Chapter 2 - July (Part One)
Well, July, it’s been emotional. Actually, wait. Is emotional the right word? Maybe the word frustrating would be more appropriate. Or perhaps, agonising? I could even coin the phrase ‘learning curve’ if i’m feeling particularly evaluative. Needless to say, July has been unusual. Yeah, let’s go with unusual. For certain though, we won’t mind seeing the back of it. In a month that started with us feeling the cosy ambiance of house sitting on the west coast of New Zealand, we have spiralled down the country leaving some heartwarming scenarios yet often devastating eventualities in our wake. Indeed, it has been tough above all else. However, in the words of Wayne Campbell, let me bring you up to speed.
We started the month as we ended the last - house sitting. See, we signed up to a house sitting website months before we came out to New Zealand and got a bit of reputation under our belt. I used my questionable video editing skills to make a stroll in the forest with myself, Amelia and Eddie the dog seem like a pleasant and fruitful experience. More often then not, a blatant contrast.
Anyhow, after a few cuts and renders, a handful of photos and a corny biography written, we managed to score ourselves some credible interest prior to coming out. This led us to a small town on the west coast of the North Island called Kawhia (pronounced Caf-ee-uh, apparently) where we would be looking after three small dogs for three weeks. This was fantastic given that it would provide a place for us to find our feet whilst letting Amelia loose with mans best friend. Ideal. As it happens, the three weeks flew by. I mentioned in the previous blog about some of the stuff we did up until the end of the month and, while we admittedly didn't do a great deal more, there were a few outings and experiences thrown in there.
So, where to begin. Ah, yes. Anne set sail on an early Wednesday morning, before the sun had even crept over the rolling hills. Just ourselves, the dogs and the ducks. We didn't really know what to do with ourselves if truth be told. We did our utmost to turn a blind eye to mans 21st century provisions but with only a shelf full of books and a budget in the back of our minds, we had little choice in matter. After all, we were there to tend to a ladies livestock, not to have a jolly up. Consequently, our routine became slightly monotonous. We were well stocked up on provisions, cheap pasta and even cheaper garlic bread galore. Actually, I tell you what, can we take a minute to appreciate this countries garlic bread. There’s not a lot of local delicacies that I’ve been taken back by, you know. The noodles are controversial and the tim tams are pleasant. The garlic bread though. Man. It’s just proper spongey and thoroughly smeared. A thumbs up from me. Well done.
Anyway, we found ourselves with little excuse to leave the house, besides ensuring the ducks and chickens were appropriately fed and quenched during the allotted periods of the day. We had to conquer a 45 minute voyage to Te Awamutu (nearest town) over bending and dipping countryside which made for pleasant viewing but regular petrol stops. Normally the more altitude we conquered the worse the visibility got which is not ideal for a man with the eyesight as poor as my own. We made a day of visiting Waitomo (as mentioned in the June blog) and had our sighs set on a few more places around the area following the satisfaction it gave us. The dogs didn't take too kindly to us going out, mind you. That being said, they didn't take too kindly to most things. They were like little guardians of the house, confronting and barking at any little thing that intruded on their land. Don't get me wrong, they couldn't hurt a fly - they were harmless. Naturally, myself and Amelia gave them each their own human personality and character traits, sighting Candy the leader of the pack. She would always let out a humorous rallying call whenever she sensed a breach of security and the other two would could scurrying to her aid. Generally speaking, they had their moments - good and bad. I haven't particularly grown up in a household with pets whereas Amelia has throughout her life, so she could compare the experience with them better than myself. I found them pretty pleasant company though!
Moving on from the hound dogs, July was plodding along. We ventured down to Bridal Veil Falls, located an hour and a bit down the road. When we would visit a waterfall, I would do my utmost to avoid seeing a picture of it beforehand - didn't want to ruin the illusion and all that. Bridal Veil Falls however appears to be one of the countries poster boys, so it was quite hard. The sight was something to behold though and the scale of it was nothing short of remarkable. Mother nature is certainly a colossus of a women. We spent a good hour or so basking at the mercy of it before heading home.
A few weeks later, and now in the company of Annes daughter, Hannah, who was joining us for a week, we took a merry trip to Mt Pirongia. The mountain is not as illustrious in comparison to its sisters but is a nice little local monument and I was fully intend on scaling the bastard from top to toe. Amelia, my footwear and the weather had other ideas though. We settle for a bleak and boggy walk through some rainforest to a cave which was dastardly underwhelming yet spouted the geologist within me. It was at this point that the car was starting to get uncomfortable creaky and stiff too. Father Wells was normally the man for the job but given that he was only 11,659 miles away I had to roll my sleeves up and pretend to know what I was doing. Sure enough I found that the power steering fluid was nearly as non-existent as my social life and fortunately found some tucked away at the back of the car. One quick Google tutorial and wham, bam, thank you Sam(wise) we were tearing up the streets once more. I hardly performed rocket science but that smidge of independence did a lot for more as I’m usually a right spoon.
I was naturally keeping an eye on the Lions Tour which was taking place in New Zealand. To some people, being out here while it was going on, from a British standpoint, was probably a really big deal. I wasn't going to bother pretending I gave a monkeys though. Sure, I kept an eye on it and was rooting for the Lions, but I wasn’t going to start going mental and was certainly not going out of my way to watch the matches at the local sailing club. The media spotlight and the local impetus was so intense that it felt like it dragged on for ages, I was kind of glad to see the back of it to be honest. This country is renown for going borderline crazy for the sport, mind you, I can count the amount of rugby fields I’ve seen nationwide on two hands and only once have I actually noticed a game taking place. I think that i’ve seen more football pitches which is odd because the All Whites are atrocious. Call me a sceptic, but I have a conspiracy theory or two about how they can be so bloody good at the sport without the whippersnappers even playing it. Watch this space.
Enough of me going slightly mental. Our time in Kawhia was fizzling out. Liverpool had kickstarted preseason so I managed to watch a few games at the expense of some early starts. Up the Reds. I managed to work my way through both seasons of Fawlty Towers which we watched humorously whilst we ate our pasta, baked in the evening with whatever protein we could get our hands on. Hannah had now left after what was a very quiet week on the conversation front. We had started taking the dogs down to a local spot called ocean beach which I might have touched on in the last blog. They weren’t all too familiar going there and one of them in particular certainly didn't like the idea of water touching her. We tended to go down there to watch the sunsets and dig (unsuccessfully) for the natural hot water pools. We were actually in the presence of some people who found some success so we did dip our feet in once they’d buggered off. We assumed that the word ‘hot’ pools was a bit farfetched and that, despite the local urban legends, they were only going to be slightly warmer than the beach water itself. No word of a lie, they were bath water hot. It was pretty odd but at the same time pretty satisfactory.
Our time limped to an end. The bags were packed and provisions ready for take off. While I have your undying attention, I wanted to write about the community of Kawhia as a whole. Whilst we didn't properly interject our heart and souls into the some 350 people living there, I personally found everyone and everything pretty pleasant. They cared about their sailing, kept each and everyone in town well informed as to the goings on and served up a pretty dandy fish and chips on the rare occasion that the shop was open. We ventured down to the Sailing Club for somewhat of a ‘social gathering’ prior to Anne leaving, much to the tame hostility of about eight locals. The lady who worked their spoke briefly to us and stressed that their isolated lifestyle was the ‘real’ New Zealand. You know what, I liked that. I like the fact that they weren’t behaving like some indigenous tribe and knew full well that there is a more prominent lifestyle beyond their boarders. They obviously know that their is a general and perhaps unrealistic perception of the country shared by tourists before they come out. The very fact she, and the few others in attendance, were almost willing to poke fun at themselves for being slightly boring in comparison to what the country markets itself on was music to my ears. It’s not as if the town is a gateway for the retiring to see out the end of their days either, it’s a fully fledged community with education and trade, children and grandparents. I don’t know why, but I thought it was nice. We got comfortable and in hindsight probably a bit too comfortable. Nonetheless, we loaded the car, said our farewells and headed for the hills. Literally.
On our way out of Waikato, we stopped off at a charity shop hoping to gear up the car with a few more essentials. The little old lady in the store couldn't quite comprehend the fact we were going to live out of there and was tossing discount old toot at us, left right and a centre. Despite her best attempts to sell us some of the countries most dated and unfashionable clobber, we managed to get out with just a single bag full of provisions. Bless them, though. The lady at the till was just like, ‘Just give us $10 for the lot’ which we timidly accepted. Jackpot.
Perhaps one of our biggest downfalls on this trip, even to this day, is our lack of a plan. Some people thrive in the spontaneity. Us, well, probably not so. Regardless, I was all set to puff out my chest and get through it. We realised that we needed to crash test what is would be like sleeping in the car so we were intent on staying at a campsite sooner rather than later. The beauty of New Zealand for people stupid enough to be homeless is the amount of campsites sprinkled around. They even had a bloody phone app that allows you to filter your desired site by price and such. I promptly downloaded this (called Rankers, if you’re interested) and we managed to thrash out a plan A. We embarked on Tongario National Park which we were warned by the locals would be ‘slushy’. Bloody whimps.
It was four or so hours southwards from Kawhia so we broke the trip up with a couple of stop offs. My primary objective was to see Tawhia Falls, otherwise known as Gollums Pool. The falls strike a likeness to the Forbidden Pool that Gollum eats a fish in during the Two Towers, but it isn't actually the same one. The waterfall seen in the film was actually made in a studio and shot there I’m led to believe. My research is limited, go easy on me. Overall it was a dandy experience. Tongario was misty and wet, slippery and snowy - the bloody forecasters were right.
Having decided upon our free campsite for the night we took the long road out of the national park and into the wild. Well, not that extreme. But off the beaten track. Some of the roads that we had to take were probably amongst the most quaint and picturesque. Bloody lovely, I tell you. The actual roads themselves were a contraction of grit and gravel, causing seemingly invisible but potentially long term damage to the Honda. We were leaving a fair bit of dust in our wake but eventually made it to our first campsite. It was large. Large and empty. Ruatiti Gorge it was called, if you’re interested. It gave us a chance to crash test all our gadgets as gizmos. We whipped up some pasta and began to feel the cold of winter on our cheeks. I set the plastic spatula on fire and Amelia thought it would be a good idea to stick her thumb in the bubbling sludge. Whereas her wound was quite legitimate, mine was largely psychological.
The nights were young and the cold prompt. I think we had our heads down by about 5.30 that evening. To be honest, I don’t recall it all that much. It was probably more uncomfortable as it was chilly, but we got through it. The car, as you would expect, had pretty bad condensation which was a big old headache to tame. We bided our time, took in the surroundings one final time and ran away to try and find some 3G like the uncultured swines we are.
I just want to inject slightly and veer off on a different tangent. I’ve often bashed these sleazy, backpacking hipsters for growing their hair long and letting their big old beards grow out while travelling around. I was absolutely certain that it was a fashion accessory which they use to give off the impression that they have been hacking through rainforest shrubs with a machete for the last two years. They essentially look like scruffy bastards but have an element of controlled, neatness to them. But, I tell you what. You can’t be vein out here, man. I’m not suggesting that in the comfort of my surroundings i’m a good looking person, however I am victim to glancing in the mirror probably too often. Now though, Christ, you should see the state of me. I’m not paying some misfit to cut my barnet for about $50, to hell with that. My beard looks like a confused, ginger portrait of sadness and sorrow, striking a patchy resemblance to some of natures most bizarre crop circles. I understand why some people just say ‘stuff it’ and let nature take its course. I’m obviously still maintaining societies basic hygienic standards. All I’m saying is that I’ve essentially stopped caring about how I look and have come out the other end looking even more like Linguini from the film Ratatouille but with a frizzy old bit of stubble.
Right, back to the story.
The campsite was in the past and we were all set to head further south. Oh, did I forget to mention that we were intent on getting the ferry to the south island? Yeah, that’s pretty important. We were doing that. In fact, it was all booked. We had two more nights in between setting sail so a few more nights camping was on the cards.
We stopped off at a campsite just outside of Wellington near a place called Upper Hut. Without any coincidence whatsoever and entirely on purpose it was also the place they filmed loads of scenes from Rivendell during LOTR and The Hobbit. Once again the place was mahoosive but, once agin, the place was also…empty. Oh well. We delved into some noodles and tried hunting down lord Elrond immediately. Sure enough, everything was signposted and we found the locations without many problems. It was naturally pretty overgrown and basically unrecognisable but pretty cool regardless. We took a couple of snaps but were intent on returning the next day to step it up a gear. Until. Oh boy, until. (BELOW: TAWHIA FALLS or THE FORBIDDEN POOL)
They say that some of the wonders of travelling are the people you meet. My word, do the cliches fail. We were hammered with rain all night and didn't kip well at all. Upon our morning routine, we were paid a visit not once, but twice, by a middle aged Kiwi man who we got to know all too well. Perching his van annoying close to ours, we thought to ourselves, ‘Why has this plum got the freedom of the campsite but has pulled up next to us?’
I assume, going off our conversation, he makes a habit of it. His first comment was a bleak regard about the weather to which he moved on instantaneously. Just a matter of minutes later, he returned - this time prepared to lay his troublesome life story upon us. He began with some formalities before moving on to his drug addiction, sighting it as the reason he was now a permanent resident in said campsite and why his wife and kids shun him. Fair enough. People have drug problems, I suppose. He then proceeded to let us know that he was currently high on drugs and the particular drug he was injecting into himself made him uncontrollably violent and oblivious to what he was doing. Um. Alarm bells.
Call us harsh judges of character but this Kiwi fella, who struck a likeness somewhere between Stone Cold Steve Austin and the hardest biker dude you can imagine, was frightening. Eying up the contents of the car too obviously for his own good while reciting his history of violence and robbery was probably the last straw. My window was down while the deluge poured on. My side of the car was getting soaked but I was too scared to bun the man off, God damn it. Sure enough, I let it slip that we were intent on remaining here for one more night and, probably rubbing his hands in glee, he set off for a ‘nap’. Absolute looney.
Shellshocked and prepared to swim home to England, we knew we had to find somewhere else to stay. Anywhere! We buckled up and I went to start the ignition. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The engine itself wasn't actually running when I wound the windows down to speak to the old git so the battery life drained. Flat as my hopes and dreams. Goodness gracious me. Not taking too kindly to the idea of being brutally murdered by a middle aged smack head we did what all good samaritans do - we called my Mum and Dad. This wasn't because of some elementary rule whereby they would hopefully give the bad man a good telling off. Dad works at a garage so I was hoping for some bloody good car advice from the old chap. He told me what I had assumed so we were forced to fork out $60 for somebody to come and jump start the car. I can assure thee, it was the quickest buck he must have made in his life, 4 seconds work, tops. Money grabbing bastards, eh. We were traumatised but we were up and running. The fact that we called my folks for help niggled at me a little bit. We are literally on the other side of the world and theres nothing they can do about most situations! This trip was meant to be about scoring some maturity and independence. Perhaps we just panicked a little so resorted to an easy way out and that seems to be my problem in life. It was by and large our worst day, even more so when Amelia told me that Chester Bennington, the lead singer of Linkin Park, had just passed away. I won’t claim to be one of the bands most die hard fans, but I’ve listened to them for years and was particularly a big fan of Chester’s vocal capabilities. It was probably one of the biggest ‘celebrity’ deaths that has legitimately rocked me too my core. I genuinely didn't want it to be true because of the presence that he’s had on my life in recent years.
Anyway, we lacked direction but followed the signs to Wellington as were weren't that far way. Sure enough, we rolled into the windy capital city and made straight for refuge. Intent on putting the morning that we had behind us, we went to the Weta Cave and had a McDonalds. The classic cure for any trauma. The Weta Cave is the hub for all things Weta, a company that basically makes a fair deal of the weaponry and props for films. Given its relationship with Sir Peter Jackson and the LOTR franchise, I was like a kid in a candy shop. The sculptors, the merchandise and memorabilia is sensational and it all has a price. Well, most of it. An expensive price n’all. Amelia constantly pestered me about what I wanted to buy from there but I got way too overwhelmed. There is a range of finely crafted goods that is too exciting too be true and I wanted to just take everything home with me. It’s like an all or nothing scenario. It took some patience but we settled on a few things that will prove dandy little additions to my collection.
We only had one night to kill and after extensive research and a great deal of pondering we settled on an Air BnB. Before making our way there I thought we could scurry over to Mt. Victoria to scout out yet another Lord of the Rings filming location. Jesus, I’m sad. I knew exactly what scene it was I was seeking but couldn't pinpoint or suss out where it was. The conditions were getting a tad rowdy and the afternoon late so we threw in the towel and left for our accommodation. We made a point of trying to snuff out where Peter Jackson lived as well given that we read a disgusting rumour that it was close to where we were. We thought we narrowed it down to a couple of roaring houses atop the mountains but we were probably miles off.
It was a bendy old voyage but we made it to our bed for the night, low-key buzzing with what Amelia had just purchased. We were taken back with how incredible the room was and mortified as to what the rest of the geezers house must have looked like. We soaked in the spa bath and recharged our batteries, literally and mentally, for an early start the next morning. It was a contrast as clear as black and white from the morning we had endured compared to this evening of semi-luxury.
I’m usually pretty sceptical of capital cities and don’t take well to their hustle and bustle. I hate treading on peoples toes, the sight of briefcases and suits. Wellington has seemed different though, both times I’ve been there - I certainly prefer it to Auckland. There’s a certain aspect of comfort to it whilst it’s probably not the most blessed with regards to history and the modern day demands of the worlds leading cities. Oh well, I liked it.
Fully refreshed and ready for the next step in our adventure, we prayed to the Gods of car batteries and steering wheels whilst I tried to start the engine. A couple of coughs and splutters but it got going - fabulous. The early morning was still dark and I DETEST driving in the dark. Be that down to my eyes or the poor velocity of my headlights, I hate it. The drive to the ferry was somewhat routine while the weekend traffic was slowly begging to morph. Sometimes, I just have to sit back and laugh at how bad of a night driver I am. If we didn’t make it there unscathed then I wouldn't be writing this though, would I?
At last, we were on the ferry and could relax for the best part of three hours whilst we floated merrily from north to south. It was a windy old day and boy did we feel it. I never really affiliated myself with sea sickness but holy Poseidon, I was churning. Woozy and praying to be put at ease, the sea began to behave itself after about two hours. Thank Christ. The view of the islands as we closed in on Picton was extraordinary and a preview of what was about to come while on the south island. We sighted a free campsite just outside of town as the best possible place to perch on our first night. Instantly, the sheer magnitude of the hills and mountains was captivating us. Honestly, it is seismic. I can’t take any pictures or describe to you how small it makes you feel when nature is that colossal, it’s a truly unique feeling. Wait. I’m starting to sound like one of those #wanderlust fanatics. Gross. Anyway, the second half of our quest was about to begin…
