of movement offered by my own wheels, I was able to schedule a visit to see Dale, my second cousin, and finally meet her husband and daughter. After failing to do so for all of the 2 and a half years they lived in Swansea, I found it quite amusingly ironic that I was more than happy to make a 400km detour to see them in New Plymouth, but never once considered driving a couple of hours into Wales!
Lunch was fantastic. Dale's parents-in-law are in NZ for a few months, and between herself and her mother-in-law we had a proper Mangalore-style feast - green curry, chicken, pilau rice - all were savoured as the first proper Indian food I'd had in weeks.
Post lunch playtime with Rochelle (Dale's 3-year-old daughter) involved an imaginary but nevertheless rowdy tea party, before I headed into the town proper to check out the Coastal Walkway as well as Puke Ariki, the (again) award-winning museum-come-library-come-information centre. My hostel for the night is right next to Pukekura Park - a massive affair that combines a botanic garden with the most scenic cricket ground I've ever seen (right), with the coolest open air concert venue anywhere (the stage is in the middle of a lake!!!). Anyway, throughout the summer the park hosts the annual Festival of Lights, with the botanical walkways lit up in all sorts of colour as night falls, accompanied by different acts and performances every night. Tonight featured a model plane demonstration on the cricket ground's outfield, and included model jet engines making the most God almighty noise; and a live set from some band who did some surprisingly good covers of the likes of Elvis, MJ and The Verve (a google search suggests they're called "Tank Stanley and the Acid Collectives", and that they were gonna "blow your mind").Dinnertime awaited though, and I was back at Dale's for another long missed dinner - classic Chinese takeaway. My stomach sleeps content tonight, before tomorrow's long drive to Wellington...
Monday 18 January 2010
Mudpools, Maoris, and Magical Caves
WAITOMO, NEW ZEALAND - 18th January 2010
One of the advantages of travelling alone is that you don't have to worry about anyone else's comfort. When it comes to deciding travel options or figuring out how you're getting anywhere, acting unilaterally can occasionally result in some pretty bad decisions being made, but the buck stops with you - one way or another you can cram as little, or, as in my case, as much into your day-to-day schedule as you could possibly want. When you have 17 days to get from one end of a country to the other, and all the way back again, without any decent public transport, without any proper motorways, and where travelling 70km as the crow flies can require a 750km return journey*; comfort and rest are pretty premium.
After getting a lift down to Rotorua with JC and Simon and having the afternoon to explore the town's array of bubbly and stinky mudpools (right), some contemplation of what I wanted to achieve in NZ given the time I had resulted in some sharp decision making. Without the overnight cross-country Greyhound-esque coaches that allowed me to fit oh so much into 11 days up Australia's east coast, and with tour buses taking waaay too long to get anywhere, the mathematics of the situation pointed in one direction: renting a car.
Calls were made, details exchanged, and bright and early after a quite ridiculous night in Cactus Jack's hostel (which featured rum, wine, and free use of a thermal hot pool) I was all set in my 2001 1.5L Hyundai Accent. Old, yes; 200,000km on the clock, yes; but it is one fantastic bit of machinery. Acceleration, handling, transmission, all well above expectations.
All of a sudden the door was opened to this land of activities, with the multitude of ways to have fun/burn money here springing up in every direction. Taking the view of "When in Rome...", I disengaged care for plastic in what promises to be a spending spree fit for Manchester City FC in the summer transfer window (or, for those not interested in English football's latest nouveau-riche money-grabbers, a lot of spending).
The assault on my bank balance began at the Skyline centre - a gondola ride to the top of the hill takes you to the home of the original, biggest and best tobaggan-luge run in the world. Having done a copy of Rotorua's luge back on Sentosa Island in Singapore (at 2 months, seemingly an age ago) and reading God-knows-how-many info boards about the original, grand-daddy run in New Zealand, it was nothing short of compulsory. And it doesn't disappoint. Where Sentosa has just the one run, Rotorua has 3 - a 4km "Scenic Route", a 2km "intermediate", and the awesome gravity-challenging 1.5km "advanced" run.
The concept is pretty simple - build a winding track down a big hill, stick some wheels and a steering column on a lump of plastic, and let gravity do its thing. The result is some serious racing fun!
After a quick bite in town, it was time for some culture in the form of a visit to Whakarewarewa "Living Village" - a Maori community living in their traditional manner just outside the town. The village is built in and around a whole host of boiling hot pools and bubbling mud pools, and the ground emanates the geothermal heat in much the same way as the White Island crater's cauldron of smoke and gas. Here though, the steam, hot water and heat and is harnessed by the villagers to pressure cook their meat, boil their vegetables, and bathe their bodies. No electricity or gas supply needed.
By 3 o'clock, it was time to hit the road. A lunch date at my second cousin's place in New Plymouth required some inventive route planning, and my trip to the west coast was nicely broken up by Waitomo Caves. New Zealand's AA have created a definitive list of "101 Must-Do Things for Kiwis" (Milford Sound unsurprisingly securing the top spot), and the Caves feature at #14. If there was more time at my disposal, I had options of underground abseiling, black water rafting and all sorts of other crazy crap, but these all entail a morning start that just couldn't tally with my ramroaded schedule. The most celebrated of the caves, however, is the Glowworm Cave, and after getting spectacularly lost en route from Rotorua (useless road signs) it was with less than one minute to spare that I made it for the day's final tour at 5.30pm.
A trek through underground pathways past millennia-old stalactytes and stalagmites and cathedral-sized caverns eventually led us to a subterranean river, and boarding a boat you sit, neck craned in transfixed wonder, as thousands upon thousands of little blue dots magically light up the roof of the cave; the compulsory silence broken only by water droplets ending their long filtration through the limestone rock with a metronomic drip...drip...drip... Photos are prohibited, but I found the right through Google Images. Needless to say it was awe-inspiring.
Another night, another bed (though with a free dinner thanks to the generosity of someone who massively underestimated the size of the pizzas when she ordered 3 of them), and come morning it will be time for a 250km drive down to the foothills of Mount Taranaki and the city of New Plymouth.
* Queenstown to Milford Sound
One of the advantages of travelling alone is that you don't have to worry about anyone else's comfort. When it comes to deciding travel options or figuring out how you're getting anywhere, acting unilaterally can occasionally result in some pretty bad decisions being made, but the buck stops with you - one way or another you can cram as little, or, as in my case, as much into your day-to-day schedule as you could possibly want. When you have 17 days to get from one end of a country to the other, and all the way back again, without any decent public transport, without any proper motorways, and where travelling 70km as the crow flies can require a 750km return journey*; comfort and rest are pretty premium.
After getting a lift down to Rotorua with JC and Simon and having the afternoon to explore the town's array of bubbly and stinky mudpools (right), some contemplation of what I wanted to achieve in NZ given the time I had resulted in some sharp decision making. Without the overnight cross-country Greyhound-esque coaches that allowed me to fit oh so much into 11 days up Australia's east coast, and with tour buses taking waaay too long to get anywhere, the mathematics of the situation pointed in one direction: renting a car.Calls were made, details exchanged, and bright and early after a quite ridiculous night in Cactus Jack's hostel (which featured rum, wine, and free use of a thermal hot pool) I was all set in my 2001 1.5L Hyundai Accent. Old, yes; 200,000km on the clock, yes; but it is one fantastic bit of machinery. Acceleration, handling, transmission, all well above expectations.
All of a sudden the door was opened to this land of activities, with the multitude of ways to have fun/burn money here springing up in every direction. Taking the view of "When in Rome...", I disengaged care for plastic in what promises to be a spending spree fit for Manchester City FC in the summer transfer window (or, for those not interested in English football's latest nouveau-riche money-grabbers, a lot of spending).
The assault on my bank balance began at the Skyline centre - a gondola ride to the top of the hill takes you to the home of the original, biggest and best tobaggan-luge run in the world. Having done a copy of Rotorua's luge back on Sentosa Island in Singapore (at 2 months, seemingly an age ago) and reading God-knows-how-many info boards about the original, grand-daddy run in New Zealand, it was nothing short of compulsory. And it doesn't disappoint. Where Sentosa has just the one run, Rotorua has 3 - a 4km "Scenic Route", a 2km "intermediate", and the awesome gravity-challenging 1.5km "advanced" run.
The concept is pretty simple - build a winding track down a big hill, stick some wheels and a steering column on a lump of plastic, and let gravity do its thing. The result is some serious racing fun!
After a quick bite in town, it was time for some culture in the form of a visit to Whakarewarewa "Living Village" - a Maori community living in their traditional manner just outside the town. The village is built in and around a whole host of boiling hot pools and bubbling mud pools, and the ground emanates the geothermal heat in much the same way as the White Island crater's cauldron of smoke and gas. Here though, the steam, hot water and heat and is harnessed by the villagers to pressure cook their meat, boil their vegetables, and bathe their bodies. No electricity or gas supply needed.
By 3 o'clock, it was time to hit the road. A lunch date at my second cousin's place in New Plymouth required some inventive route planning, and my trip to the west coast was nicely broken up by Waitomo Caves. New Zealand's AA have created a definitive list of "101 Must-Do Things for Kiwis" (Milford Sound unsurprisingly securing the top spot), and the Caves feature at #14. If there was more time at my disposal, I had options of underground abseiling, black water rafting and all sorts of other crazy crap, but these all entail a morning start that just couldn't tally with my ramroaded schedule. The most celebrated of the caves, however, is the Glowworm Cave, and after getting spectacularly lost en route from Rotorua (useless road signs) it was with less than one minute to spare that I made it for the day's final tour at 5.30pm.
A trek through underground pathways past millennia-old stalactytes and stalagmites and cathedral-sized caverns eventually led us to a subterranean river, and boarding a boat you sit, neck craned in transfixed wonder, as thousands upon thousands of little blue dots magically light up the roof of the cave; the compulsory silence broken only by water droplets ending their long filtration through the limestone rock with a metronomic drip...drip...drip... Photos are prohibited, but I found the right through Google Images. Needless to say it was awe-inspiring.Another night, another bed (though with a free dinner thanks to the generosity of someone who massively underestimated the size of the pizzas when she ordered 3 of them), and come morning it will be time for a 250km drive down to the foothills of Mount Taranaki and the city of New Plymouth.
* Queenstown to Milford Sound
Saturday 16 January 2010
Standing on the shoulders of... a volcano
WHAKATANE, BAY OF PLENTY, NEW ZEALAND - 16th January 2010
There's something slightly surreal about standing on top of something so volcanically active that it's hissing steam in every direction and spewing tonne after tonne of sulphurous gas into the air around you. It's kind of like walking around a crowd of sleeping dragons - you're walking around happy as larry, but know in the back of your mind that could be blown to smitherines in a nothing more than a flash. Welcome to White Island.
Things have happened pretty damn quickly in the last 24 hours or so. The twenty20 at The Mount was good fun, featuring quite a few big names including Kiwis' international captain Daniel Vettori and Sri Lankan superstar Tilekeratne Dilshan - the latter turning up by helicopter just minutes before the start of the game, only to make a poultry 4 thanks to a phenomenal catch at mid-on. It was also a fantastic backdrop for catching up with Joe and her husband - when I'd last seen her (leaving Judd in 2006) she was still Miss Cole - and was followed by some lovely grub down in Mount Maunganui's town centre strip.
Staying in Pacific Coast Lodge right next to the cricket ground, I was up early at 6.15 to climb the town's eponymous mountain as the sun rose over the town. To give some inkling into the lifestyle of your average Kiwi, the number of people walking, jogging, or pushing baby-laden strollers up the steep ascent at that ungodly hour was into the hundreds. They really love their activities here.
Back at the hostel a couple of hours later, and I seriously needed to sort my life out and figure out what I was doing with myself over the coming days and how I was going to get there. After talking at dinner last night, my prime aim was to get to Whakatane - an hour's drive east of the Mount - and get myself onto a tour of White Island. The latter fell nicely into place with the news that extra demand had made them put on a third daily tour departing at 12.30. The issue was how to get there.
Outside of Auckland and the bigger cities, public transport in New Zealand is pretty useless. Trains basically don't exist, and buses either don't come/go to where you need/want them, or when they do they do it at stupid o'clock. From the Mount to Whakatane, for example, runs a solitary daily bus, but it doesn't run at weekends. Useless.
The best option, according to the Lodge's proprietor Murray, was to hitch-hike. NZ is very pro-hitching, and drivers are very receptive. Murray reckoned it'd take me 20mins to grab a ride from right outside the hostel. 5 minutes later, it had taken even less - an Austrian girl working as an au pere in Wellington was driving her parents around North Island while they were visiting, and they were on their way to the very same White Island ferry as myself. Happy days.
Now that Whakatane had fallen into place, I was lucky to take up Joe and Simon's offer of a bed for the night, so dropped my bags off with them before beginning the 6 hour trip - 90 minutes cruise each way, and a couple of hours guided tour into the depths of the smoking, hissing, pungent volcanic crater. Photos and a suitably vivid (and, thanks to my new camera, High Definiton) video will appear in due course. When you're a kid, you wonder how ridiculous it'd be to sit on top of a volcano...when you're actually there, on top of the most active site in New Zealand, you're just in awe of the power Mother Nature has at her disposal.
A shower, washing machine and lovely dinner awaited back in Whakatane (delicious steak and kidney pie, calorific death-by-chocolate for dessert), and tomorrow it's off to Rotorua - a.k.a. RotoVegas, a.k.a. Fart City...
There's something slightly surreal about standing on top of something so volcanically active that it's hissing steam in every direction and spewing tonne after tonne of sulphurous gas into the air around you. It's kind of like walking around a crowd of sleeping dragons - you're walking around happy as larry, but know in the back of your mind that could be blown to smitherines in a nothing more than a flash. Welcome to White Island.Things have happened pretty damn quickly in the last 24 hours or so. The twenty20 at The Mount was good fun, featuring quite a few big names including Kiwis' international captain Daniel Vettori and Sri Lankan superstar Tilekeratne Dilshan - the latter turning up by helicopter just minutes before the start of the game, only to make a poultry 4 thanks to a phenomenal catch at mid-on. It was also a fantastic backdrop for catching up with Joe and her husband - when I'd last seen her (leaving Judd in 2006) she was still Miss Cole - and was followed by some lovely grub down in Mount Maunganui's town centre strip.
Staying in Pacific Coast Lodge right next to the cricket ground, I was up early at 6.15 to climb the town's eponymous mountain as the sun rose over the town. To give some inkling into the lifestyle of your average Kiwi, the number of people walking, jogging, or pushing baby-laden strollers up the steep ascent at that ungodly hour was into the hundreds. They really love their activities here.
Back at the hostel a couple of hours later, and I seriously needed to sort my life out and figure out what I was doing with myself over the coming days and how I was going to get there. After talking at dinner last night, my prime aim was to get to Whakatane - an hour's drive east of the Mount - and get myself onto a tour of White Island. The latter fell nicely into place with the news that extra demand had made them put on a third daily tour departing at 12.30. The issue was how to get there.
Outside of Auckland and the bigger cities, public transport in New Zealand is pretty useless. Trains basically don't exist, and buses either don't come/go to where you need/want them, or when they do they do it at stupid o'clock. From the Mount to Whakatane, for example, runs a solitary daily bus, but it doesn't run at weekends. Useless.
The best option, according to the Lodge's proprietor Murray, was to hitch-hike. NZ is very pro-hitching, and drivers are very receptive. Murray reckoned it'd take me 20mins to grab a ride from right outside the hostel. 5 minutes later, it had taken even less - an Austrian girl working as an au pere in Wellington was driving her parents around North Island while they were visiting, and they were on their way to the very same White Island ferry as myself. Happy days.
Now that Whakatane had fallen into place, I was lucky to take up Joe and Simon's offer of a bed for the night, so dropped my bags off with them before beginning the 6 hour trip - 90 minutes cruise each way, and a couple of hours guided tour into the depths of the smoking, hissing, pungent volcanic crater. Photos and a suitably vivid (and, thanks to my new camera, High Definiton) video will appear in due course. When you're a kid, you wonder how ridiculous it'd be to sit on top of a volcano...when you're actually there, on top of the most active site in New Zealand, you're just in awe of the power Mother Nature has at her disposal.
A shower, washing machine and lovely dinner awaited back in Whakatane (delicious steak and kidney pie, calorific death-by-chocolate for dessert), and tomorrow it's off to Rotorua - a.k.a. RotoVegas, a.k.a. Fart City...
Friday 15 January 2010
The Other Antipodeans
AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND - 15th January 2010
I know a thing or two about crappy nights of sleep - aside from this trip's countless overnight buses or waking up on New Year's Day under a table in Sydney, I've had to sleep in the open desert in the middle of a sandstorm; woken up in the middle of a dancefloor on Hat Rin Beach during the Full Moon Party, and it'll be a long time before the night I slept in the middle of the GAB quad is forgotten (even if it was in my bed, complete with bedside table, right). It says something, therefore, when I say that the night I slept in Sydney airport comfortably ranks as the worst night of sleep I've ever had. Unlike the long, broad, bench-like chairs you find it pretty much every other international airport, Sydney has crappy little self contained chairs with horrible little plastic armrests between them - meaning you certainly can't sleep (or indeed sit) comfortably upright, but damnably can't lie down on your side either. They also have the audacity to charge $5 to get from the domestic to the international terminal. Long story short, not impressed.
One positive Sydney does have is an awesome duty free that includes an Apple store (and thus free internet for all), and was the scene of my tidy purchase of a Lumix DMC-FZ35 new digital camera. It's awesome.
Qantas flight QF43 was also awesome, featuring a fantastic meal of braised and herbed chicken with cous cous, and Qantas' state-of-the-art High Definition on demand entertainment system. Shame it was not even a 3 hour flight.
New Zealand immigration is like Fort Knox - their biosecurity gateway makes Australia's notoriously tight customs regulations seem liberal. Clear of food, camping/farm equipment or swine flu though, I was clear to enter.
Necessity (again, I'd hastened to book anywhere in advance) resulted in a cash splurge on a nice B&B joint that included airport pick-up, but despite being a bit of a mission from Auckland's city centre (45 mins by bus), I enjoyed a nice warm evening and clear sunset while wandering around the various waterfront piers and busy streets. Viaduct Pier in particular looked wonderful...if I wasn't on my own and/or operating on a budget! Instead, I settled for a good old Singapore-style food court and some delicious seafood fried noodles.
The over-abundance of fast food chains is as prevalent here in NZ as it was back in Oz, but it was nice to see McDonalds reunited with its old sparring partner Burger King over here after the latter's whole "Hungry Jack's" local branding nonsense in Australia. Nicer still, however, was the dreamy wafting waves of scrumptiously intoxicating cookie dough that were drifting down Queen Street, emanating from Mrs Higgins Oven Fresh Cookie Shop. Anyone who's read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince can safely assume that after inhaling this they'd know the smell of their Amortentia potion...
My extra spending afforded me an amazingly comfortable bed, so this morning's early start was not enjoyed. However, I'm now all set to head over to Mount Maunganui over in the Bay of Plenty (on the north coast) and meet up with Joe - of Judd School maths teaching/1st XI cricket team scoring fame - and her husband Simon to check out a game of domestic twenty20 cricket. The juggernaut continues...
P.S. For those of you missing me, you can take comfort in knowing that now I'm in New Zealand, pretty much anywhere I go from here will bring me closer to home!
I know a thing or two about crappy nights of sleep - aside from this trip's countless overnight buses or waking up on New Year's Day under a table in Sydney, I've had to sleep in the open desert in the middle of a sandstorm; woken up in the middle of a dancefloor on Hat Rin Beach during the Full Moon Party, and it'll be a long time before the night I slept in the middle of the GAB quad is forgotten (even if it was in my bed, complete with bedside table, right). It says something, therefore, when I say that the night I slept in Sydney airport comfortably ranks as the worst night of sleep I've ever had. Unlike the long, broad, bench-like chairs you find it pretty much every other international airport, Sydney has crappy little self contained chairs with horrible little plastic armrests between them - meaning you certainly can't sleep (or indeed sit) comfortably upright, but damnably can't lie down on your side either. They also have the audacity to charge $5 to get from the domestic to the international terminal. Long story short, not impressed.One positive Sydney does have is an awesome duty free that includes an Apple store (and thus free internet for all), and was the scene of my tidy purchase of a Lumix DMC-FZ35 new digital camera. It's awesome.
Qantas flight QF43 was also awesome, featuring a fantastic meal of braised and herbed chicken with cous cous, and Qantas' state-of-the-art High Definition on demand entertainment system. Shame it was not even a 3 hour flight.
New Zealand immigration is like Fort Knox - their biosecurity gateway makes Australia's notoriously tight customs regulations seem liberal. Clear of food, camping/farm equipment or swine flu though, I was clear to enter.
Necessity (again, I'd hastened to book anywhere in advance) resulted in a cash splurge on a nice B&B joint that included airport pick-up, but despite being a bit of a mission from Auckland's city centre (45 mins by bus), I enjoyed a nice warm evening and clear sunset while wandering around the various waterfront piers and busy streets. Viaduct Pier in particular looked wonderful...if I wasn't on my own and/or operating on a budget! Instead, I settled for a good old Singapore-style food court and some delicious seafood fried noodles.
The over-abundance of fast food chains is as prevalent here in NZ as it was back in Oz, but it was nice to see McDonalds reunited with its old sparring partner Burger King over here after the latter's whole "Hungry Jack's" local branding nonsense in Australia. Nicer still, however, was the dreamy wafting waves of scrumptiously intoxicating cookie dough that were drifting down Queen Street, emanating from Mrs Higgins Oven Fresh Cookie Shop. Anyone who's read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince can safely assume that after inhaling this they'd know the smell of their Amortentia potion...
My extra spending afforded me an amazingly comfortable bed, so this morning's early start was not enjoyed. However, I'm now all set to head over to Mount Maunganui over in the Bay of Plenty (on the north coast) and meet up with Joe - of Judd School maths teaching/1st XI cricket team scoring fame - and her husband Simon to check out a game of domestic twenty20 cricket. The juggernaut continues...
P.S. For those of you missing me, you can take comfort in knowing that now I'm in New Zealand, pretty much anywhere I go from here will bring me closer to home!
Thursday 14 January 2010
Halfway House update
I am now officially edging towards my return to the UK; 14th January 2010 marks the exact halfway point of my travels - 106 days gone, 106 to go. Google Maps provides a nice geographic summary of where I've been, although to see the full details you'll have to follow this link and go through the pages on the left hand side - only so many journeys can be displayed at once on the blog.
View Gap Year Travels in a larger map
About 2 months ago I was asked to provide a brief summary of where I'd been for those who couldn't be bothered to read all the blogs, so better late than never here it is (the links will provide details):
Thanks to all sorts of reasons (lack of time, crap/expensive internet, getting cameras stolen), various bits and pieces of this blog have been updated in a totally piecemeal fashion (in particular photographs), meaning non-RSS feed readers may end up missing out on goldmines of stories due to the chronological sorting of blog entries. The purpose of this update is to bring things vaguely up to date... and as such, you can now:
View Gap Year Travels in a larger map
About 2 months ago I was asked to provide a brief summary of where I'd been for those who couldn't be bothered to read all the blogs, so better late than never here it is (the links will provide details):
- India: Mumbai, Nashik, Mangalore, Bangalore
- Singapore and Kuala Lumpur
- Australia: Melbourne, the Victoria Bush, The Great Ocean Road, Sydney, Queensland
Thanks to all sorts of reasons (lack of time, crap/expensive internet, getting cameras stolen), various bits and pieces of this blog have been updated in a totally piecemeal fashion (in particular photographs), meaning non-RSS feed readers may end up missing out on goldmines of stories due to the chronological sorting of blog entries. The purpose of this update is to bring things vaguely up to date... and as such, you can now:
- See photos of Boxing Day at the MCG and koalas on Phillip Island
- Meet the menagerie of animals at my cousin's place
- Hear about my fantastic ascent of Sydney Harbour Bridge (and see me at the top)
- Read about my camera getting stolen.
- Fraser Island's fun-filled adventures
- Scuba diving in the Whitsundays (now including missing photos of Whitehaven Beach)
- The highs and lows of my trip to Magnetic Island.
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Maggy
TOWNSVILLE, QUEENSLAND - 13th January 2010
As Ronan Keating so rightly said, "life is a roller coaster - you've just gotta ride it". It's not just ups and downs either - just like a roller coaster, when things start going downhill, they tend to accelerate. So, fresh on the back of having my camera nicked (the day I got back from the Whitsunday Cruise), I managed to spectacularly shoot myself in the foot in an attempt to be forward planning.
With 48 hours left in Australia, I'd planned to shoot up to tropical Townsville (at about 19.5°S, it's well inside the the Tropic of Capricorn and sits approximately as far from the Equator as Goa), not so much for the city as its illustrious and acclaimed neighbour - Magnetic Island. Named as such by Captain Cook on his 1770 Discovery expedition (and affectionately nicknamed "Maggy" by locals), the story went that the island possessed some strange force that sent Cook's compass off the kilt. Subsequent evidence that no such force exists suggests that the only thing off the kilt was Cook after a couple of pegs too many*.
He's not alone. For some unknown reason, I'd managed to convince myself that my 9.30am bus from Airlie Beach arrived in Townsville at 10.30 that night. Based on this assumption, and just minutes before leaving Airlie, I booked myself into an LPG-recommended joint next to the bus station to minimise hassle upon arriving that night, with the plan being to hit Magnetic Island for the day in the morning.
Whether it was the succession of 12 hour journeys up the coast that made me think the journey would be that long, or whether it was just plain stupidity (certainly the more likely), the crux of the story was that it actually took just 4 hours, arriving at 1.30pm.
This should have been good news, as it allowed me to head straight over to Maggy, relax for the afternoon, crash there overnight and spend the following day on the island before my late afternoon flight to Sydney. If only it were so simple. Because of my supposed late arrival, I had had to do a pre-arrival check for Globetrotters (the Townsville hostel) that meant my card had already been charged... and it was non-refundable.
Unimpressed, I wandered from the bus station a couple of blocks down the road to where my hostel was...and came face-to-face with a fenced off site with no semblance of a building left on it. A phone call confirmed what I was dreading - the bloody place had moved site and my LPG, published in 2004, had the old address. And the new address was anything but close to the bus station.
Long walk in savage tropical heat with massive backpack. Check in. Dump stuff on bed. Change t-shirt. Fill backpack with LPG and book to read on beach. Walk to Magnetic Island ferry terminal.
One final kick in the teeth, it transpired that ferries were return tickets valid for one month. Meaning that by not staying overnight on the island, I was going to get financially screwed if I wanted to come back again on the second day. Not happy.
The island itself is incredible, not so much for the fact that it is a jungle flanked with pristine beaches (regular readers would have gathered that Queensland essentially consists of thousands of miles of the above), but the fact that despite its formidable reputation as a tourist hotspot, the island is just oh so quiet. There is one road through it, linking the ferry terminal at Nelly Bay with the expansive Horseshoe Bay to the north, and the smaller Picnic Bay to the south (see right). Accessible only by foot are the other 20+ bays of various shapes and sizes scattered in every direction.
Arriving on Maggy at 4.30, I hopped on the shuttle bus to Horseshoe and took on a couple of recommended walking trails - the first to an inland creek that is supposedly full of birds, although apparently they all vanish on the second Tuesday in January in every 21st century year ending in '10. The second, as the sun set to the west, involved some serious physical work - a steep climb up a hundred or more rocky steps, over the top of the hill, and down a steeper, rockier descent the other side among hundreds, or even thousands of huge granite boulders. Eventually you reach the shore of Balding Bay; in my case you mistakenly take a ridiculously treacherous and quite possibly illegal off-track route and freestyle your way down the rocks after losing your way; and enjoy the sobering tranquility of having an entire beach, and indeed entire bay cove, all to one's self.
Long walk back to Horseshoe, and sitting alone by the bus stop listening to my iPod. If I were to describe it in one word? Passive.
Then, the rollercoaster turns. As down the beach walk two guys, one young, one middle age, the latter calls out "oi mate - come fishing with us!". Polite refusal, something about having a bus to catch, and "just get the next bus! You haven't got anything better to do!"
Two hours later, beers and wines were going down a treat with fresh chips, and Paddy, Pete and I had caught a tiger shark, some little fish, and had two lines snapped by big mamma barras too strong for the weak line. I'd sacked off the last bus, and was soon going so sack off the last ferry thanks to the offer of sleeping at Paddy/Pete's place. BASE bar was frequented, a few more drinks were had, and back at Pete's a controversial concoction of bacon, onions, tomato sauce and a large dose of curry powder was guzzled. Great evening.
Morning was early. 7.30am early. I called Globetrotters to let them know I wouldn't make check out time - and with the rollercoaster very much moving my way by now, the lady told me not to worry, just swing by later and pick up my stuff, and thanks for ringing!
Thoroughly pleased about the way things were working out, my Australian adventures had one final, and quite literal, high to come - Paddy, 20, born and raised on the island, took me back over to Balding Bay, but this time we climbed our way over the rocks that bend around the left edge of the bay forming the beginnings of a lagoon. At the apex stands one huge mass of granite - towering 10 metres above the ripply blue waters below, its front face flat and shear (see arrow, right). You'd be mad as a hatter to do it on your own accord - especially as a tourist - but fate's cards in the form of local hospitality were destined to provide the biggest adrenaline rush I've had since sky diving in 2007. Like a roller coaster, what goes up must come down... so it was 1, 2, 3, JARANIMO!!!...
(...*splash*)
* Strictly unofficial speculation
As Ronan Keating so rightly said, "life is a roller coaster - you've just gotta ride it". It's not just ups and downs either - just like a roller coaster, when things start going downhill, they tend to accelerate. So, fresh on the back of having my camera nicked (the day I got back from the Whitsunday Cruise), I managed to spectacularly shoot myself in the foot in an attempt to be forward planning.
With 48 hours left in Australia, I'd planned to shoot up to tropical Townsville (at about 19.5°S, it's well inside the the Tropic of Capricorn and sits approximately as far from the Equator as Goa), not so much for the city as its illustrious and acclaimed neighbour - Magnetic Island. Named as such by Captain Cook on his 1770 Discovery expedition (and affectionately nicknamed "Maggy" by locals), the story went that the island possessed some strange force that sent Cook's compass off the kilt. Subsequent evidence that no such force exists suggests that the only thing off the kilt was Cook after a couple of pegs too many*.
He's not alone. For some unknown reason, I'd managed to convince myself that my 9.30am bus from Airlie Beach arrived in Townsville at 10.30 that night. Based on this assumption, and just minutes before leaving Airlie, I booked myself into an LPG-recommended joint next to the bus station to minimise hassle upon arriving that night, with the plan being to hit Magnetic Island for the day in the morning.
Whether it was the succession of 12 hour journeys up the coast that made me think the journey would be that long, or whether it was just plain stupidity (certainly the more likely), the crux of the story was that it actually took just 4 hours, arriving at 1.30pm.
This should have been good news, as it allowed me to head straight over to Maggy, relax for the afternoon, crash there overnight and spend the following day on the island before my late afternoon flight to Sydney. If only it were so simple. Because of my supposed late arrival, I had had to do a pre-arrival check for Globetrotters (the Townsville hostel) that meant my card had already been charged... and it was non-refundable.
Unimpressed, I wandered from the bus station a couple of blocks down the road to where my hostel was...and came face-to-face with a fenced off site with no semblance of a building left on it. A phone call confirmed what I was dreading - the bloody place had moved site and my LPG, published in 2004, had the old address. And the new address was anything but close to the bus station.
Long walk in savage tropical heat with massive backpack. Check in. Dump stuff on bed. Change t-shirt. Fill backpack with LPG and book to read on beach. Walk to Magnetic Island ferry terminal.
One final kick in the teeth, it transpired that ferries were return tickets valid for one month. Meaning that by not staying overnight on the island, I was going to get financially screwed if I wanted to come back again on the second day. Not happy.
The island itself is incredible, not so much for the fact that it is a jungle flanked with pristine beaches (regular readers would have gathered that Queensland essentially consists of thousands of miles of the above), but the fact that despite its formidable reputation as a tourist hotspot, the island is just oh so quiet. There is one road through it, linking the ferry terminal at Nelly Bay with the expansive Horseshoe Bay to the north, and the smaller Picnic Bay to the south (see right). Accessible only by foot are the other 20+ bays of various shapes and sizes scattered in every direction.Arriving on Maggy at 4.30, I hopped on the shuttle bus to Horseshoe and took on a couple of recommended walking trails - the first to an inland creek that is supposedly full of birds, although apparently they all vanish on the second Tuesday in January in every 21st century year ending in '10. The second, as the sun set to the west, involved some serious physical work - a steep climb up a hundred or more rocky steps, over the top of the hill, and down a steeper, rockier descent the other side among hundreds, or even thousands of huge granite boulders. Eventually you reach the shore of Balding Bay; in my case you mistakenly take a ridiculously treacherous and quite possibly illegal off-track route and freestyle your way down the rocks after losing your way; and enjoy the sobering tranquility of having an entire beach, and indeed entire bay cove, all to one's self.
Long walk back to Horseshoe, and sitting alone by the bus stop listening to my iPod. If I were to describe it in one word? Passive.
Then, the rollercoaster turns. As down the beach walk two guys, one young, one middle age, the latter calls out "oi mate - come fishing with us!". Polite refusal, something about having a bus to catch, and "just get the next bus! You haven't got anything better to do!"
Two hours later, beers and wines were going down a treat with fresh chips, and Paddy, Pete and I had caught a tiger shark, some little fish, and had two lines snapped by big mamma barras too strong for the weak line. I'd sacked off the last bus, and was soon going so sack off the last ferry thanks to the offer of sleeping at Paddy/Pete's place. BASE bar was frequented, a few more drinks were had, and back at Pete's a controversial concoction of bacon, onions, tomato sauce and a large dose of curry powder was guzzled. Great evening.
Morning was early. 7.30am early. I called Globetrotters to let them know I wouldn't make check out time - and with the rollercoaster very much moving my way by now, the lady told me not to worry, just swing by later and pick up my stuff, and thanks for ringing!
Thoroughly pleased about the way things were working out, my Australian adventures had one final, and quite literal, high to come - Paddy, 20, born and raised on the island, took me back over to Balding Bay, but this time we climbed our way over the rocks that bend around the left edge of the bay forming the beginnings of a lagoon. At the apex stands one huge mass of granite - towering 10 metres above the ripply blue waters below, its front face flat and shear (see arrow, right). You'd be mad as a hatter to do it on your own accord - especially as a tourist - but fate's cards in the form of local hospitality were destined to provide the biggest adrenaline rush I've had since sky diving in 2007. Like a roller coaster, what goes up must come down... so it was 1, 2, 3, JARANIMO!!!...(...*splash*)
* Strictly unofficial speculation
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