We've been on the road for two weeks now, although it feels more like two months. Our Great Walk in Waikaremoana was brilliant. Describing the experience tries my abilities; so to help you must go on a four-day "moderate" hike in beautiful weather through a stunning, tranquil National Park. Good. Now that we're on the same page...you must be filled with peace and a solid sense of accomplishment.
We all fell down during the hike. Wendy slid down a rained-out ditch and got the messiest, as her pants scraped along the miniature gorge. Chris caught his fall at the expense of his shoulder, and I took the prize with not one but 4 spectacular falls. I slipped on rocks three times and shuddered down one muddy bluff. Wendy led the way most of the time, and periodically called out "mud!"--we were trying to keep our feet dry. ha! After a while her voice would ring out, "mud! slippery rock!" and I'd come to a standstill. Muddy, wet feet or bruised bottom? By the end we recklessly splodged through the mud and then rinsed our shoes in the numerous crystal clear, cold streams only to muddy ourselves again minutes later.
The oddest day, and the best day, was our oasis of civilization in the middle of the bush. Our second hut is a popular destination for hunters and fishermen. Or at least this is the backstory they give their wives, it seems more like a hearty man-food and crates of beer sort of trip. We were given freshly caught and smoked trout, chips, oceans of hot water and the option of a full dinner with wine. We slept peacefully in a room with guns hung up next to our raincoats, as the air vibrated with a hundred thundering snores. In the morning they gave us oranges and hot coffee and we were rested and ready to carry on.
Our hike feels so long ago.
Now we're back in the car. This morning I took an invigorating, but much-needed, cold shower in a facility by the beach. Chris is holding out for something warmer. We both had delightful showers for 2 dollars in Napier in a public shower block, but since then the options have been free and cold.
A few nights ago we survived an earthquake. It felt like someone shook our car, or bounced the bumper, but Chris recognised the feel from his time in San Diego. Sure enough, the next morning we asked at one of the ubiquitous i-sites (standard information centers in every city and town) and they confirmed the earthquake! A 3.6 on the Richter scale.
We are hanging out in New Plymouth right now. It's a big city on the western thumb of the North Island with the only deep-water port on the west coast of the country. The internet is free, the library is spacious and nice (but nothing in comparison to "the living room of the city" in Palmerston North. Now that is a library!), and there's a beautiful coastal walkway spanning 7 km from the port across the town center and into the classy suburbs. We walked about 7 km this morning, while the clouds seemed disinterested, and it was lovely.
We're giving the car a break--and the driver--so we'll spend a few nights here and hope for an unlikely clear spell of gorgeous weather so we can hike. If the clouds and fogs left us alone we would be stunned with a view of the tall and perfectly symmetrical slopes of Mt. Taranaki (a.k.a. Mt. Egmont) a not-quite-defunct volcano. It was used as the backdrop in "The Last Samurai". Who needs to visit NZ, just rent a load of movies. One hike in particular would keep us below the tree-line (warmer) and far enough away from the Mt. to see it without breaking our necks.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
East Cape
We left the "Sunshine Paradise" of Papamoa on a rainy, windy day and set off on our four-month tour of New Zealand. First stop: a luxury hotel down the street. Chris' parents generously and very thoughtfully bought us a night in the hotel they stayed at during their visit for Chris' birthday. We had until the end of August to book our room, and we decided one last night of clean sheets, kitchen appliances and hot running water would be the perfect start to our epic journey. The rain bleared our windows, but beyond the fog and streaks the beautiful, constant ocean pounded and sprayed amongst the rocks. The lady who showed us our room may have been confused, we came with no luggage, just a plastic bag with the essentials, and a huge teetering stack of library books. The first part of the day was spent on the couch going through all of our guidebooks and finishing off our "wish lists". We ate up the last of our refrigerated foods and enjoyed one last episode of our favourite-show-ever, "Grand Designs".
Since then, we have been driving east, down the coast to Whakatane (White Island departure point) and on to the East Cape, where the pace of life is slow. There are no real towns on the East Cape. Some little villages appear on the map, but their business district encompass a post shop or a motor lodge or maybe a small shop. These towns are few and far between. Most of the time we drove with no one behind us, no one approaching us, no one anywhere. The bulk of animal-life is clothed in leather and dragging a full udder, or showing off a wool jumpsuit. Spring has fully arrived: little wobbly lambs and leggy calves stumble around the hillside, never straying very far from mom.
Last night we slept in a very bare-bones beach-side campsite alongside a herd of cows, calves and horses. During the day we hiked a steep, unexpected, muddy track up into the hills to a lookout over the bay. The area must have suffered some heavy rains because much of the trail was washed out, the stream seemed to have meandered to uncharted territory and we found more than one sign post floating down stream. We persevered and made it to the lookout, breathed a sigh of relief that the track formed a loop, and skidded down the other side to our campsite.
Now I must hand the computer over to Chris. We're like greedy vultures when we come across free internet (Go Gisborne Library!), and this will be the last taste of civilization before we start our "Great Walk" on Friday.
Since then, we have been driving east, down the coast to Whakatane (White Island departure point) and on to the East Cape, where the pace of life is slow. There are no real towns on the East Cape. Some little villages appear on the map, but their business district encompass a post shop or a motor lodge or maybe a small shop. These towns are few and far between. Most of the time we drove with no one behind us, no one approaching us, no one anywhere. The bulk of animal-life is clothed in leather and dragging a full udder, or showing off a wool jumpsuit. Spring has fully arrived: little wobbly lambs and leggy calves stumble around the hillside, never straying very far from mom.
Last night we slept in a very bare-bones beach-side campsite alongside a herd of cows, calves and horses. During the day we hiked a steep, unexpected, muddy track up into the hills to a lookout over the bay. The area must have suffered some heavy rains because much of the trail was washed out, the stream seemed to have meandered to uncharted territory and we found more than one sign post floating down stream. We persevered and made it to the lookout, breathed a sigh of relief that the track formed a loop, and skidded down the other side to our campsite.
Now I must hand the computer over to Chris. We're like greedy vultures when we come across free internet (Go Gisborne Library!), and this will be the last taste of civilization before we start our "Great Walk" on Friday.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Snapshots
Chris and I are the new proud parents of a Papamoa library card. Before, we went to the library without a card, lured by the ring of computers and rack of glossy magazines. The books tempted us, but we knew our relationship would never be more than casual, we couldn’t invite the books home. Now we can check out ninety-nine books and keep them on our bedside table for three whole weeks. Libraries, like ballet and music, make me proud of our species.
Over the weeks, in preparation for the Holiday portion of our trip, we’ve brought home dozens of books on New Zealand. Some of the books focus on the extensive National Parks, others describe urban highlights and regional quirks, and many provide little written information but dazzle us with hundreds of photos; sweeping landscapes, fiery sunsets, stormy coasts, majestic mountains rising out of lakes. These last books are my (ingenious!) attempt to draw Chris into the planning phase. We sit in the sun on our bed strewn with bookmark-riddled books, pens, lists and notebooks. Chris pores over the pictures, seeking out the most stunning locations or haunting sights, and exclaims, “Tolaga Bay, lets go there”. And I’ll shuffle through the wordy-books’ indexes until I can locate the bay, the wharf, the town, the mountain and we’ll work it into the route.
I have a cold. Bridgette has had a rib-cracking cough for weeks while Chris and Wendy dabble with the flu off and on. We pump our frail bodies full of Echinacea, vitamin C, multi-vitamins and Ibuprofen. In the morning a chorus of coughs and throat clearing overpowers the delicate birdsongs outside.
Wendy’s parents’ church had a car-boot sale (i.e. garage sale) and I purchased a 500-piece puzzle of a Tall Ship. It only has about 200 pieces. The sea is half blue and half carpet, the ship itself will certainly sink with all of its holes and I can’t imagine ever setting the sails properly. The only complete section is the sky. It came with 150 identical blue pieces which I have carefully piled in teetering hill to be dealt with later.
It’s spring at last. The nights are still chilly, but we barely light the fire any more and during the day we can wander around the house in a reasonable amount of clothing. 5 layers are finally too many. One tree outside is shyly blooming, each day the pink and white flowers spread higher and higher. Today looks and smells like a perfect day for a walk on the beach. Talk of spring must be so last season for you Northern Hemispherians.
Over the weeks, in preparation for the Holiday portion of our trip, we’ve brought home dozens of books on New Zealand. Some of the books focus on the extensive National Parks, others describe urban highlights and regional quirks, and many provide little written information but dazzle us with hundreds of photos; sweeping landscapes, fiery sunsets, stormy coasts, majestic mountains rising out of lakes. These last books are my (ingenious!) attempt to draw Chris into the planning phase. We sit in the sun on our bed strewn with bookmark-riddled books, pens, lists and notebooks. Chris pores over the pictures, seeking out the most stunning locations or haunting sights, and exclaims, “Tolaga Bay, lets go there”. And I’ll shuffle through the wordy-books’ indexes until I can locate the bay, the wharf, the town, the mountain and we’ll work it into the route.
I have a cold. Bridgette has had a rib-cracking cough for weeks while Chris and Wendy dabble with the flu off and on. We pump our frail bodies full of Echinacea, vitamin C, multi-vitamins and Ibuprofen. In the morning a chorus of coughs and throat clearing overpowers the delicate birdsongs outside.
Wendy’s parents’ church had a car-boot sale (i.e. garage sale) and I purchased a 500-piece puzzle of a Tall Ship. It only has about 200 pieces. The sea is half blue and half carpet, the ship itself will certainly sink with all of its holes and I can’t imagine ever setting the sails properly. The only complete section is the sky. It came with 150 identical blue pieces which I have carefully piled in teetering hill to be dealt with later.
It’s spring at last. The nights are still chilly, but we barely light the fire any more and during the day we can wander around the house in a reasonable amount of clothing. 5 layers are finally too many. One tree outside is shyly blooming, each day the pink and white flowers spread higher and higher. Today looks and smells like a perfect day for a walk on the beach. Talk of spring must be so last season for you Northern Hemispherians.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)