#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...