Halle-flippin-lujah! It is finally all booked, well as near as damn it. Over the last three years I have intermittently asked numerous travel agents to organise this trip for me and they have all spectacularly failed. Now I know why. It was a pain to put together. What with no airline doing the whole trip, flights that only go some days of the week, tours that only start on certain dates, time differences that make it very difficult to speak with agents, airlines and hotels, different companies operating the cruise and the tours, different airlines involved, needing to leave spare time so as not to miss cruise or tour start dates or flights and, to cap it all, crossing the international dateline twice so that going one way you arrive on the day before you left but, coming the other day, you have to add a day on, I couldn't have made it much more difficult if I had tried. Well, I was thinking of doing a stopover in Melbourne for a few days on the way home, but I just ran out of steam. I have spent days and days myself trying to tie all the bits together and it has just finally coalesced now, with only a week to go, and after I have been on my iPad and phone since noon yesterday non-stop except for a brief interlude yesterday evening. It is now 4.55 a.m. However, my flights from Dubai to New Zealand return and flights Auckland, Papeete, Christchurch are booked. My hotel in Tahiti pre-cruise is booked (and I just need to add a couple of extra nights where it wouldn't all stitch together seamlessly). My cruise around French Polynesia is booked. My tour of New Zealand is booked, including both North and South Islands with a sea crossing between the two, a cruise on Milford Sound and a trip on the scenic alpine railway.
Phew. I feel like I should be awarded some sort of IATA qualification for managing this. But before I apply for one, I had better see if a friend will be kind enough to look over my reservations for me and double-check that I haven't completely screwed something up!
Time for bed, and tomorrow (well, later today) I can start getting excited about my holiday
Here we go!!
Now 17 hours since I left the house and I 'm ensconced in a very nice Emirates lounge in Melbourne, having had to disembark unexpectedly for a one-hour transit while they clean the plane. The flight didn't seem that long as I watched the entire trilogy of the Hobbit. Thought that since Hobbiton is on my itinerary for New Zealand, I should watch the film first. So, an hour here, then I think it's only a few hours to Auckland. A three stop there and then it's onto the final leg to Tahiti, which is about five and a half hours I think. Good job I'm not in a rush
Franz Josef, NZ.
Omarama to Dunedin. We left the sleepy village of Omarama before it was light, but after the day's drizzle had begun. Our road followed a string of lakes with a number of hydro-electric power stations: Lake Benmore, Lake Aviemore, Lake Waitaki. The scenery was of snow-capped mountains, pine forest and rolling green plains. Huge emerald emptiness. Empty roads and empty intermittent villages. An un-peopled landscape. Fields of sheep, cattle, deer and elk. Empty ungrazed fields. Some of the sheep stations and farms we passed were immense. In Otemata we passed a sheep station of some two hundred thousand acres. Imagine mounting your horse and losing yourself in those rolling hills and plains.
After lake Waitaki, our path slowly diverged from the river as the valley widened. On we went through wide open vistas, passing occasional villages like Kurow and Duntroon. The sun came out and the vastness of the blue skies gave a sense that we were almost overdosing on ozone. It's incredible how empty this beautiful countryside is. Imagine how lovely Britain must have been before it became an over-populated, over-crowded rock, suffocating under a seething mass of disparate humanity.
The rich alluvial planes had at one time been filled with stone fruit orchards. Peaches, nectarines, plums and cherries grew here. Great windbreaks of poplars were planted to protect the orchards. But the fruit was not profitable enough and so the land reverted to animal pastures. The rows of poplars remain, like sentries guarding deserted battlegrounds. Many of the fields were grazed by deer and elk. The animals are grown for venison exported to Germany and Asia and the velvet, harvested from their antlers, goes to the Chinese for their herbal lotions and potions.
The dark green forests of Wilding Pine (such an evocative and romantic name) which we had seen in the higher lands of the Mount Cook National Park had given way to deciduous woodland and the autumn sun gleamed from the orange and gold raiment’s of the oaks and beech in a stunning display of regal brocade. Only the poplars had shed their leaves already and their bare branches contrasted blackly with the green and gold, as if they were the burnt and charred trunks remaining after a forest fire. Lowry paintings of trees.
At the end of the valley, we washed up on the pacific coast in a small town called Oamaru. This was an idiosyncratic spot with a splendid old wooden railway station (reminiscent of films of children leaving home for the countryside during the World War) and a number of charming old limestone buildings. Bookbinders, Union Stores and several quirky stores made interesting browsing for a short stop. Still the place was empty, much like a Welsh hillside village on a wet Sunday afternoon. Where are all the people? We were the only passers-by trudging the wet pavements.
We returned to our coach as the afternoon rain settled in. We followed the coast road, passing through Moeraki, Palmerston and Waikouaiti. At Blueskin Bay, black swan bobbed near the shore.
Finally, around lunchtime, we pulled into Dunedin, our stopping place for the night. This was a university town and finally there were signs of life. Especially with the cold and the rain, the place reminded me of a Northern seaside town in England. Fish and chips and pies were on offer when I went into the Wharf Hotel for lunch. This was not as trashy as Blackpool, but not quite as upmarket as Lytham St Anne's. The town has everything: hospital, university, dental college, brewery, chocolate factory, numerous coffee shops and bars and shops, plus (according to the Guinness Book of Records) the steepest street in the world.
Various tours were on offer here. I had declined the trips to the brewery and to the chocolate factory, both of which were surprisingly popular. There was also a scenic rail journey on offer, but I had opted instead for a Monarch wildlife cruise with an extension to see the endangered yellow-eyed penguins. I wondered whether to cancel due to the miserable weather, but thought I'd probably be happier on a boat rather than off one.
It was cold and pouring with rain when we arrived at the Monarch jetty in Dunedin Harbour. We were issued with wet weather gear and good binoculars and climbed aboard a converted 53' fishing boat. Our skipper, Buddy, kept up an informative commentary as we set off through the mizzle in the harbour. It was bitterly cold and the lashing rain drove me inside to a small central cabin where I huddled over a fan heater that gave out a little warmth, and warmed my hands around a mug of tea. Buddy got excited when he saw a New Zealand sea-lion. A rare sighting within the harbour, he said, perhaps brought about by the stormy weather. I went on deck to watch the sea-lion, before retreating to the meagre warmth of the cabin. I popped out again when Buddy pointed out shags, black swan and albatross. Dunedin harbour is situated at the end of a long channel which runs for some 19 miles out to sea between the shoreline and Port Chalmers on the one side and the rugged Otago Peninsula on the other. Whilst birds are not necessarily my favourite animals, it was hard not to get excited as Buddy pointed out the different types of albatross which were wheeling and soaring around us and bobbing on the sea beside the boat. His passion for the wildlife and enthusiasm were infectious and he shared his detailed knowledge of the habits and characteristics of the different types of bird. We finally made it out past Weller's Rock and went to see a breeding colony of albatross on the headland beside the lighthouse. We had four species of albatross flying around us up close: the smaller Buller Albatross and White-Capped Albatross, the larger Northern Royal Albatross, and the largest Southern Royal Albatross, with an average wingspan of 3 metres. Buddy kept turning the boat round this way and that for the best views and we watched the birds in a tug-of-war over a large cod head. He maneuvered expertly close to the rocks for us to see the nesting colony, and pointed out the New Zealand fur seals slipping and flipping around the rocks. One seal and a pup had waddled all the way to the top of the promontory and posed beautifully together for us, silhouetted against the skyline. My iPhone battery was dead, so I can't show you that as I can't post pics off my proper camera to FB. Then Buddy took us to another part of the rocks where a group of seal pups were playing. We watched their antics for a while, almost forgetting the cold and the rain. I went inside and looked up at Buddy, standing in the wheelhouse, mike in hand watching the animals and telling us about them with such obvious pleasure. I noticed his left hand was trembling badly. Poor chap. Other lives, other crosses too bear.
Then, for those of us who had chosen to go on and see the penguins, he dropped us off back near Weller's Rock before returning to the harbour. We were met by a tall young chap named Adrian, who drove us in a battered and beaten old van to Penguin Place, a private farm on the Otago Peninsula which boasts a private bay facing out to the ocean side of the peninsula and which has been converted into a private conservation area dedicated to the endangered yellow-eyed penguin. Another guide, Matu, introduced himself. He was also about 7', broad shouldered with lean and muscular tanned legs, olive skin and swarthy good looks. Both he and Adrian wore shorts with wet weather capes and hiking boots and he laughed when I asked if it was a macho Kiwi thing to wear shorts even when it was freezing bloody cold and pouring with rain. They both looked fiercely outdoorsy and strong. Matu gave us a brief talk about the life-cycle and habits of the yellow-eyed penguin, their endangered status, dwindling numbers and the work of the conservation project where he had been working as head guide for the past two years. Fascinating glimpses into other lives. He explained that YEPs were fairly solitary animals, much like himself, and they preferred to go out to fish alone and would return alone, rather than huddling and fishing in groups like other more sociable types of penguins. He explained that we would be lucky if we could spot one or two of them returning from their day's fishing, which they normally liked to do late in the afternoon before dark. They get their name from the yellow strip of feathers which adults wear across their eyes like a highwayman's mask.
The hillside surrounding the small private bay had been crisis-crossed with a network of tunnels and covered trenches, connecting a series of hides from which we could see different parts of the bay, the hillside and the sand dunes tufted with tussock grass. We made our way down the hillside to the first hide and scoured the waves for any signs of a returning penguin. Finally, we spotted one and Matu led us quickly and in single file down to another hide which he thought would put us in a better position. As we waited to see if his gambit had paid off, he explained that there were a number of paths the penguin might take, and it was largely a matter of luck as to whether we could manoeuvre ourselves into the right spot to get a really good viewing. After some toing and froing, hurrying hither and thither, our voices and our heads low, we found a lucky spot. We watched the solitary penguin for a while, a female with a belly full of fish and tired after her 8 hour fishing trip, as she preened her feathers and then waddled off out of view behind a sand dune. Matu ushered us quickly off towards another hide. I hadn't been expected all of this tramping up and down hillsides when I signed up for the boat trip and my knees were soon troubling me. Matu hoiked me unceremoniously out of line by grabbing my wet weather cape and tutted that I was holding everyone up and we had to move quickly or we might miss a good sighting. The others rushed on ahead of me. I caught up with them watching a tiny empty path coming towards the hide through the dunes. As we waited quietly, a beautiful double rainbow sprang up across the bay and the dying afternoon sun lit up the gorse-clad headland in a blaze of yellow. Just then our penguin hopped into sight and stopped at the head of the track posing and preening for us. Perfect! A real Disney glowing scene. We watched as she pecked at her feathers, this side and that. Then she waddled towards us and jumped with both feet over a little tuft of grass. She continued to come towards us, waddling and jumping before stopping to rest and preen again. Too cute. Eventually she was just four or five feet in front of us on the other side of the wooden shelter. We couldn't have asked for a better view. Gorgeous.
Then, viewing over, it was time to clamber back up the hillside to the van. I wasn't sure if my knees would hold out, as they were now killing me, but it wasn't so far when we went back directly rather than criss-crossing back and forth and up and down all over the place.
Then it was back to the hotel for dinner and an early night. I was bushed. But what a fabulous and memorable day.
Dunedin, NZ
Dunedin to Te Anau. Another early start. I hadn't realised when I booked this tour that we would have to set off quite so early every morning and it would all be so heavily regimented. We usually get a wake-up call at 6.00 or 6.15. Then we have 45 minutes to get showered, dressed and packed and put our luggage out for collection. Followed by 45 minutes for breakfast, checking out and getting onto the coach. It's not the waking up early that's a problem, but the getting out of the door is. I normally have to spend 2 hours at the very least on my emails, reading the newspapers online, listening to the news on radio 5 Live and catching up on FB, whilst swilling endless mugs of Earl Grey, before I can even begin to think about heading for the shower. This holiday can feel a bit more like boot camp than Butlins at times and it's getting a little wearing.
Once onto the coach, it's usually still dark and freezing cold. I bought a big pink fleecy blanket in a supermarket as soon as I clapped eyes on it, and I'm sure that otherwise I would have died of hypothermia by now.
This morning's itinerary has us visiting Larnach Castle, a historical house on the Otago Peninsula. Yawn, not really my thing. I have been warned that there are quite a few steps and I might have trouble getting round all the rooms if my knees are not up to it. My knees are definitely not up to it today after all that demented penguin chasing yesterday. I decide to swallow my pride and assemble my collapsible walking stick for the first time. It it maroon (a colour I loathe) and has a horrible purple floral pattern, which I thought was marginally preferable to a completely black one when I bought it, but even looking at it now makes me feel 108 years old. It obviously makes me look 108 years old two as I notice that strangers immediately start calling me "dear" and asking if I need a hand or if I can manage. I want to scream!
The house is no more interesting than I was expecting. In fact, I think, a little less. But the story of the family who built and lived in the house, the Larnachs, which is drip-fed to us in instalments as we are churned through the icy rooms, is a ripping yarn of sex, lucre and deceit. Almost worth visiting the house just to hear that. But not quite. There is a tower which allows one way traffic only up or down its narrow spiral stone staircase which leads to the roof where one is apparently afforded spectacular views over the peninsula. A thin and fierce-looking lady curator with a short steel grey bob and even steelier eyes peers disapprovingly over the top of her pince-nez, first at my walking stick and then at me, and suggests that I might want to give the difficult stairs a miss (as there are 39 steps and no handrail) and have a "nice cup of tea instead, dear" in the ballroom. Of course, I ignore her. The views are, in fact, splendid, even more so because the weather today is so much better than yesterday. A clear blue sky and the early sun glittering on the distant waters lift my spirits. I so hope we will have weather like this tomorrow for the highlight of my trip: Milford Sound.
After enjoying the view, and conspicuously thanking the steel merchant for the same on my way out, I do in fact have a nice cup of tea in the ballroom before climbing back on the bus.
The rest of the day feels like we are just eking out the hours whilst journeying towards the Holy Grail, Milford Sound. We drive inland through lush and rolling agricultural land but much of it is lost on me as I doze beneath my big pink blanket.
We stop frequently for "convenience" breaks and refreshment breaks. I don't find it particularly "convenient" to have my nap disrupted in this way and think it would be a better idea if everyone was just fitted with colostomy bags. There is in fact a toilet on the coach, but Trevor has made it clear that this should be used "for emergencies only". Presumably because he must be responsible for cleaning it.
When we do stop in some weird, middle of nowhere place whose main attraction is the toilet block, the clutch of Cambodians who form part of our group clamber out, selfie sticks at the ready, and take about 58 pictures of themselves posing from every angle. I even spot one of them touching up her hair and lipstick between poses. In Gore, the only thing which suggests itself as a subject for budding photographers is an oversized brown plaster model of a trout. Gore is a popular fly-fishing spot. I can't take a picture of the trout anyway as it is covered in Cambodians.
The rest of the journey is uneventful and the glorious weather fills me with optimism for my encounter tomorrow with the mighty Mitre Peak, centrefold of Milford Sound. Lake Te Anau, when we get there, is of course lovely, but it is nearly dark, so we don't get to see much of it.
As we are checking in to our hotel, Trevor comes bearing sad tidings. Most of us, myself included, had signed up for a cruise across the lake to visit some supposedly enchanting glow worm caves. Unfortunately, due to the recent inclement weather, the glow worm caves are flooded so the excursion is cancelled. Oh well, dinner and an early night then. Dozing on a coach all day is very tiring.
Rotorua, NZ
Te Anau-Milford Sound-Queensland. So the big day dawned for what was supposed to be, for me at least, the highlight of the trip: Milford Sound, an area of extreme natural beauty, described by Rudyard Kipling as the eighth wonder of the world. A place I had long dreamed of seeing.
We set off early in the dark, but it was already raining. My heart sank. I think I forgot to tell you about when we went to the Hermitage Hotel in the Mount Cook National Park. This hotel is set right up amidst the mountains and affords a superb view of Mount Cook and all the surrounding mountain scenery. But we arrived in a thunder storm, with driving rain and virtually zero visibility. We couldn't see twenty feet ahead, let alone view the lofty peak of Mount Cook. It didn't stop raining before we left. Please, please don't let this happen in Milford Sound. There are a few hours before we get there-so we have time for the weather to brighten up.
The drive from Teano to Milford Sound is beautiful. It takes about three hours winding at first along the shore of Lake Te Anau, with its glacial blue waters, and then entering the simply stunning Fiordland National Park. Thick green forest and snowy mountain peaks. On both sides of us. Water pouring from the dark grey skies above us. We passed through the Murchison Mountains and the Te Anau Downs. We stopped at a place called The Mirror Lakes. This was a string of small tarns which, in clear weather, have mirror-still water which reflect the snow-capped peaks on the other side of the steep valley.
"Of course they won't be doing much reflecting today" Trevor warned us ruefully as we climbed out into the rain. He was right.
We followed the Eglinton and Hollyford Valleys admiring as much of the scenery as we could see through the mist and rain. Stopped for ten minutes in Knobs Flat and stepped out again into the pouring rain. There is still time for it to fair up....
The road climbed as we crossed The Divide in the Southern Alps. More alpine scenery and more rain.
We stopped at a place called a The Chasm and followed a narrow, rain-sodden path between the trees to see a spot where the Cleddau River funnels through a narrow gorge: crashing white water and hurling spray. The river was swollen and running high with all the rain. The dense surrounding temperate rainforest dripped darkly with emerald tears. Tall silver tree ferns fanned feathery fingers into the damp air and glistened with raindrops.
We got soaked and climbed wetly back onto the bus.
Our road suddenly climbed above the snow line. The rain around us turned to snow, which began to settle on the road and on the trees. We stopped ahead of the Homer tunnel, a narrow, unlined one-way tunnel, hand-hewn originally from the mountain. It slopes down towards Milford Sound with a gradient of 1in 10 and runs for some 1219 metres. As we waited for the signal to permit us entry to the tunnel, the Cambodians were getting over-excited, they were standing, brandishing their selfie-sticks and begging to be allowed to get out to take pictures. They had never seen snow before. Trevor had to be quite stern with them, as we were in far too dangerous a spot for them to get out. A pair of Kea birds hopped about on the snow beside the bus, as if sharing our nervous anticipation.
When we emerged on the other side of the tunnel, it wasn't far until we reached Milford Sound. In the driving rain. Oh misery
We were herded out through the rain and icy wind and onto our waiting boat. For "cruise on Milford Sound", read "boat trip". And a short one at that. Less than an hour and a half to view the eighth wonder of the world and we couldn't even view it! Horrible, horrible, grey, wet, windy, freezing cold weather and driving rain. As we set off into the Sound, I leaned against an upper door, forcing it open against the wind and ventured onto the upper, open-air deck. I stood in the rain, peering through the mist at the sheer rock cliffs all around us. Immense rock faces looming from the dark waters and towering above us. Of course I couldn't see the peaks-the grey skies, rain and mist obscured them from view. It was impossible to stay up there for more than a few minutes at a time, due to the cold and wind and rain. I couldn't keep my camera or my iPhone dry while I tried to take pictures. I retreated to the warmth of the boat and despondently munched my pre-ordered ham sandwich. Then I went out to brave the elements again.
Dead ahead of us, according to the captain's running commentary, was the mighty Mitre Peak, which dominates the Sound. Could I see it? No-just a chunk of wet rock ahead, it's upper reaches hidden in wet mist and fog.
"Oh dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without hope of day!"
Well this Paradise was certainly lost to me.
The mighty rock cliffs were awash with streaming white cascades, but the captain's suggestion that we were lucky to see so many waterfalls-most of which aren't there unless it's raining-didn't cut much ice with me. I was desolate.
I came to see the still waters and the majesty of the soaring peaks, but Mother Nature has played her cruellest card and the beauty of Milford Sound will remain forever lost to me.
We cruised the length of the Sound and bobbed out onto the Tasman Sea. We had gone only a very short distance before the mountains drew a rocky curtain over the entrance to the Sound behind us. It was easy to see how captain Cook sailed by here four times without discovering the entrance to the Sound. We turned around and headed home.
We saw a few seals lurching around the rocks at the foot of a Bowen Falls, and then it was time to disembark. What a disappointment.
Milford Sound, NZ
Milford Sound to Queenstown (not Queensland as I wrote earlier!). We left the Sound and travelled back through the beautiful Fiordland National Park towards Te Anau. Needless to say, it stopped raining once we were on our way Our path continued through rolling countryside until we reached the edge of Lake Wakatipu. Then we wound along its shore until we reached Queenstown.
Aha! So this is where all the PEOPLE are! It actually looked LIVELY!!! Such a shock after so much empty countryside and virtually deserted small towns and villages. Although it was dark as we pulled into town, the place was lit up invitingly. Bars, restaurants and shops were still OPEN. Hooray. We checked into the Rydges hotel, where I had a nice room with a terrace overlooking the lake.
There was just time to change before we were herded back onto the bus to take us to the Skyline Gondola, which swung us lazily up to the top of a mountain for dinner with views down over the town and lake. Quite a good dinner too. Thought I'd try the venison as it's such big business around here.
Dinner times on this tour can be interesting, I normally manage to get a table on my own for breakfast, when I feel at my most misanthropic. Lunch is not generally included in our tour, so people tend to suit themselves and go separate ways. But dinner is a time when hotels or restaurants normally lay out long tables for us and we are encouraged to sit together
We are a very diverse bunch. Mostly couples, apart from the extended clump of Cambodians. Brits, Americans and Antipodeans. But there are three other women who, like me, are travelling alone. There is a lively American lady called Susan. She is married, but her husband is in on holiday in Paris. It is the only place he will travel to outside the US. She is very keen on bird life. She is chirpy and interesting company. Louella is plain weird. She is dumpy and has a pale, expressionless moon-shaped face. She doesn't speak at all unless spoken to and even then is quiet and very laconic, giving monosyllabic responses and never venturing her own questions in return. She lives in Australia, but originally hails from Southern India. Very difficult to sit next to. Irene is a petite German widow, who wears corduroy trousers and odd dishcloth material shirts, which make her look as though she should be singing Eidelweiss and hefting a milk churn. She is fun and sprightly and has just been working as an "au pair granny" for an Australian family for the last six months. What a cool way to travel . She can also be a real grumpy kraut though too. Especially when I beat her to the front seat again. I like to keep up the best Heineken towel tradition for anyone who remembers that brilliant ad from the eighties
I had dinner with Col and his wife Noelene from Oz tonight. Conversation was very slooooow. Col is a big teddy bear of a man who works as a baggage handler for Quantas, in the section dealing with missing bags. He has a disconcerting habit of stacking everyone's empty bowls and plates in front of him after each course. I imagine that Noelene must have trained him to stack the crocks at home and carry them to their kitchen sink.
After dinner, I share a gondola down the mountain with some very drunken Ozzies who are wearing cheap suits and who have got smashed on a company night out. One of them is suffering from vertigo, so the other is winding him up by rocking the gondola quite violently and threatening to open the door to show him how close to the ground we are. Hey ho.
I am tempted to go out on the town when we get back to the foot of the mountain. There is a casino and an ice bar, which both appeal, as well as numerous pubs and bars with tempting log fires. But I am tired and decide to keep away from mischief, so I take myself to bed.
New Zealand .. boy, was it worth it when I got there. That was a wonderful trip!
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