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...
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