#050: Leaving New Zealand

Previously I was just leaving New Plymouth. My night there was the last in a week-long series of single nights in towns between the south of the south island and (almost) the north of the north island.
I chose next to stop at Raglan, a town famous in New Zealand and beyond for its' surf. The hostel there was in a choice location, on top of a hill overlooking the gorgeous bay, and the heavy, heavy rain that had followed me for the preceding 36 hours thankfully drew to a stop as I ascended. Many hostels in New Zealand purport to come 'with a difference' - something to set them apart from the norm. Raglan used this claim justifiably. Dorms here were housed in reclaimed railway carriages, all waste was vetted for recycling and stone ovens were promoted as an alternative to the gas hobs. I spent a couple of nights there, and explored the local bays, spending a chunk of time sat on my behind watching the sun arc across the sky.
I was now into my final week in New Zealand, so headed northeast to the Coromandel Peninsula, home to - reputedly - the best beaches in the country. My stay there didn't disappoint.
On the way, the ipod threw up another (un)happy coincidence as the clear skies of the past three days gave way to an instantaneous downpour, at the same minute as Sudden Weather Change - an Icelandic rock band - rolled around.
I stayed in the town of Whitianga, at my final new hostel of the sabbatical, at what proved to be quite possibly the best hostel of the sabbatical. The dorms were more like a series of small apartments. Mine had a double room and a shared room for three (a single and a bunk) but, for two of my three nights, I was the only person in it. The dorm was completed with an obligatory bathroom, a kitchen/diner/ lounge, and a rather splendid balcony with views over the bay on the other side of the road. Thirteen pounds a night an' all. Very Highly Recommended.
I dedicated my time in Whitianga to the amazing local beaches and to some swimming in the south Pacific, stopping first in Hahei where I walked along the coast to Cathedral Cove, a much-lauded bay half an hour on foot from any public roads. It features a great arched rock tunnel (as big as a hall), and some rather massive rock formations, giving it its' name. The weather - for the two days I was in the area - was unbelievably good, and the skies remained clear overnight, when the vast array of the night sky appeared; the milky way a great band of white, halving the visible universe.
I also spent a day further north, at Otama and Opito bays - accessible only via a dirt track - doing little more than reading, eating and lying down, with a smidgen of dipping my toes. Despite it being a Sunday in Summer, I had about a mile of bay entirely to myself - a most indulgent afternoon to underline a most indulgent five weeks.

Below you can find my photographic attempts from round New Zealand. As ever, I'll stick 'em on The Facebook as well, as I don't fully trust the orientation of photobucket.

So now to the final leg of this year of journeying: Sierra Leone. As I walked away from dropping the car off, the excitement levels ratcheted up a notch. I have a day and a bit in Auckland to complete my preparations for a month living and working with a tribe on a beach in West Africa. I'm not expecting to have much, if anything, in the way of internet whilst I am there, so this might be the last update for a while. However, for those of you who are interested in what I've gotten myself in to, or what community tourism actually is, I'd recommend having a browse of the website here: http://sierraleone.TribeWanted.com/

Right then. I'm off to start a course of anti-malarials before psyching myself up for 48 hours of flying, via Bangkok and Nairobi.

I'll leave you with this exciting little snippet, lifted from the intro pack the guys in Sierra Leone sent me: "We suggest swimming at your own risk in the lagoon, at night it’s home to some crocodiles, but we rarely see them during the day..."

#049: A gusty hut

The recent theme continues apace or, rather, quite slowly, and with utmost leisure.

As the year draws to its' conclusion - have 46 weeks really already elapsed? - the question of 'what next' poses itself to me with some regularity. Frequent visitors may recall I had been listing potential future endeavours in the blog. Although that feature fell from the postings on this page, I have still recorded ideas as I have gone about my way. There are a handful of items on the list which I need to investigate more fully, and a couple of wee written projects to pull together as a result of the ample me-time afforded these past four or five months.
The prospect of returning to sit behind a desk is daunting after all this time, but the fates have been kind in moving my Tribewanted experience to the end of the year; a degree of effort in amongst the beach-sitting, the shallows-snorkeling, the lagoon-swimming and the hammock-swinging to prepare me again for the world of work.

But, of course, that is still a week away, and I have been continuing my journey around New Zealand.

From Te Anau I turned east and zig-zagged my way back up the south island. The town of Dunedin lies at the mainland-end of the Otago Peninsula, a quite beautiful stretch of land jutting out into the south Pacific at the southern end of the south island. It is home to some great wildlife, and I took myself to Sandfly Bay to see if I could spot any. The wind was ferocious, sandblasting all who ventured along the wide beach. Seals and sea lions were dotted along the sand as I made my way to the far end of the bay and the viewing hide ensconced there. What I witnessed next was worthy of an A Question Of Sport 'What Happened Next?' poser. Except without the sport. And I just so happened to have the video recording at the time. Click here to have a look.
Take note Attenborough, D.
Of course, seals and sea lions are nothing special. What I really hoped to spot was...penguins. And, after three hours sitting in a gusty hut, they started to come ashore. Not in any great numbers, mind (some rather disrespectful fellow tourists thought it permissible to venture down the dunes and onto the shore, despite plenty of signs pleading visitors to keep off the beach, as it could easily scare the penguins off), and too far away to clearly commit to digital film, but I've now seen Yellow-eyed Penguins in the wild!
Next day I headed back inland, to the eastern edge of the Southern Alps, and the village of Lake Tekapo. Another settlement in a glorious location, the country's highest peak, Mount Cook, in view across the cool waters; New Zealand really does have magical locations in spades. The whole way around the south island has featured wondrous vistas and spectacular views.
I spend an evening in Christchurch next. The whole of the centre of the city is closed off, like a set from some apocalyptic film. There were still cars, with roofs and bonnets smashed by falling masonry, behind the line of fencing. The traffic lights around the perimeter blinked amber incessantly.
Up the coast for my final night on the south island, I stay in the coastal town of Kaikoura. It sits on a bay and is ringed by tall mountains, reportedly snow-capped at cooler times of the year. The misty morning view out my window is befitting of my month touring the country.

Now is probably as good a time as any to ask if a week-long diet of vegetable curry is a good idea or not?

And so, up the remainder of the coast to the town of Picton, back amongst the sounds, to catch the ferry. The crossing is at a much more respectable hour, and I arrive at the city centre hostel in the late afternoon, in good time to check out the arthouse cinema over the road. The listings, as with much of the world, are somewhat behind the US so, having treated myself to what felt like exclusive screenings back in LA, I have to make do with a repeat viewing. I plumb for the Tomas Alfredson British ensemble of Tinker, Tailor, ... and, with some determination, keep track of events right the way through this time. I can reveal it does actually make sense. And the cinema wasn't to be sniffed at either: plush armchairs and sofas, and food and drinks delivered to your seat in the auditorium.
I spend the next couple of days traversing the west coast of the north island; first to Wanganui, where the hostel is in a grand old town house, not unlike those in the American south, and then on to New Plymouth, in some of the heaviest rain I have experienced all year.
Less than a week remains before I jet onwards once more. Time really is going quickly. By all reports I will be lacking in the internet upon the beach in Sierra Leone, certainly against the comparative luxury of wifi in the US and New Zealand, so I hope to publish one more installment, a precursor, before I am cast adrift...

#048: Into the S's

So I've gone from thinking I've been being plain lazy to thinking of this jaunt around New Zealand as something of a holiday - a holiday within a holiday. Insufferable am I not.
I've continued the recent theme by spending a day here, a couple there, and generally feeling in absolutely no rush. Nigh on five months since taking off from Gatwick, the moving around, looking at the scenery and hanging out with some dinner now feels normal. Just normal. I fear the second day of April this year will be something of a rude awakening. For now, though, think of me as quite contented. As if I could be anything else.

A couple of nights in the village of Franz Josef Glacier. Any guesses what I saw there? The walk up to the ice was straight up the middle of the valley formed by the glacier many years before, only mildly disconcerting at this time of year, and no unexpected downpours occurred to wash me away. The same day I checked out Fox Glacier as well, slightly smaller but no less impressive. The route to the lookout point crossed a number of streams which involved some creative rock-hopping to avoid getting wet feet or worse - these glacial runoffs don't half move quick.
The drive south, despite being through the Southern Alps, at times reminded me of the southern States of the US, swamp-like copses lining the road. I stayed a night in Wanaka, a beautiful little town on the shores of its' namesake lake, with the mountains encircling - somewhere I could well imagine returning to.
Queenstown came next - the Adventure Capital of the World. You want to jump off something, you name it, as long as you've got a few hundred bucks in your back pocket. The most extreme I got was a small trek around the town of Glenorchy where I sat admiring the views offered by the lagoon there. The majority of patrons in the Queenstown hostel seemed to like to keep themselves to themselves, but I hooked up with David and Jenny, an ex-pat (based in Perth) and a teacher-on-a-break respectively, for a thoroughly English night out with a pub and with some pints.

Some three and a half months ago now, in San Francisco, I decided to press [play all] on my ipod, and am still only two-thirds of the way through, having soundtracked every journey portion of the trip with the device. I've now hit the somewhat bulbous 's' section. Fortunately, for the whole world I'm sure, fate decided I should listen to my sizable Saturday Looks Good To Me collection on a Saturday.

It is in Te Anau, my next stop, far from the confines of heavy industry and populous, in the remotest corner of this staunchly antinuclear country - a spot that couldn't feel fresher if it tried - that I find a couple of tourists wearing surgical-style face masks. What a world we live in where individual paranoia, driven by a fear of the pollutants of the developed world coupled with media scaremongering, leads people to feel at risk, here.
Unless, of course, I've missed news of the latest pandemic sweeping Southland. In which case, wish me luck.
I'm here for three nights - a relative rest at the southern apex of the trip. I head to the much vaunted Milford Sound, on the drive to which the road emerges onto Egilton valley, what looks to be an ancient glacial valley with a sweeping flat plain at its' centre, flanked by steep-rising mountains on each side. Further investigation at Mirror Lakes reveals this is a river valley, wide and flat, the lakes those staples of GCSE geography: ox-bows.
Milford Sound, it transpires, is actually a fjord out onto the sea, the water-filled valleys resulting from ice age glaciers, whereas sounds occur from weathering and erosion. I find myself an affordable cruise and take to the waters where I am treated to some wind and cliffs, a number of seals and a couple of waterfalls. The weather that day was gorgeous. Apparently if you are lucky enough to be there on a rainy day the floodgates open and hundreds of temporary waterfalls appear an hour either side of the rainfall. It's a beautiful place and well worth a visit, if only for the optical illusions generated by the sheer scales on view (one mountain rises a whole mile vertically straight out of the sea).
It's the middle of the working week (and kids are back in school after their summer holidays) so I spend the next day driving around on the edge of fjordland. I find a side-road with views of the Dead Marshes (good spot for lunch) and fill my afternoon by walking to a deserted shore at the southern end of Lake Te Anau, the opposite banks lined with mountains. It's another scorcher so I treat myself to a cheeky swim.

I'm compelled to close this edition talking about a film, seeing as awards season is in full swing. A film I watched this week.
The film is Tyrannosaur, and is by a guy called Paddy Considine. He is more recognisable as the person in front of the camera (Tyrannosaur is his first feature). He was one of the two 'Andies' in Hot Fuzz and played the lead in Shane Meadows' desperately exceptional Dead Man's Shoes (these days you might more readily know of Shane Meadows as the man behind the This Is England TV series', rather than his features).
Not for the faint of heart, Tyrannosaur is a remarkable film, featuring a starring turn from another familiar face: Olivia Colman. Previously noted for roles in popular comedy series (see Sophie in Peep Show or the Mrs. to Tom Hollander's Mr. Rev), she gives a towering performance, a straight performance, in a wholly uncompromising film: Oscar-worthy without a shadow of a doubt. She is exceptional.
If only Oscars were awarded for brilliant performances and brilliant films...