The Last Morning

After a few days of cooler and wetter weather it's probably fitting that we awoke on the last day to the clearest of blue skies and warm, bright sunshine.

It would be far too easy welcome melancholy into the day but it's time to go home. No it really is - I've just about got enough undies and clean socks for the trip home! Plus home is.... well home innit! It's where our friends and family are, waiting to greet us with open arms whilst we bore them silly with tales of our travels. Oh, and if you are one if then and reading this, be warned - we have over 1,000 photos!

So in a few hours we'll arrive at the airport, wander around aimlessly killing time before stepping onto the plane that is going to transport us the 18,000km home. Plenty of time the to reflect on what's been a fantastic holiday. The trip of a lifetime? You bet!

I sign off with two things.

The first is today's photo. It's of a Mackenzie Thorpe sculpture called 'Falling In Love'. Another Boro boy done good , like Captain Cook before him, has left his mark on a little bit of New Zealand. And do you know, during my time here I have fallen just a little bit in love with in this great and diverse country.

The second was a quote that I read whilst in a gallery in Wellington. It read "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened". Quite apt and I'll try to keep that in mind when a cold north easterly is battering our house. What's even more surprising is that it's from Dr Seuss. I know. The Cat In The Hat fella. Who'd have thought it.

Right that's me - I'm off to spend a few hours in the sunshine. I need to store enough up to get me through to April.....

ChCh

I can't believe that after months of planning and preparation our trip to New Zealand is almost over. But boy have we seen some things; geothermal pools, volcanoes, snow capped mountains, glistening blue sea, golden sands, homely towns and deep, green gorges. Even a Yorkshireman living outside God's Own County(TM). In a word, spectacular. 

Today we travelled north, on our final leg of the journey, from Dunedin to Christchurch but stopped en-route in Ashburton. It was quite a coincidence that one of my friends just happened to have left the rolling vales of Selby and moved into a town that, just five months later, we would roll through on our last full day in NZ. Although we didn't have long, it was nice to catch up over Chicken Tortilla. OK, so it's not a classic Yorkshire dish but it was nice nonetheless.

I think it's great that the world is shrinking to a size that enables such a transformational move to take place - it would've been, if not unthinkable ten years ago, then at least very difficult. But Yorkshire's loss is NZ's gain and they both look very happy in their new environment.

Sitting here, with the window open, staring at a clear blue sky whilst the mercury nudges 26 degrees even at 5pm, I can't help but think what we are returning to; reports of storms bashing the western coast of the UK whilst floods and power cuts brought misery to thousands over the festive period. 

But then that is weather. And weather happens. Whilst it does cause a great deal of damage, and yes people do occasionally die as a result, I am reminded that I'm currently in a city that less than two years ago was subjected to a catastrophic earthquake that almost destroyed the town and killed hundreds. It's a sobering thought, so maybe a bit of unseasonally damp and windy weather is not so bad? At least the earth doesn't seem to want to swallow us up whole.

And there is no greater reminder of the earthquake that shook this city to its core than the clock tower on the corner of Salisbury and Monteal when on the 22 February 2011 at 12:51 the city stood still.

Nearing the End of the Line

It's been a great holiday, some might even say 'the holiday of a lifetime', but as neither has been completed it would be a foolish statement to make. I've often wondered about those glossy travel adverts in Sunday supplements that lure the unwary with wild claims such as that. Maybe I'm thinking too much into it, but what recourse do you have if, at the end of life, you take stock and decide that the month you spent trecking in the Himalayas wasn't the holiday of a lifetime. Could you sue? Could you care? 

Then look at from the point of view of the travel agent. What if they succeed and do actually deliver on their promises? What then? Is the rest of your life redundant? Should you never go on holiday again? They are certainly limiting their market - there is absolutely no point in going back on them if you've already had your 'lifetime' experience. Or if you do and they try to flog you another 'holiday of a lifetime' can you get a refund on the first one? It's a minefield. It really is. 

I think to err on the side of caution they should promise no more than 'We'll sell you a really good holiday', 'You'll have a great time' or 'Well it's better than being in work'. Easy as.

And so back to my first point, or at least I think I am, which was that we're having a really good holiday. Almost.

A Stanton/Davies holiday experience, lifetime or not, has to contain set activities before it can be classed as such. If you care to indulge me I'll explain what they are;

Firstly, ham and cheese sandwiches. I can't stress how important these are to our enjoyment of travel. Wherever we go we like nothing more than to buy a loaf of bread, some ham and cheese and sit in a park and make butties. And eat them of course. There really is no better meal.... well actually there is but we're too tight to pay for it! So cheese and ham sandwiches it is. Admittedly by the time the holiday is complete either of us is likely to run screaming to the hills in terror at the mere sight of a Craft cheese slice. You might say it's a severe case of lactose intolerance. You can imagine our faces when Sarah's mum, after two weeks in Switzerland, fed us with grilled cheese and ham sandwiches after we were collected from the airport. I've digressed.

The second essential item, again food based, is to have a holiday ice cream. Quite a simple request one would think but sometimes it's quite difficult to achieve in practice. I still don't understand why we couldn't get a decent ice cream in the Scottish Highlands in February. We got nothing but blank stares whenever we asked for such a thing. Madness.

The third and final essential holiday ingredient is a trip on an historic railway. Now that might seem an unreasonable request - what if the place we're visiting doesn't have such a thing. Well we're not fussy. A trolley bus or tram would suffice. It's not that we're particularly fond of trains, trams or buses. Besides, admission to such a thing would be devastating for my uber-cool credentials and I'd never be able to look any one in the face at the local history club if word of that got out! It's just that we're Engineers so like to see how things work. Or worked. Or didn't work. 

Anyway the trip to NZ was severely lacking in the historic transport department. Not even a faint whiff of a 4-4-2 bogey arrangement or Victorian buffett car.... until today. Today we took a four hour trip on the Taieri Gorge Scenic Railway. Two hours up the line and two hours back, passing through one of the most scenic lines outside Yorkshire. Even better than the line between Garforth and Leeds. Yes that good! Snacking on fruit, tea and cake whilst gorgeous gorge scenery passes by is surely a great way to spend the morning.

The return leg was less eventful as we both fell asleep and missed the last quarter of the trip. Well it was warm, we were full of cherries and plums and were on a train. It's one of the immutable laws of travel that you can't stay awake on a train in the afternoon. I'd even go as far as to say that if Isaac Newton had survived long enough to see train travel then there would be a fourth law of motion. Something like the power of sleep is the distance travelled squared regardless of how stunning the scenery is. 

On the plus side, we arrived back into Dunedin fully refreshed and raring to go and, apart from a few dribbles on my t-shirt, you'd never have known I'd been asleep. Next stop the transport section of the city's museum - I hear they've got a collection of trams, trolley buses and home built caravans...... but that's a story for another time!

Seeing Some Action

The thought of another five hour journey (is everywhere five hours apart in NZ?) was made somewhat easier by the fact that we were heading to a place that the guidebook boasted was "The best place in New Zealand to see some bird action".

Electing to drive the first leg of the journey and not wishing to seem over keen, I managed to keep within the speed limit. Most of the way anyway. Somehow the guidebook had managed to make our visit to Dunedin even more appealing.

You can imagine my disappointment then, when several hours later, we were stood queuing to buy tickets to see some Albatross! This was, however, short lived as they were magnificent - majestically riding the thermals rising above the cliff tops. With wingspans of over 3m and a cruising speed of 75mph, or so it says in the pamphlet, they are wonderful.

It certainly made the additional 40 minute journey down Otago Peninsula worthwhile.

Before that there had been miles of green lush pastureland and passages through several of NZ's unsung jewels - the small towns.

These do not get anywhere near enough attention. For every metropolitan city there are countless small townships each with their own character. And quirks. For example did you know that Gore and Clinton are linked by the same highway and that Gore is the 'Brown Trout Fishing Capital of the World'. No? I thought not.

And each town's Main Street is different. Imagine that - local shops used by local people. It'll never catch on. Chain stores, franchises and big supermarkets are making in-roads into the small communities but for now.... well I hope Kiwis realise what they have. What they lack in global retail identity they make up for in choice. Butchers, grocers, craft stores, cafés, liquor stores and newsagents. All used by locals. 

Eventually the big supermarkets will win - they're just too convenient so the countdown is on. But for the time being I hope Kiwis relish their difference. I know we do.

Since we left Te Anau I've had the feeling that we are on the homeward leg - and we are. Heading north to our final NZ destination in Christchurch. But for the time being we have a few more days to enjoy...... just without bird action. Shame!

No Room at the Inn

Engaging 'rant mode'.

Ggggrrrr! There are selfish idiots around the world. Even in New Zealand. Whilst we were given some warnings about the boisterous nature of New Year in Queenstown we we're not prepared for the 'celebrations' last night.

The omens were bad when at 3pm the singing started from the balcony directly above our room - and getting louder by the bottle. Apparently it's good sport to stand on the balcony of the hostel and shout obscenities at passers by. Even better if you get a reaction. If you didn't get a reaction then you just have to try harder; louder singing and more robust chants. I don't know how women were able to resist their amorous approaches. I really don't. Romeo should be ashamed of himself.

We went out. But there is only so long that you can spend wandering around aimlessly so eventually we had to return to our accommodation. The situation hadn't improved any in our absence. In fact it was worse. Vomiting had been added to their stunning repartee. It was like living next to a gang of drunken monkeys. Not that I have of course but you can use your imagination. Actually, I'm being unfair, that might be doing monkeys a disservice. 

The night wore on and our patience wore thin. Midnight came and went and the singing continued only this time they had moved to their room.....which happened to be next to ours. 

Then 1am, 3am..... until the Police arrived. But far too late at it was getting light and we were getting no sleep. 

Picking our way through the debris in the hallway on the way to reception was a challenge - bottle and cans were strewn everywhere, takeaway food cartons littered the stairwell and crisps had been crushed into the carpet. Aren't you supposed to eat crisps rather than use them as a home furnishing martial?

Rather than endure another night of this we checked out early and headed for Fjordland, having made an online booking for a room at a B&B. This day was taking an unexpected turn but we were coping. That's what we do. We're copers.

After a short three hour drive, by NZ standards anyway, we were in Te Anau and the gateway to the fjords. 

Te Anau was the polar opposite from Queenstown; cosy, a little quirky but above all quiet and distinctly lacking in drunken youths. 

After spending an hour or so meandering around the shops, grabbing some lunch we decided to go and check in to our accommodation. It was going to be great; a quiet bath and a lovely cup of tea before sampling the delights of Te Anau. 

Except there was a slight hiccup. Or burp. The room had been triple booked and we were out of luck. No room at the inn. Well it was the festive season so it seemed appropriate. The owner, who seemed rather nonplussed by HIS mistake rang a few fellow B&B owning friends but nothing was doing. Oh dear. Do we head back to Queenstown and try and find a room there? We could wander the streets and hope to find a room but it had started raining and it was getting late. I jokingly mentioned sleeping in the car but I got the impression from my travelling companion that this was not really an option. Not if I wanted to keep my testicles in the vicinity of each other.

It was now really raining. Like Lake District on a Bank Holiday rain. Yes, that bad. Our only option was to try the i-Site, NZ's tourist information network, and beg for mercy. 

The assistants face, when we asked them if their was any chance of finding a room at short notice, was not confidence building. Being Kiwis they didn't scoff or guffaw but instead started to ring round. The thought of spending the night in the car was slowly becoming a reality. That would not be good. I got a sudden reign and surreptitiously patted my trousers.

"What price range are you looking at?", asked the assistant

"At this stage we don't care", came the response. Well we didn't. What price would you put on a room that didn't have cup holders and wind down windows?

Thankfully a motel had a spare room. The last one in town. Disaster averted. There was room at the inn after all.

Ahh but there was one final disaster to avert. With a day so full of events to divert my attention I'd not realised that've was running out of undies, under crackers, or if you prefer duds. To avoid having to resort to the front inside, front outside, back inside and back outside model of under garments wearing it was time to hit the shops. Success and $20 later some new pants were secured for the reminder of the trip!

Phew. New under crackers, a room to sleep in and both testicles where they should be. Things were looking up.....

A Quiet Day Out

Queenstown this morning very much looked like a town with a hangover. Shop keepers slowly and methodically set out their advertising hoardings and quietly unlocked their doors. There was a subdued silence to the town which, judging by the amount of alcohol consumed last night by its inhabitants, is not surprising. Or perhaps it was the arrival of overcast skies and drizzle that dampened the streets and the mood of those brave enough to venture out. 

We were fortunate to spend the New Years Eve night in a cosy beer cafe slightly away from the gathered masses only to emerge at about 11:45pm in order to see the firework display. It was spectacular with the trails of light mirrored on the surface of the lake. Yes, Queenstown is a place that certainly knows how to throw a party.

And we were a little subdued ourselves this morning. Nothing to do with the alcohol we consumed but purely down to lack of sleep. Honest! So a quiet day was on the cards.... and much needed.

We did nothing more than do a little shopping and wander up a steep hill to take a view back across Queenstown. It was steeper than we thought and left us wondering why we didn't take the gondola from the town up the hill. But the view from the top was certainly worth it - New Zealand certainly knows how to do views, with each stunning view it manages to raise the bar. I presume at some point it's going to let itself down. Just not yet......

Impossible Beauty

There are two things that you should know about the rain forest. One, that it rains and two that it's a forest.

Oh, and there's a third thing - it's full of bugs. Bugs that have an insatiable  appetite for human blood. In particular my blood. They really are little bleeders. Quite literally. If you let your guard down for moment they're in there, filling up on four star homosapien. 

It doesn't take much - maybe you forgot to close the window or missed a square inch of skin with the inspect repellant. What you should absolutely not do under any circumstances is drive for nearly six hours with several if then trapped in your car. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'meals on wheels'.

And it's not the itching that the worst thing - a few glasses of wine and you soon forget about it. No, it's the polka dot appearance of your wounded appendages. After a few days in the rain forest my legs look like they're part of a grizzly dot-to-dot puzzle. It's quite frankly embarrassing - when we went to the pool yesterday I was getting quizzical looks from fellow bathers, some giving me a wide berth believing that I had a tropical disease. Which I had - it's those bloody bugs.

But having said that, they're nowhere near as bad as the Scottish Midge. The Scottish Midge has perfected the art if being annoying. It's Kiwi counterpart is less troublesome but with a nasty nip. Mankind can only hope that they never meet and pass on tips to each other.

The 350km drive from Franz Josef to Queenstown took quite a while but it was so scenic but we were in no rush. Which was fortunate as it would be impossible to rush the journey. Or you would do so at your own peril as the road hugged precipitous cliffs, cross cavernous gillis and traversed hundreds of creeks. And I mean hundreds. Some had quite romantic names such as Whispering Creek and Tubmbling Creek, whilst others had  more natural sounding names; Trickle Creek, Blackwater Creek and Hairpin Creek. Then there were those named after people; Ben Creek, Joe Creek and Peter Creek. By the time they started naming them after medical illnesses, such as Gout Creek, they had clearly ran out of ideas and were getting desperate. I was half expecting to cross Headache Creek and perhaps Well It's Never Been The Same Since I Had That Fall Creek. 

But it was a stunning journey - probably one of the most, if not the most picturesque I have been on. I know at least one driving instructor who would have insisted in driving, as long as Simple Minds was on the car stereo. 

Vibrant blue lakes gave way to lush verdant forests. Snow capped mountain tops peeked from behind rolling green hills. New Zealand is a country of impossible beauty. 

Eventually we arrived into Queenstown which even at the early time of 2pm was gearing up for a storming New Year's Eve party. People were already spilling out of the bars and some were even on their second kebab of the 'night'. The town had it's glad rags on and was raring to go. Oh my god, what have we done!

To be continued.....