Carpe Via

Our luck turned on Thursday.

Oh, the day started out good, of course, waking bright and early to the sunshine and chirping birds twittering about the idealistic Wanaka hostel where we has stayed the past two days. By 7am we were on a local hiking trail, mingling with fat and fluffy sheep and winding our way past the little lake and up the manicured path to the breath-taking view of the rolling hills, expansive blue lakes and majestic mountains. I felt at one with Peter Jackson.*

And so it was with light hearts and cheery dispositions that we jumped in the clean and neatly-packed car and headed South down the road.

The first sign of The Turn came at lunch. After searching for over an hour for a spot to stop, we finally settled on a little gravel turn-off next to a bubbling stream. We had set up the table and were just nestling in to our humour and soup when a large dump truck pulled in and began to unload his rocks and rubble onto the pile behind us. Dust and noise wafted over our little table of food. So we packed up quickly and moved on. We were not yet daunted.

Then, as we pulled into the town of Te Anu, we realized that this was perhaps the one time we should have booked ahead. Hostel after hostel was totally full. Occupied. Jam-packed. No room at the inn. By the time we reached the last one on the last page, panic had set in and we were merely going through the motions of asking. Yes, she said, they had one last room. I tell you this, because I want you to understand that the following description includes a large dose of gratitude, gratefulness and relief.

The rooms weren’t just stark, they were shabby and sterile. At the same time. The light was a bare bulb. The bed a set of cheap metal bunks. Two plastic chairs sat beside the window and the light above the sink a mere hole in the wall filled with a clump of plastic wrapping. How far we had fallen.

But it wasn’t the state of the furnishings that got me. The amount of money invested in this place vs the one the night before was not that big of a gap. The experience, though, was night and day.

The first place had several little areas for people to talk, while the lounge room in this one was dominated by a large TV, all chairs turned toward it alone. The last place had colourful plates and cups while this had restaurant-style tableware –plain and durable.

vs

I’m sure there would be frustrations running a hostel, not all of your visitors would be conscientious. But a sign in the kitchen of the first place said, “We don’t ask for a deposit, we didn’t install a video monitor and we don’t have someone looking over your shoulder as you cook; please keep things clean.” While the other one said:

And what a different atmosphere that creates.

This kitchen felt like a stainless-steel assemble line, everyone competing for one of the sinks or unmarked cubbies to store their food (the first place had assigned spaces by room and colourful baskets for the fridge).

Compare this to the night before in the first hostel: I was in the kitchen cooking (stir frying veggies) at the same time as two other people –a French guy who was heating up a large piece of Salmon on the stove next to me and a German woman chopping onions behind us on the island –when I realized that we were all singing along to the same song on the radio: Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. The world united by cheesy music.

Shall I go on? The toilet roll holders in these bathrooms were locked down so nothing could be stolen –but nor did it roll. In the middle of Dad’s shower at night, the lights went out –no switches to be found. The rungs on the bunk were round so that when Dad climbed up to his bed that night, they dug in and hurt his feet. So much so that when he reached over to the wall to turn off the light (no reading lamps), he didn’t bother climbing down to retrieve his pillow that had fallen in the lean and he spent the entire night pillowless. And they were, of course, the most uncomfortable mattresses we had the entire trip.

And this is what I’m interested in – the details that make the difference between good and bad. And I think it comes down to someone caring. A single individual (or small group of people) who genuinely pay attention and care. This is what I mean by personal.

The first place was owned by a young couple who popped in each day to make little adjustments. In the second place, it was just another facility in their travel camp. Another way to make money. And I’m sure they do. But I’d imagine they make less than the idyllic Wanaka oasis. And they don’t have the books of page after page of guest raves to brows thru.

*Kiwi and director of Lord of the Rings

We woke up this morning bright and early and had 3 hikes before 11am. Not bad for an old man and a pregnant woman.

We stayed near Fox Glacier which, of course, is receding. We counted 10 helicopter tours in the hour that we walked up to it –at $330 pp, it seems like a pretty good business.

But the cool thing about the glacier is that it is surrounded by rainforests which are temperate but with the ferns and greenery look just like a tropical forest. It hasn’t been very cool, by the way –ranging from 14 at the lowest to 25 on sunny days.

See lots of these on the road. Think it’s a possum but is bigger and darker than the ones in Australia.

NZ is apparently a dangerous place.

There’s no way my camera could catch how blue this lake was.

Dad does a lot of this.

Tea break

Lunch

(not the best spot we’ve had)

Tonight we found a great hostel overlooking the lake at Wanaka. In fact it’s so good, we’ve decided to stay put a second night.
He’s out fishing right now –I’ve made the rice and am just waiting for him to come back with a big trout.

So the first couple of days has been good but perhaps a bit of an adjustment for both of us. I’m realizing how anal I’ve somehow become –wanting the food in kept just so and needing to drive all the time (which has a bit to do with Dad’s tendency to slow down to look at timber stands when he drives). And Dad wakes up in flurry at 6:15am each day tapping his foot at me impatiently if we’re not on the road by 6:30. He’s clearly not impressed with my pace in the mornings.

But NZ has been gorgeous, majestic, and so very picturesque. It’s somehow both wild and art directed all at the same time. No weeds, no litter, no abandoned cars or stray downed logs (unless they are perfectly placed across a stream and covered with the exact right pantone colour of green).

We’ve fallen into a bit of a routine of hitting the road in the mornings, until around 3 or 4 when we find a place to stay and then Dad heads off to go fishing til dark. Then we eat and read. Quite the adventurers, eh?

(reading lamp)

(ok, so there’s a bit of adventure)

We’ve been staying at hostels, by the way, they have simply been the best set-up for cooking our own food and having a bit of atmosphere. At first we were worried that we’d be too old but there’s a pretty wide range of people and it’s all fairly mellow. I don’t suppose real party animals hit the South Island of NZ.

(this cat belonged to the place in Kaikoura)

(in the stream behind the hostel on the second night)

(sheep)

After a lovely day in Canberra with the Drs. Young…

(here we are on the grassy roof of Australian Parliament)

(Charles proposing some kind of law)

(June surveying the land -the whole town was originally planned from this viewpoint)

(Dick also surveying the land)

…we handed Dad the keys to the car and ran, I mean headed back to Sydney while he spent the week touring NSW –up to the Snowy Mountains and back down the coast.

He brought back pictures of trees:

(cherry orchards in Young with Dick)

More trees.

And then a few trees.

And finally a few pictures of the rain that has suddenly hit since he’s arrived and apparently followed him around the state.