Paco On Tour

Dunedin, Christchurch and farewell to NZ

I have felt a little like a slow-speed pendulum between Christchurch and Dunedin in the last few days. Laura, Melinda and myself stopped in Dunedin after completing the Scenic route - about 10-11 hour drive - arriving in the city at a late hour and forced to leave early the next morning to get to Christchurch in time to leave the car. That was the end of own-motorised transport - the girls would stay for 3 days in the city and then fly off to Australia, I had another week here. After spending a couple of fun days with them and generally having a look around - finding "The Fountainhead" a book highly recommended to me way back in Lake Titicaca - I mad my way down to Dunedin, not without having tried to get my email inbox down to a more or less decent level. In Dunedin itself I would be staying with Sally, my cousin’s husband’s sister (work that out!) who was graceful enough to put me up for a few days. This was really great, popping into a real home every once in a while reminds me that once upon a time I had one of those of my own and there are actually a few things to look forward to upon return :-)

I made a late entry into Dunedin and thought I could walk easily to Sally’s place, the city not being that large. Of course I set off in an oblique direction and after asking a very friendly Kiwi for directions (he even offered a ride, but the Englishman in me seemed forced to decline!) set off, although I never quite made it. Fifteen minutes or so before being in the vicinity of where I thought it would be (at least I got that right) it started raining incrementally. It took me about twenty minutes to get pretty soaked and found myself running round in circles looking for the address, so I gave up and asked Sally to rescue me. She was only 2 minutes away in the car… It is always when you think it is safe to relax that you get the nasty surprises :-)

Thankfully a nice warm shower, dry clothes and a glass of wine made me soon forget the faux entrée and I enjoyed a great late-night conversation with Sally, all about her brother Mike (hahaha) and getting updated on news from friends and family she knew of back in England. Slept like a log in a fabulous bed and set off to discover a little more of Dunedin the next day.

Dunedin is New Zealand’s Scottish city, in fact it is the Gaelic for Edinburgh and it seems even the streets are named after streets in the Scottish capital, it was founded by Scottish settlers in the 1840s. The University, and this is most definitely a university city, is the oldest in New Zealand - established in 1871. The city itself exudes a rather confident, middle-class image. Middle-class wealthy, if you see what I mean - comfortable and placid. Otago Peninsula, just in front of the city, is a great place too. Sally generously lent me her car for a morning and I was able to drive to the end of the finger of land - here you can find penguin colonies and apparently the only nests of Royal Albatross’ in New Zealand, plus enjoy great views of the coastline. Dunedin is a mix of late 19 century neo-gothic buildings and more recent edifications and easily covered in a days walk. Visited a couple of museums and was soon time to go up to Christchurch - for the third time! - from where my flight to Sydney would be flying a couple of days later.

If Dunedin is New Zealand’s Scottish city, Christchurch is without a doubt its "Home Counties" one. Named after an Oxford College, established by the Canterbury Association (created at the college itself and headed by the Bishop of Canterbury) its original settlers were from deeply Anglican and Victorian middle-class communities and some of that historical background has remained. On the river (Avon, of course) you will find punts making there way upstream and the original buildings a true copies of those that can be found in any corner of Oxford or Cambridge, just about. I enjoyed my time here - even if I did spend quite a bit of it clearing the remaining email backlog J Had a few administrative tasks to sort out as well, the most important being the change (hopefully final!) to my plane ticket. Because of errors done in the modification made back in Rio, I wouldn’t be visiting Tasmania or Adelaide this time round and I was planning to shorten my stay in New Zealand and Australia to have a bit more time in S.E. Asia and also make it to Barcelona in time for a wedding in early June. All this I managed to do easily enough thankfully.

Maybe this is a good point to write a little of some of my impressions of New Zealand, particularly as compared with my travels in South America.

Arriving in NZ was quite a change, as I might have noted elsewhere, I think above all it was a kind of ‘return’ to Anglo-Saxon ways, behaviour and attitudes which I had left behind months ago. New Zealand itself is quite a funny country in a way, I haven’t written much about my impressions on its history, culture or peoples, but then again there was nothing that came too much to my attention on that front really. At present the country has little more than 4 million inhabitants occupying an area which is pretty similar to that of the British Isles – the later with almost 60 million people. The history, as far as European settlers goes, begins with ‘discovery’ by Dutchman Abel Tasman in 1642, nothing happens, Captain Cook comes along to have a look in 1769, nothing happens, a few whaling and sealing stations are established around the coast of the islands in the 1830s and proceed to decimate the colonies of both groups of animals and about a decade later, in the 1840s, Britain decided it better set up some kind of formal presence here. The history of the Maori’s, descendents of Polynesian tribes that arrived on the North Island around eight hundred years before, about 1000 AD or so, seems interesting and intriguing, although I speak from a position of much ignorance here. It seems they mainly inhabited the North Island and whilst widespread did not create a single political entity of any sort, but rather were divided into a number of tribes which had a long history of warfare between them. In fact the arrival of the Europeans and the trading that resulted brought about the introduction of gunpowder weapons that had a significant impact in terms of raising casualties from this warfare quite dramatically prior to any settlement from Europeans actually began. Amongst the more distinctive Maori practices that have remained are Wood and greenstone carving, tattoos, weaving or, of course, the haka – most famously performed at rugby matches by the All Blacks and apparently more widely in rugby matches here in NZ.

There is currently a movement in the country to reintegrate this cultural heritance more into mainstream life of people here, with signs erected in both English and Maori language a lot of the time – in the public sphere that is – and a general impulse to all things Maori, but I get a feeling this is all a little late and artificial at this stage. Maori were, I suppose, "assimilated" into the life of the European settlers quite early on and their traditional way of life has been, in large part, lost. Not too much of a surprise there given the enormous gulf that separated 19th century England life-style with that found on the island at the time and the subsequent patronising attitude the government had towards the Maori – not providing any schooling at secondary level for example, enabling to integrate into the higher echelons, or at least give it a try.

The main towns in New Zealand were established in the 1840s and settlers outnumbered Maoris quite early on, by the 1850s. Some skirmishes arose from the friction this created but the country quickly settled into mainly agricultural production focusing on sheep farming, for wool initially and then meat, once the necessary technology was developed to freeze it and send it over all the way to England.

The first settlers were overwhelmingly from England and Scotland, the latter particularly present in the South island. With such a small population it maybe not that surprising to find how very British the whole culture of the country has remained. Some immigration from Asia has taken place in the last couple of decades or so, but it is mainly confined to Auckland and a couple of the larger cities, such as Wellington, otherwise one has the feeling of being almost in rural England, what is left of it, without the history and on a larger scale, a little less influenced by urban life and extremely friendly.

It is such a new country that it is at times difficult to get a proper feeling of its own identity, and I think that some New Zealanders may realise this at times. Not only was it founded in the mid-nineteenth century but right up to the 1960s it was so very attached to Britain (formal independence came in 1947), culturally, socially and economically as to make it essentially an ‘outpost’ of the latter. There must be hundreds of memorials to the troops fallen in the First and Second World Wars as a I had seen in the UK and France, and Gallipolli is regarded here as the greatest national tragedy and remembered as such to this day. On the anecdote front, until I came here I always thought that the first man to climb the Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary, was British but it turns out that he was from New Zealand, it seems these nationality issues can be quite mixed. I suppose I am trying to reflect a little is the utter novelty of the country (in historical terms) , especially when compared to some of the places I had visited previously. The very distinct, resourceful and resilient Andean cultures, that wonderful melting pot of the African, European and native cultures which is Brazil, the fantastic (if accident prone) mix of Spanish, Italian and other European cultures in Buenos Aires together with pure Spanish colonial and native American cultures in the rest of Argentina, all providing a rich historical context and mix of peoples. That formula was much less evident here. In fact when strolling down the streets of Christchurch, Dunedin or Wellington I sometimes wondered if this is how a Spaniard would have felt when visiting a colonial town, such as Lima, Salta, Potosi or Cordoba, in the seventeenth or even eighteenth century - Plenty of buildings that were almost exact copies of what he could remember from back home and a strange familiarity with mores and customs and even food. Of course this is the 21st century and all these things ravel so much quicker nowadays, plus Spanish colonial towns were pretty much thrust into the midst of a thriving and solid culture which was subjugated and broken by the sword and the musket. None of this had been necessary in New Zealand. The Maori’s had been greatly respected, compared to the treatment handed to other native peoples during the time of colonisation – the Treaty of Waitangi is still in full force, if a little ambivalent at times, being the original document drawn up between the "United Tribes of NZ" and the British Crown – plus the territory was pretty much uninhabited in comparison. Of course the means and resources available to mid 19 century Britain had little in common to those enjoyed by the adventurous, when not desperate, Spanish conquistadores and Crown-appointed administrators sent after them.

I suppose familiarity with the culture and undeniable security and wealth NZ enjoys is a strong magnet for all those backpackers in their early twenties that seem to arrive from the UK, Germany, Scandinavia and so on. Quite a number of Americans too in fact. The benefit of the language is undeniable and there is certainly an untouched wilderness to be discovers although often with a few tourist buses unloading their cargo just in front of you, as probably you now expect in almost any western country at the height of the tourist season. I suppose that on this count places like Peru or Bolivia retain some of their charm, although you can’t say they are free of it either really. What they do probably retain is a higher sense of the unknown or uncertain – some may think danger, although I wouldn’t be sure – that is somewhat difficult to find, at least as far as I saw, here in New Zealand. In fact it was probably lost way back at the end of the nineteenth century when most of the "lost" areas had been opened up. Even the Routeburn track, for example, was opned t wealthy tourist who would come down here little more than a couple of years after the men who actually built it got through, this in the early 1900s. I suppose that there is a point where wealth simply eliminates most of the feeling of discovery or adventure from a place. I mean if you can pop in take a 20 min heli-ride up to the top of the glacier and be down in time for a nice evening meal, the experience is not going to be quite the same as a gruelling 3 day hike up to see what few eyes have seen. In the end there is a bit of a feeling that you are being told "come here, let me take your hand and show you around a little" which in the end almost infantilises the experience making it almost superficial. But I am not trying to be negative in any way, simply jotting down a few reflections and some of the surprises I have experienced here in comparison to the previous 6-10 months.

Glaciers, Queenstown & Fiordland

Arriving to the Glaciers and later at Queenstown and Milford Sound, we began our real entrance into the tourist heart of the Southern Island. The Franz Josef and Fox towns for example live almost exclusively off tourism and it would seem that as for Queenstown itself, quite a bigger affair then the first two, this is also the case. We only stopped at the glaciers for a day and a half. Enough to have a lacier walk on one of them, Fox, and have a peak at Franz Josef – you guessed it, named after the Austro-Hungarian Emperor – our second such experience for Laura and myself in little over a month, in Argentina. I did miss the glass of whiskey at the end of the walk, but you can’t have everything twice! It is quite an amazing experience all the same.

What is certainly pretty amazing here is the shear drop that the glacier makes from its birth place, in large ice-field 2,000 – 3,000 meters high and then almost ‘cascades’ down to close to sea level. In fact, all of the fjords in this area were actually dug out of the rock originally by gigantic glaciers much much larger than these. I am afraid that I will probably not see something quite as majestic and overwhelming as the glaciers in Argentina, but these are indeed more human-sized as it were, close in narrow valleys and not making you feel quite as puny and insignificant in comparison :-) We were extra-lucky with the weather, managing to see Mt Cook and Mt Tasman, New Zealand’s highest, in the distance. Of course you weren’t quite allowed to feel completely lost in the wilderness with the choppers flying above you every half hour or so taking their rather richer customers to the snow field above the glacier and have a look at the peaks of the mountains themselves. Great in Disneyland but I felt a little disappointing here, where the awe, rather than wow!, factor should prevail.

In any case, we finished off our visit with a nice walk around Lake Matheson, near the Fox glacier, with great views of the mountains and a nice spot for a couple of photos. From here it would be a further 4 hour drive to Wanaka, a town 60 km from Queenstown – our main destination – but recommended to us as a nice alternative to the ultra-touristy atmosphere we would later find. In fact Wanaka, on the shores of the lake of the same name, was probably my favourite resort in NZ. It has grown quite a bit in the last few years apparently, but has managed to maintain that tranquil, alternative feel you want in a place of such natural beauty. Highly recommended, and above all do NOT miss the trendy/alternative cinema here (Cinema Paradiso), where you can sit in one of a myriad of sofas set up in the screening room or even a small vintage car set up tastefully in a corner of the room.

Queenstown was a little different. It is the main center for adventurous sports in New Zealand with ever-wackier activities being proposed - bungee-jumping (which originated here), whitewater rafting, jet boating, canyoning, paragliding, hand gliding, skydiving, fly-by-wire and a bunch of others. The town is a major ski center in the winter but attracts visitors all year round. Lots of young backpackers - English, German and Scandinavian in their majority, but with a touch of Israelis here and there, all usually under 25 - and is also a good base for walking in the area, which we would pass on to do.

For us it was really a good base in which to relax for a couple of days, have a look at the beautiful lake (Wakatipu) and surroundings a bit, get some beers at night - wonderful novelty :-) although we were there just after the weekend so it was a little quiet - and also organized our Routeburn track walk which took the best part of a day.

With so many people coming down to these parts to do the great hiking - raved about worldwide - it is necessary to book places for cabin, or tents like we had, with time in advance to make sure you can actually get a place to sleep and not be fined (by the forest guards who sleep in private cabins). The most famous trek is the Milford Sound one that ends on the coast of the Sound itself. This takes 3 days / 2 nights but at the height of the summer season, all available space has been booked weeks in advance - so we didn’t even try to go for that. There are a few alternatives around, and one that sounded really good was the Routeburn track for 3 days and 2 nights but further investigation showed that getting back from the end of the track to Queenstown was a 4 h drive costing over US$ 50 per head… not our idea of a cheap hike in the mountains, so we decided to add The Caples trek which would allow us to come back, more or less, via a shorter way closer to our start village - Glenorchy. It was only a couple of days (and one more night) and ended up being a very good hike.

The Routeburn really does seem to be one of the finest walks in New Zealand. We set off with a couple of tents and, this time, a gas stove to eat something hot in the evenings (pasta or rice) since we knew that peanut butter sandwiches were not going to be sufficient to keep up the energy level required for a 4 day walk. We started off very smoothly, having reserved all our campsites in advance and reaching are first stop only 2-3 hours after having started off. We didn’t realize we were quite as close as that, but since we had reserved here we stayed and certainly enjoyed one of the best campsites (in terms of location) that I have ever camped at. Just by a stream that run down from the mountains into the glacial valley floor with impressive views of all the peaks around us and in relative solitude, a few people coming a little later (they did know it was quite near the start) to share the magnificent site.

The following day we got some real walking done, crossing our first mountain pass and getting some absolutely stunning views in the process. We were particularly lucky in that the great weather stayed put during these days and we managed to enjoy incredible blue skies and views out into the distance - until the not-so-far-away sea at times, which is not always the case here with the copious amount of rainfall they get during the course of the year. Sand flies were still about, as in the north, but hardly in the number we had come to expect - I suppose the altitude had something to do with that, so we had better sleep at night than usual. On our second evening our campsite was just by the large(ish) Lake MacKenzie which, with the heat, was an open invitation for a good refreshing swim. Swim I did, but as usual in these mountain waters, a minute or two is all that you need to feel your body temperature drop by a few degrees, the refreshing sensation was very welcome though! More Israelis at the campsite that evening - I really must try to learn some Hebrew! - and had fun with them. We also learnt how best to cook our pasta from the packet after a bit of a soupy result the evening before J - this being definitely one of the good moments of the day! The third day was our toughest, by far. We left the Routeburn track behind and joined the Caples one which would lead us back home. With the sun continuing to blaze down we found that the path lead up a steep hill, starting at the foot of the Lake and pretty much taking a straight line up - no question of a easier zig-zag here. In a climb that got me panting and catching my breath quite a few times, not all that usual for me fortunately. It took me a good hour of gruelling walk and lots of sweat to make it to the top and I could only think how difficult it would be for the girls, behind me.

The walk down to the next valley was very agreeable, all rivers here being particularly pristine and untouched. In fact that is something that can be said about the whole track and countryside in this area. The presence of man is so recent and thin on the ground that the whole landscape remains in a kind of "before the fall" state. It is perhaps a little difficult to describe the difference with other forests and mountains precisely, but there is a distinct impression of walking through almost virgin forests, or as close as one can come to that.

I arrived at our final hut/campsite a little after 17:00 and after a wash in the river and some nibbles sat down to rest and wait for the girls. A couple of hours later I was starting to get a little fidgety as there was no sign of them and by 19:30, once everyone seemed to have arrived I did start to get a little worried. Usually I was only ½ - 1 hour ahead of them, so after almost three hours I started to imagine the worse and set off to see if I could find them. After about 25 minutes, with my imagination going through the steps to be taken if I found them with a serious / immobilising injury, I was glad to hear them chirpily coming down the path, pretty exhausted but in a good mood. We had a quick dinner, changed our impressions on a hard day and being in a cabin with few others - including 3 couples from the Czech Republic (?!) - decided to sleep indoors that night rather than test the, much more numerous, sand flies outside. Even after a good sleep we were ready to end, the final 3 hours of the trek to the car park weren’t too bad but we were glad we had arrived at the end. In any case, the Routeburn did prove to be a most impressive track and highly recommendable for anyone travelling to this part of the country. Nevertheless, walking it in the rain or - worse - snow (and autumn and winter do bring both) must be a different adventure altogether and only a rewarding experience for those fit and prepared enough.

From here it was time to go and visit the famous Milford Sound itself, one of the wonders of New Zealand. I was unsure what all the fuss was about but upon arrival I started to get a good idea J We stayed for a couple of nights in Te Anau which is about a 2h drive away from the Sound itself, but very picturesque on the shores of the homonymous lake. The drive is a marvel in itself with many places to stop for great pictures and although we had rather rotten weather on arrival it got better on the way back. We were rather unsure whether we would actually see something at the Sound itself but luckily - and how lucky we have been! - the wind blew the worst of the cloud cover away. We made the best of it and took the last boat doing a tour of the Fiord, for that is what it really is. I suppose the dwarfing effect of the Sound is one of its amazing characteristics. It is very difficult to get an idea of the true scale of the mountains and shear cliff faces that fall into the sea. Mitre Peak alone (the highest and most photographed) is almost 1,700 metres high, looking down on the Sound. All around the vertical sides are over 1,000 metres high and covered with innumerable waterfalls, some hundreds of metres tall - there is no topsoil here to retain the rain as it falls, and falls it does… everything seems miniscule in comparison. Even the largest sea-faring vessel, Queen Elizabeth II and the like, which sometimes come down for a visit look like puny fishing boats in these waters. The human eye, requiring as it does some sort of comparison to judge size properly, cannot manage these immensities terribly well. We enjoyed the boat ride enormously and returned to Te Anau having spent a great day out, fearful as we had been at the outset that the weather would spoil things.

We were now ready to leave the west coast behind and, along the scenic route that goes from Te Anau all the way to Dunedin on the other side of the island, via Riverton, Invercargill and Balclutha amongst others. This was the end of "natural-NZ", the remainder would be cities - and quite a discovery it had been Beaches, treks, glaciers, fjords, all that had been promised and a little more. Without doubt the South Island offers incredible variety in a most tranquil and peaceful setting.

Nelson & Golden Bay

Upon arrival at Nelson I met Laura and Melinda – who would be my traveling companions for just over two weeks visiting most of the South Island. A definitive change to my individual travels in South America (for the most part) but New Zealand is a different cup of tea and no car would have meant no freedom and lots of hassle.

The two sisters were quite brave to let me come for the ride actually. I had only met Laura very briefly in Pucon – back in Chile – and then crossed her again in Bariloche, for about 5 minutes! She would have to be a very good judge of human character to be able to decide whether we could survive each other’s company over the two weeks. Melinda certainly had no idea of who I was and what she was in for. I, for my part, came off with a markedly improved American accent – I like to think – practicing my best sitcom twang on these two girls from Chicago. But lets turn to the first little adventure in the Abel Tasman National Park.

This Park is little more than 60 km from Nelson and offers great activities in a rather reduced size. We went for a combination of sea-kayaking, which was lots of fun, and trekking for a couple of days, beautiful but a little annoying at night thanks to the ubiquitous sand flies. Because the Park is the smallest, and one of the most popular, in New Zealand we did have quite a bit of company at certain spots, it is the summer season after all. The crowds quickly thin out once you are in the midst of things – either kayaking or trekking in our case – but natural bottlenecks, such as embarkation points or camping areas did get a tad busy.

Before actually setting off, our plan was to be taken to the north of the Park by sea and then make are way back, walking for a couple of days and kayaking for one (the middle one). The departure itself was something of a surprise. Because of the low tides here and the difficulty in getting proper moorings for the speed boats, most if not all of these are kept on land, on top of trailers, and then taken out to sea – with the help of tractors… So at the time when tourists are sped away you see a few large boats – at least 15 m long – speeding along the road on smallish trailers giving the impression, almost, of simply traveling on tarmac. In our case, the boat was actually kept at the top of a steep hill and as we slowly descended I thought how silly an accident in these circumstances would look. Try to explain falling off a speed boat as it goes down a hill in the country side. We had no problems, thankfully, but I found it slightly amusing as we sped into the sea behind the tractor and then ‘launched’ into the ocean with a good push .

We began our first day in the Park with a nice trek along the coastline, with great views from the side of the jagged cliffs falling suddenly into the sea and along golden beaches through which the coastal path led us. In fact there were quite a few points where the track and the beach were one making for the amusing image of trekkers fully decked out with their (our!) large packs and walking boots making their way along beaches which rather called for a light swimming costume and some flip flops. In any vase, the track and in general all facilities, were extremely well marked and set out. This would be consistent throughout the South Island in fact and quite a difference to what I had experienced in South America. I suppose a good thing in principle, but it certainly takes away a bit of the feeling of adventure… but I suppose risk is rather frowned upon as a rule in rich countries.

We spent our first night at a small campsite – 30 min. from the main site  - just by the beach with only the stars and moon as company. And the sand flies. They are notorious, as I already pointed out – particularly in the summer – small, about 1/3 of the size of your usual house fly, and you cannot really feel them sting you, but you sure as hell get to know of the bite later on. All three of us woke up with quite a few bites, Laura being slightly spared, and muttering curses at the little pests.

Early on the second day we met our kayak party, mostly people that had come out for the day, and our good-humored instructor.  Not having done much kayaking in the pat, and certainly not in the sea, I was mildly curious of how the experience would turn out. We were sorted out in pairs, I stayed with Laura, Melinda when with another guy, put into our kayaks – big chunky things – and led along to visit some of the more inaccessible parts of the coastline as well as some seal colonies out on Tonga island just off land. Throughout our time we had exceptional weather which made it all the more enjoyable and good luck with the tides, which can make quite a difference to what you manage to see or not. We made a wonderful stop for lunch and got to eat some real (ready made) sandwiches, which made a nice break from our diet mainly based on peanut butter sandwiches, fruits and nuts! Of course, peanut butter sandwiches would later become our classic :-)

We had to do a couple of low-tide crossings on foot  - points which could only be crossed when the sea was at its furthest from the coast – which allowed us to observe some fascinating animal life very particular to these conditions. At times the walk even reminded me distinctly of parts of the Costa Brava (especially the coast around Palafrugell) with high hills falling into the sea, covered with bush and trees, together with the intense blue of the sea below. Very beautiful.

We spent our last night at the Park in a more ‘sophisticated’ camp site with many facilities, plus a few nuisances – you guessed it, the sand flies – which at least had the delicacy to mostly stay away in the heat of the sun. We played cards and relaxed at the end of the day. Some muscles still a little sore from being used on the kayak expedition, and not being quite used to it :-) We were also amazed at the beach, which earlier during the day had been teaming with boats, kayaks and people and then in the evening was so solitary and silent it barely seemed to be the same…

By our last day, we were happy to get some modern comforts as soon as we finished the trek. The car’s A/C was particularly welcome in the heat of the day and you can never underestimate the reviving effect of a good shower after a couple of nights camping!

After that relatively quick visit to the Park we set off, in a more leisurely fashion, to explore the rest of the area all the way along the coast to Pillar Point and even, at a distance,  Farewell Spit. Charming name this last one, thank you to good old Captain Cook for the imagination. It is in fact the northernmost point of the South Island and quiet an isolated part of the country. Following the A Tasman Park it is the turn of the Golden Bay to make an appearance with great calm waters on the shore and a number of pleasant surprises inland, including New Zealand’s largest freshwater springs, the Te Waikoropupu Springs, and other geological curiosities. The only way to get to the Golden Bay is over Takaka Hill, almost 800 m high and the site of a number of filming locations for the Lord of the Rings films. We made our way down to Takaka, the main village of the Bay with a distinct hippy and alternative feel to it, and found a place to rest and sleep after the tough trek. Well, not quite considering it is supposed to be one of the easiest in New Zealand, but we were certainly dirty and in need of some hot food and a cool beer :-)

Around Golden Bay, which obviously lies at the northwestern tip of the South Island, we first went to visit the Pupu Springs (the shortened version of the ones I mentioned before). These are composed of at least 15 or so crystal clear freshwater springs. Apparently due to the particular filtering the water undergoes before getting here, there is only fresher and purer water under the Antarctica ice shelf, so now you know… it was and still is a very sacred place for the Maori so there is no question of any commercial development here, even scuba diving in these incredibly clear, and deep, waters is very much discouraged.  Not that any of this stopped the gold diggers who “discovered” the site 150 years ago but all that is gone now.

We also went up to visit the Rawhiti Cave which is quite impressive and stands towards the top of a steep hill – one of the many that surround the Bay – which in our flip flops and up a steep path maybe was a little risky but we enjoyed the sight once you got up there. We finished the small tour popping into a small Grove with a slight Arthurian feel to it,. Although I suppose a bit more dampness and mist would have helped to get a complete feel :-) In autumn I suppose…

From here it was time to take a long trip down towards the south of the island with our first destination being the glaciers here – at Franz Josef and Fox. It was quite a way around, there being no direct route south from Takeka, the Bay is in effect in a dead-end road, so we spent the night along the coast at a little place called Punakaki, lots of Maori names along here.

At Punakaki itself we spent a quick hour visiting the “pancake rocks” which is a bit of a tourist magnet it seems. They are essentially layers of limestone that through the constant battering of the elements now looks like – they say – an immense stack of pancakes. What is pretty spectacular are the sea caverns below these formations which – when the tide is high – send spumes of brine spouting through large blowholes. We got to catch a few, although the wind and tide were not at their very best. In any case, we quickly sped on to our hostel at Franz Josef, which lies pretty much mid-way down the western coast.

A long drive, of which we would have a couple more, and a better understanding of the large variety of areas that exist on this island, with a mountain range reaching over 3000 metres on our left and in the space of 30-40 km the sea on our right crashing into a wild and beautiful, almost untouched, coastline. Quite a contrast, when we reached a sign warning of penguins crossing the road I knew this wasn’t just anywhere! On the next day we would go and visit the famous glaciers, my second time in little over a month…

The North: Auckland, Napier & Wellington

I left South America stopping in three of its main cities – Rio, Buenos Aires and Santiago in less than 24 hours. My flight out of wonderful Rio on the afternoon of the 14th took me to Buenos Aires, where I spent a great evening out with Ximena and friends of hers and after only a few hours sleep got up early to catch my flight to Santiago that morning. My flight to Auckland would only leave 1/2 hour before midnight, so I had almost a whole day in the airport, but it wasn’t quite as bad as I thought. What was worrying was the fact that that I had been wiped off the flight roaster – I was not on the system – because of a flight I had not turned up for (a long story…) I was suddenly put on the ‘waiting list’ on a flight for which I had waited 7 months to be confirmed ! I was kept waiting for a final decision until the last passenger boarded and, very luckily, was admitted on one of the last two places on the plane. Buckled up and ready to go it slowly dawned on me that this would be goodbye to South America for quite some time and certainly after a most thrilling and enriching period on the continent. The change would be quite drastic, and I would only realize gradually later.

The flight to Auckland was fine, I had great company beside me from an Australian lady from Sydney – a writer and teacher who worked for TV and theatre – who allowed me to formulate a series of half-backed theories and ideas I had coming to me as a result of leaving the continent behind.

The flight took place solely in the dark, all 14 hours of it. We arrived in the early hours of the 17th, having left on the night of the 15th – the 16th of January being a day I never lived thanks to the mysteries of the International Date Line. Traveling west is better for jet-lag, and you constantly get a few hours back, but you pay them all in one go, but I still have credit to get to Europe :-)

Landing in Auckland and arriving at this first world / developed country, English speaking and greatly influenced by British culture – naturally, I had the slightest culture shock I wasn’t ‘home’ obviously, this being the furthest from Western Europe you can probably get, but the standard of living, shops, people, music, services and all the rest were the closest I had seen to Europe, and more specifically the UK, in a long, long time.

My initial plan, if you can call it that, was to zoom south to Wellington and cross the Cook straight to the Southern Island in order to concentrate my time there and just as importantly catch up with Laura, who had been touring the islands with her sister and had the precious car, which I would learn is almost indispensable to visit New Zealand without limiting your route in excess and above all spending fortunes on transport.

In fact, one of the first things that striked me was the cost of living here compared to Argentina or Brasil – Peru and Bolivia obviously being on another scale altogether. You might say that is pretty evident and that First world comes with a significant price-tag attached. My own quality of life would necessarily suffer accordingly. I spent a couple of days in Auckland, which seemed to be rather an enormous suburbia than a city, although it is difficult to judge after such a short time there. Some new clothes – my old ones were falling to pieces at this stage, some of them having left Brussels with me… - and a new second bag, a small one ideal to carry my camera and other stuff. I was now ready to set out for Napier on the East coast of the North Island .

Napier was a very interesting city indeed. Funnily enough I believe I came to know about it first through a documentary I saw in some part of Brasil, on Art Deco. The city was all but destroyed by a massive earthquake (7.9 on the Richter scale) in 1932 and then – in a flourish of energy and renewal, completely rebuilt on the most modern and innovative ideas of the time. In the early 1930s that meant Art Deco in a variety of styles borrowing from developments in the USA, Europe but also with an own native influence from Maori art and traditions in some of the most emblematic buildings. All this has resulted in one of the highest concentrations of Art Deco influenced buildings anywhere and particularly well preserved ones. Unlike other cities where Art Deco flourished (mostly large ones) there has not been a great deal of building in Napier since it was rebuilt and certainly much less pressure to demolish some of these than elsewhere. The result is a fascinating city – at least for me as someone who enjoys this architectural style very much – which is almost a step into the past and can enjoy this style on the other side of the earth; a little bizarre at first, but thoroughly enjoyable.

I spent a couple of days here, before heading south – to the capital, Wellington – which would be my last port on the North Island. I felt I had speeded through the North. It has many spots of great interest, but I realized that without your own transport New Zealand can be a relatively difficult country to visit. As in most first world countries, almost everyone has a car and public transport only really caters for those – young, old, tourists – that for whatever reason are excluded from having their own means of transport, making services generally quite expensive and relatively slow. I would briefly visit the main cities here in the North and had managed to contact Laura to try and meet her in Nelson, on the South Island, relatively close to Wellington and benefit from pooling the car she had rented with her sister.

The trip down to Wellington from Napier was relatively uneventful and in the capital I found a big concentration of tourists and backpackers. At this, and other, hostels the majority of backpackers seemed to be English or German (surprisingly) in their early to mid twenties usually just out of University. I had little time to visit much in Wellington, unfortunately, but it seemed more of a ‘city’ than Auckland did. On the morning of the 20th I was on the ferry to cross the Cook straight and arrive in Picton from where it was a short bus ride to Nelson.