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Milford Sound: Pre-packaged wilderness
Posted by daveb on March 5th, 2009
First off, let me tell you that Milford Sound is actually a fiord (or fjord, if you’re Scandinavian). What’s the difference? Fiords are carved by glaciers, sounds are not. Or something. Oh, I don’t know so I’ll refer to the information on the Real Journeys website:
What is the difference between a sound and a fiord?
Throughout Fiordland the fiords are officially mapped as sounds. Strictly speaking, they should be called fiords.A fiord is a glaciated valley – typically narrow and steep-sided – that has been flooded by the sea after the glacier’s retreat. A sound, on the other hand, is a river valley flooded by the sea following a rise in sea levels or depression of the land, or a combination of both.
Discovered by a Welsh bloke and originally named Milford Haven, Milford sound is majestic taste of New Zealand tourism. This silent wilderness is best experienced by cramming yourself onto a three-level boat with five hundred snap-happy Japanese tourists, many of whom have just stepped-off the same transfer-coach as you.
Only joking! If you’re down this neck of the woods, the best way is to drive yourself from Te Anau to Milford Sound port and, if you do nothing else, avoid the lunchtime sailings on the big boats like the plague! Concerned with her ability to avoid sea-sickness on a smaller vessel, we booked ourselves onto a big boat tour that sailed after the lunchtime coach-crowds had mostly left, thus giving ourselves enough room to blow about in the twenty knot wind on deck. Seriously, our Christchurch-bought windproof fleeces and tie-down hats came into their own today. Most folks started atop the open deck, only to scurry below once out in the harsh maritime winds on the open water.
Really great experience this: it propbably tops the New Zealand list for me so far. (Although a helicopter landing on a glacier, might just beat it a week or so’s time…)
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Te Anau: Meet Jason, the Elastoplast Man
Posted by daveb on March 4th, 2009
We’re in glorious Te Anau, the closest town to the Milford Sound fiordlands. The Top 10 Holiday Park here, whilst relatively expensive, easily wins my “Best Campsite” award, globally. The ultra-shabby Torquay Foreshore Caravan Park in Australia would do really well to pick-up a few hundred tips from these guys. To boot, Te Anau’s a nice place with quite a few things going on and certainly worth a couple of days stopover. (Travellers note: You can drive, or get driven, to Milford Sound and back from here in the same day. No need to stay over at Milford Sound itself: we’re told there’s nothing going on there at night, except sand flies and mosquitoes.)
The cold, wet-to-dry-to-wet weather is playing havoc with our skin. My lips are permanently chapped and our skin is cracking on our extremities too! Claire’s toes are cracking so badly that they bleed. It’s a bit painful for her to walk too far, so we wandered into the local pharmacy on the high street. At the back of the shop were a handful of paramedics helping a youngish lady who was flat-out on the floor. Given the situation, we felt a little uneasy about searching around the shop for sticking plasters and so Claire asked directions to the correct aisle.
“Hello!”, shouted Jason as he jumped into view, “I don’t work here, but I can take you to the plasters!”
“You don’t work here?”, we mused.
“No, I actually work for Elastoplast. I am the South Island sales representative and am just doing my rounds. Sorry if I come across a little shaken-up, but the last girl I spoke to just fainted”, he pointed to the women being treated by the paramedics.
In a way that I cannot even hope to convey in words, Jason the Elastoplast Man was hilarious. What are the chances of an Elastoplast representative calling into the pharmacy at the same time as us looking for plasters? He studied Claire’s cracked toe very carefully and pondered the pros and cons of his various products to find the correct solution, as only a man who sells plasters could. After several looks at the offending toe, from several different angles, he said “it’s a shame this didn’t happen next month: we’ve got the perfect toe-plaster coming out for that!”
For the time being, he indicated that the cheapest ‘standard pre-cut fabric dressing’ would suffice and that, sadly, the shop was out of stock. In a very covert message of cloak and dagger proportions he suggested that “we might see each other outside” where he might have a few right-sized sample dressings in the boot of his car to give us!
It’s not often that you meet a person so happy and engaging as Jason. I would have thought that selling plasters would be quite a dull job. Not for Jason: this is a guy that is bursting with energy and fun and he probably makes his company a fortune!
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Southern Scenic Route: Wet ‘n’ Wilderness
Posted by daveb on March 3rd, 2009
Not many people carve out the time in their New Zealand road trips to drive too much further south from Dunedin. Rather they bomb across to Milford Sound or Queenstown and head north again. Not us though; our guidebook rates the southern coast as potentially the most beautiful area of the country.
We only stopped for a night in the Catlins National Park; the near constant rain, to which we’ve been subjected throughout our New Zealand trip, showed little sign of easing. We overheard conversations in the camp kitchen of how beautiful the walks and the countryside is, but we aren’t great hikers at the best of time and neither of us can think of anything worse than snivelling our way through wet, muddy forest paths and eating soggy sandwiches…
The pleasant forest drive transferred us into coastal scenery, which was splendid indeed. We drove past deserted beach after deserted beach: easily explained because (a) there were hardly any other cars on the road and (b) there was usually no easy way to get down to the sand! We did manage to clamber through the bushes to one deserted beach to discover that it wasn’t quite as deserted as we thought, as our footprints weren’t the first of the day!
As the southern scenic route drew inland, the weather turned against us and the landscape became very familiar: bleak green fields, grazing sheep, with cars and houses few and far between. In fact, if you were shown a photograph, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you’re looking at an average country road in Wales. The weather is beginning to get us down, a bit: it has rained almost every day for a while now and sometimes it rains for most of the day and night.
I’d love to bring your more photos — but we hesitate to get out of the car when the wind is blowing rain into our faces! From those below, you’d be forgiven for thinking that it’s blue skies all the way. It’s not: We wake up to rain, mid-afternoon it stops and beautiful blue skies appear for anything up to an hour, then by early evening the skies are grey and the rain comes in once more. Here’s hoping that the weather improves as we make our way north again.
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DaveB is award-winning most romantic man
Posted by daveb on March 2nd, 2009
In case anyone missed this golden nugget buried in Squiffy’s last post on how we spent our Valentine’s evening at Dunedin’s Otago Museum, I have a very special announcement to make:
As adjudicated by a high-ranking Otago Museum official, I am the 2009 winner of the “Most Romantic” award. There are a few people that I’d like to thank: my Mum, Dad, sister and brother. My friends, workmates, Scout leader, school teachers et al. You’ve made me who I am, and this award really belongs to you.
Not in a million years, would I–or anyone who actually knew me–have ever imagined that I would win such an award, but the judges have spoken and their decision is final: I am the most romantic man. Never again shall I have to take criticism from any girlfriends about how unromantic I am, because… I am the most romantic man!
In this time of financial belt-tightening, I’ve once again proved that it’s possible to be frugal whilst remaining romantic. For Valentine’s day this year, I got Claire a box of out-of-date chocolates. They were well past their best-before date, so I managed to barter the shopkeeper down to a very reasonable NZ$5 for the lot. And I ate just under half of them once the box was open.
Just remember: Regardless of what people might say, I am the award-winning most romantic man!
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Dunedin: Salsa, stargazing and a hopeless romantic
Posted by Squiffy on February 27th, 2009
Fortunate to arrive in the historic town of Dunedin on their annual fete day, we were met with live music, market stalls and revellers galore. The sun was out so we mooched around enjoying the atmosphere, before heading to tourist information to find out if there was anything special we should see. As well as fete day, it just so happened to be Valentine’s Day, and whilst Dave would be happy to ignore the fact, I was keen to celebrate it NZ style, whatever that entailed. The helpful staff at the info site told us about the Otago Museum’s Valentine’s event, which would involve Champagne, roses, live music, stargazing and salsa lessons. We reserved the last two places and changed into our smartest backpacking gear (I even used an iron for the first time in 18 months).
We were greeted at the museum, a smaller version of the Natural History Museum in London, with balloons, Champagne and a live pianist, and were given a form for entry into the ‘hopeless romantic’ competition. To be in with a chance to win the award, we had to write about the most romantic thing we’d ever done. When our stories were complete, one of the museum guides took us on a tour of the some of the museum’s ‘love themed’ exhibits, which included stories about Maoris, Egyptians and albatrosses (apparently, the latter mate for life, I’m not sure about the former two). Another glass of bubbly later and we were led into the ‘Star Lab’, a dark tent like an igloo in which our galaxy could be projected onto the ceiling. The planetarium guide give us a light-hearted look at some of the constellations, including Orion, Scorpio and the Southern Cross, and told us to look out for them for real, later that evening.
We ended the night Brazilian-style with a lesson in Salsa dancing from a real life Latino hunk. To start, the men followed his steps whilst we ladies followed his strutting female partner, and once we’d all mastered the basic steps we were invited to dance with out partners. Thank you DaveB, I enjoyed our dance very much and you only stepped on my toes once. We’ll have to go and practice at one of the popular clubs in Sydney when we get there, I know how much you’d love that.
It was nearly time to leave, there was only one thing to be settled. Who was the most romantic person in the room? Well, I can tell you I haven’t heard the last of it after Dave was given the title and presented with a hamper of chocolate, for his story about Claude the Balloon Man (I’m sure some of you know how it goes… for those that don’t it involves tears, doorbells, bushes and a life-sized man made of balloons).
What a unique and lovely way to spend an evening.
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Oamaru: Buildings. Penguins. Boulders.
Posted by daveb on February 26th, 2009
I’m not entirely sure whether we had a particular reason to stop at Oamaru, an eastern coastal town here in New Zealand, but I’m glad we did. Squiffy insisted that we walk the historical building trail, from which the map would help us identify some of the oldest and best built buildings in New Zealand. It’s walks like this that remind me of the fabulous history and culture within immediate reach of most of us Brits in our home country. The New Zealand tourist board might strike me down for writing this, but to my eyes many of these historical buildings would feature on the average British high street… We popped into one building that advertised itself as a community radio station with a display of old radio equipment. It was only after walking into the DJ booth that we realised that the surprised bloke was actually live on air!
One of the main tourist draws of Oamaru is it’s proximity to the Blue and Yellow-Eyed Penguin colonies. Unfortunately for us, the Blue Penguin lookout spot levies a charge of NZ$20 per head to enter the walkway. Given that we walked amongst the penguins at Boulders Beach in South Africa not so long ago, we decided to keep our money in our pockets and visit the rarer Yellow-Eyed Penguins instead. The walkway was way up on the cliff face and a single, solitary dot-of-a-penguin (or council-sanctioned cardboard cut-out) stood stationary on the beach some distance below us. A little further up the path the observation hut–nothing more than a corrugated-iron windbreak–was packed with shivering tourists who were presumably waiting for a little more action. At maximum zoom (and I’ve got a really good zoom lense) we took a snap, turned on our heal and returned to the comfort of the log fire at our hostel.
The next day, we continued our journey south towards Dunedin. Just twenty kilometres out of town is another tourist site — some boulders on a beach. Forgive me, I don’t remember the name of the site at time of writing and it’s time for a whinge. I must say that we’re getting a little sick of having to put our hands in our pockets for a lot of the sightseeing here: New Zealand is full of natural wonders which have often been fenced-off by mankind, with an entrance fee charged at the gate. the gift shop/cafe at the private car park above the boulders charges NZ$2 to walk down their staircase to the site on the beach. Unusually, there was a perfectly good free public car about a five minute walk further along from which the beach could also be accessed. We parked in the public car park and walked to the boulders for free — and didn’t have to struggle up a staircase on our return either. Doesn’t the cafe/gift shop make enough money from thirsty tourists as they return to not need to charge for using their staircase? For us in our car, we had the choice to park a bit further away. The same cannot be said for the tour-bus folk. No doubt the driver is on commission to stop in the private car park and rubs his hands together as each of his passengers pays a couple of dollars for the ‘entrance fee’.
Worse still, Squiffy and I couldn’t understand why the presence of boulders on a beach caused such a stir in the first place. Sure, a geologist would find this interesting, but the sheer volume of people at the site suggests that either (a) there’s a lot of geologists in this world, or more likely (b) somebody is making money off a handful of rocks and a bunch of easily-led tourists. One thing I know for sure is nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd.
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Mount Cook: Tramping with New Zeal
Posted by daveb on February 25th, 2009
I now know why this country is called New Zealand: for me, taking a short walk–or ‘tramp’ as it’s called here–near the base of Mt. Cook has indeed given me a “New Zeal”. Corny, I know, but I really enjoyed my walk so go easy on me!
Squiffy ducks out at times like this and writes her travel diary over a juice in a nearby cafe, whilst I wander off for a walk surrounded by nature and, oftentimes, other tourists doing much the same. So as not to keep the good lady waiting, I limited myself to only an hour of wandering, just enough time to cross a couple of swing-bridges in Hooker Valley to get that all important vista towards Mt. Cook from the valley floor.
(Claire adds – I did offer to drive him to the start of another 1 hour track but he politely declined. I think he needs to take this new tramping thing one step at a time… well done DaveB.)
(DaveB adds – The second walk was to the foot of a glacier. Given that we’ll soon be stood atop a glacier, I deemed the walk surplus to requirements.)
(DaveB adds further – Since when did we start adding “Name adds” comments to the bottom of our posts?!)
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Lake Tekapo: Indescribably blue-green glacier lake
Posted by daveb on February 24th, 2009
I shan’t bother to write about our stay in Methvan last night; whilst the local hot-air balloon company proclaims that it’s the best site in New Zealand from which to float skywards, we can’t yet confirm or deny this rumour as the weather on the morning of our potential flight was atrocious. So bad was the rain, that we assumed some pretty gymnastic positions to clear our belongings from the front car seats onto our ‘bed’ in the boot so that we could leave our campsite without getting anything (including ourselves) wet.
We were headed towards Lake Tekapo and Mount Cook, although we feared that we might not even get a glimpse at either because the rain, mist and fog were all-enveloping. Turn after turn, we saw nothing. Until, as if separated by an invisible shower curtain, we turned the final corner of the mountain pass to be met with warm sunshine, blue skies and an indescribably blue-green Lake Tekapo stretching out to the distant Southern Alps mountain range. We’re told that the extraordinary colour is caused by the water-borne rock particles scratched away from the mountains by the melting glacier water reacting with the ultra-violet rays of the sun.
The township of Lake Tekapo is little more than a row of gift shops, ‘flightseeing’ tour operators, cafes and the usual accommodation options lined along a single stretch of the lake. The other sides do not appear to be populated and so with your back turned against the shops one gets a fair sense of majestic wilderness out here. This kind of scenery is really ‘me’ — the photo at the top of this blog is one I took on a previous tour of the USA — after a short hike in Grand Teton National Park, I was rewarded with this beach/lake/tree/mountain view. Lake Tekapo provides a similar experience, but without having to invest any energy into hiking!
Claire adds — there is a lovely and much photographed tiny little church there too which you must see if you go. Behind the altar is a big window which has amazing views of the lake and mountains.
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Akaroa: Photo with dolphins
Posted by daveb on February 23rd, 2009
It appears that the sharp-snapper at Black Cat cruises managed to get a photo of us swimming with the dolphins. It’s just a shame that we were looking the wrong way!
And for good measure, here’s a quick video of one of the dolphins swimming just inches past Squiffy — blink and you’ll miss it (or hit replay…)
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Akaroa: The French Latte
Posted by daveb on February 23rd, 2009
I’m sat at a bar on the waterfront in the quaint Gallic town of Akaroa. I’m quietly enjoying my rare Steinlager Pure when couple of American gents pull up stools next to me. They place down their number five table marker, presumably indicating that food or hot drinks will be arriving shortly. Sure enough, moments later a waitress appears carrying what looks like a coffee.
“Cappuccino?”, enquires the waitress.
“That’s mine”, waves American tourist #1.
And so the hot, tasty beverage is laid down before him. The waitress disappears to collect the next drink.
“Latte?”
“Err. Nope. Not mine”
“You are table 5?”
“Yes, but I ordered a coffee with milk.”
In fairness, at this point I completely understand that a request for a “coffee with milk” is totally different from a latte and so have no quarrel at this point. The waitress gently insists that the latte is indeed his coffee with milk.
“That’s right, it’s a latte.”
“Oh, ok. I’ll take it.”
The punchline came next, after the waitress disappeared back behind the bar.
American tourist #1 blurts, “I hate it when they use a French word to make things sound more exotic!”
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