The first leg of the south island

I'm sure that anyone who's reading my blog knows that my brother Steve died in October, and I feel I should start this posting by warning people who miss Steve too that there will be references to Steve in this, and probably future postings. I have always tried to be as thorough and honest as possible in writing my blog and, as my thoughts and feelings arising from my experiences travelling are inseperable from my thoughts and feelings about Steve at the moment, I wouldn't feel comfortable missing out or skipping over the more difficult moments, or indeed the more wonderful moments, that arise when something makes me think of him. When someone that you've known for your entire life, who is as central to your life as my brother was to mine, dies, virtually everything brings back a memory, so I will edit out the more trivial or less relevant ones. I ask everyone to allow me a little latitude in this, and hope that other people who loved and miss Steve too aren't upset by anything that I write.

30th December - 5th January

The ferry journey over to South Island was a bit like a white water rollercoaster with huge amounts of water splashing into the windows in front of me on the 7th deck of the ferry, every time we hit a wave. I got chatting to a group of two middle aged couples early on, and it turned out that one of the women works as the adult learning co-ordinator for the west coast of the south island. I told her that I was a teacher and was hoping to supply while I was here. She very enthusiastically told me how desperate they were for supply teachers on the west coast, so I got some details from her. So much easier than going through an agency!

After about 40 minutes the ferry ride became smoother, and when we reached the edge of Marlboro Sounds, I went up on deck with my camera to photograph the sun setting and the moon rising over the sounds. Absolutely beautiful.

When I arrived at the youth hostel, I filled in the forms and paid as quickly as possible, threw my bags on my bed, grabbed my swimming costume and made a bee-line for the spa. A group of dutch people joined me and I chatted to them.

After an hour of alternating the almost scalding 40 degree spa and bracingly cold showers, I collapsed in bed (finally) and slept like a baby.

The next day, after a wonderful lie in, I checked my e-mail and was relieved to discover that Maz had indeed arrived in New Zealand, was now in Wellington, and was waiting for her ferry. I decided to occupy myself by kayaking in the Marlboro sounds. I discovered that it's not possible to hire out a proper kayak on your own, only one of those rubbish ones where you sit on top of the kayak, rather than inside it. They're more bouyant, and a bit safer, but they handle like tractors. I hired one anyway and spent a happy four hours exploring the coves, collecting shells on beaches around the sounds, avoiding speedboats and on the way back, the interisland ferry (it came round the corner while I was crossing the sound - I believe I set a new speed record for rubbish sit-on-top kayaks while getting out of the ferry's way)! When I got far enough away from the town and the motorboats that I could no longer hear man-made noise I stopped paddling, had a quiet moment thinking about Steve.

Despite the fact that I re-applied my suncream repeatedly during the kayaking trip, I only put suncream on my hands twice (well, have you ever burnt your hands?), and while I managed to not burn my face, neck or shoulders in the gorgeous midday sun, my hands and fingers were lobster red by the evening.

I went to collect Maz from the ferry (I've never seen her so pale in my life - between the rough ferry crossing, the days travelling and the jet lag, she wasn't feeling at her best), and we went back to the hostel where Maz collapsed in the spa and I cooked us dinner.

After a couple of hours of chatting, eating, drinking local wine and sitting in the spa, we got changed and went to wander round Picton's NY festival. Well actually we wandered through it in all of about 10 seconds (the only thing that interested either of us was the bouncy castle, and big kids didn't seem to be allowed), so we found a cafe where we had a hot chocolate (with marshmallows!!!!!!!) and then returned to the YH, which was far more entertaining. We chatted to some very lively and effusive Argentinian girls and a whole bunch of other people from around the world (we were both far too tired to remember where exactly), and Maz collapsed in bed at 10:30. I followed her an hour later meaning that we both missed the New Year celebrations, but we had our trance party the following night (which we should have been at already, but for Virgin Atlantic and their rubbish planes), and had to get up early in the morning for the bus. We felt a bit like old dears for being in bed before midnight, but we vowed to celebrate New Years Day instead.

We were up at the crack of dawn to catch the bus, generally annoying our dorm-mates by repacking our bags while they were trying to sleep off their hangovers. We discovered that none of the shops were opening until after our bus was due to leave, so we had to wait for food until lunchtime (something that neither Maz or myself like doing). Annoyingly enough, our bus was late, so we could have gone to get food, but we didn't dare nip off for food in case the bus came and went without us.

Needless to say, by the time we arrived in Motueka we were ravenous and I was desperate for a fag. We dumped our bags at the Laughing Kiwi hostel where we were planning to stay the following night and hurried off to Hot Mama's restaurant for an eagerly anticipated brunch. We sat down in the lovely garden with apple and boysenberry juice (thebestthinginthewholeworldever as Maz put it). They'd stopped serving breakfast, and the spinach quiche and apple cake that I ordered just didn't quite satiate my hunger, so when I spotted the people at the next table leaving half empty plates, I nipped over and stole the delicious looking hash brown, that was going to go in the bin if I didn't rescue it. I was hungry ok. I asked the people at a nearby table to not judge me, but they (and Maz) looked very amused, and wished us a happy new year before we left.

We caught the bus to Takaka hill, a lovely forested area that reminded me of the highlands in Scotland, where the New Years party was definitely not in full throttle anymore as most of the people had either gone home or were having a nap in their tents after partying all night and before doing the same again. Maz and I wandered around, getting a feel for the different tents and stages before settling in the chill-out tent with cups of hot chocolate (sadly no marshmallows this time). People gradually drifted in and woke up as the party got going again and Maz and I spent the evening dancing to psychedelic trance and funk music, poiing (I managed not to blind myself this time), chatting to lovely, friendly Kiwis, eating festival food of varying quality and trying to avoid the steady drizzle outside. Maz seemed to particularly enjoy a dj who did cheesy gangsta rap. We staggered back to our damp tent around midnight and snuggled up in our sleeping bags as best we could (the weather varies so dramatically here from one moment or one town to the next, it defies belief). We both woke up at 4am, freezing cold and desperate for the loo. After about 15 minutes of denial, we both realised that we were going to have to brave the cold, muddy world outside, and tramped off grouchily to the nearest skanky portaloos. Not nice.

We got up again at 6am to pack up (the party was still going), and left for Motueka in order to catch the bus (which was late) to Abel Tasman NP. We met our kayaking group and rather grumpy, sharp guide, who wasn't very impressed that we were late, and didn't seem to think it relevant that it wasn't our fault. We got ready and slathered on the sunscreen as quickly as we could, then set off in our kayaks. Our guide (Dazza), became less grouchy gradually, and more jokey (sadly the jokes weren't particularly funny). Maz and I got put into different double kayaks, me with a lovely Swedish girl, and Maz sadly with the instructor as it was her first time in a kayak. The scenery gradually became more and more stunning as we went further into the park (it's just beautiful - the whole park looks like it belongs in the tropics) and our guide was very informative about the history and ecology of the area. We saw pied shags (bizarre birds that nest in trees, but have webbed feet, that can dive up to 100 feet under water for minutes at a time) and other less memorably named birds. When we'd been kayaking for about 3 hours, we got our kayaks together in a raft, and Dazza unfurled a big orange sail. The people at the back of the end two kayaks put their paddles into the loops at the two back corners of the sail and held their paddles vertically, while the people at the front held the front of the sail in their hands, while the rest of us just sat there and let the wind carry us to the beach for lunch. We had an hour and a half to sunbathe, eat BBQ food and dip into the sea, then come running back out shrieking about how cold it was. In the afternoon we kayaked and sailed back to the base, and then sat in the spa until the bus picked us up. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

We wnt back to the Laughing Kiwi backpackers lodge, only to find that they'd double booked our room. They apologised profusely and frantically rang around for another room for us. They sent us off to the rather less nice and less friendlily staffed Bakers Lodge where the unhelpful grumpy cow at the desk wouldn't help us book anything unless it was YHA affiliated, and told us that we could try using the payphones, but that they hadn't worked for a while now, so we were unlikely to be successful. We wandered round town trying to find a working phone that accepted coins, or the phone cards that I already had, and eventually conceeded that we would have to buy another phone card ( a rip off at about 2 pounds for two minute long phone calls, then it ran out). Don't get me wrong, I love it here, the scenery is stunning, the people are mostly really friendly and helpful, and they serve marshmallows on top of hot chocolate, but the phone system in this country is absolute rubbish.

After a bit of hanging up of wet clothes and sorting out of bus tickets and food for the following day we went back to Hot Mamas for more wonderful food, then repacked our bags for the following day and crashed.

We got up early to catch our bus to Nelson. We got to the front desk 5 minutes early, only to discover that the hag at the front desk had told us the wrong time the previous day, the bus had left without us, and was currently at the town bus station. I sent Maz running off with minimal luggage, with the instructions to do whatever it took to delay the bus, then staggered slowly down the street carrying my own weight in luggage. The bus was still there when I arrived, and indeed was still there 20 minutes later (no-one ever seems to be in a hurry here except me - I need a while to adjust to being in NZ rather than London).

The bus journey to Nelson and then on to Okarito was long and tedious, the only saving grace being the marvellous scenery that rolled past along the way. My mp3 player had refused to charge the night before, so I borrowed Maz's while she slept or read. In the afternoon we had a toilet stop at Punakaiki, but had enough time to grab boysenberry ice creams (yummy beyond belief) and have a quick wander to see the pancake rocks - wierd geological oddities that look like stacks of pancakes next to the cliffs and the sea. Really beautiful.

We arrived in Okarito at about 7:30pm, dumped our bags at the hostel and went to do the hour long Okarito Trig walk as we were desperate to stretch our legs after sitting on buses all day. The walk goes up a steep hill and at the top there are mind-blowing panoramic views of the coast, the lagoon, the mountains (including Mount Cook) and the glaciers. I, predictably couldn't seem to put my camera away, and was oblivious to the sandflies that Maz was copmplaining about, until we got back and my ankles started to itch too, so I joined in the complaining. Irritating little buggers.

Once again, we got up early (isn't this supposed to be a holiday???) to kayak on Okarito Lagoon, New Zealand's largest unmodified wetland surrounded by temperate rainforest. The only birds that we managed to identify were the incredibly graceful white heron, the doddering royal spoonbill and various oyster catchers, but when we got to the far end of the lagoon, we had the place to ourselves for about an hour and we were surrounded by outlandishly wierd and wonderful birdsong - neither of us had any idea what birds we were hearing, but it was wonderfully serene nonetheless. Except for the moments when Maz would periodically yell "It's lovely here" or something similar from the front of the kayak. I kept telling her that she didn't need to speak so loudly, and she was scaring the birds away. When that didn't work, I reverted to "Talk like a teddy bear" - we used to say this to her when she was 8 and in one of her tartrazine-induced, hyperactive, talk-at-three-times-the-volume-and-speed-of-a-normal-person moods - that would work for about 5 minutes. Eventually I gave up and trained my camera on a bird, then waited for Maz to shriek something in order to get a decent taking off shot.

When we arrived back we both realised simultaneously that while we were starting to cool down after the effort of kayaking, our faces weren't, and that we had been fooled by the cloudy day into not wearing enough sunscreen - why do I never learn? We postponed the glacier walk that we had planned for today (it's best to stay out of the sun and away from surfaces that reflect the sun when your face looks like a tomato) and made our way to Franz Josef for the evening. We're currently staying at the Rainforest Retreat, which has a sauna and a spa. Maz thinks I could have designed it (if I had I would have made it smaller and would have banned tour groups).

After a supermarket run and cooking, we spent a pleasant evening being blasted by jets in the spa, rubbing various unctions onto our faces, chatting to our lovely dorm mates (whose names we can't remember, if indeed we ever knew them), and watching an episode from the middle of (we think) the second series of Lost in the TV room. Maz and I have only seen the first series, so could anyone who has seen the second series e-mail me and explain to me where all the other people came from, without giving anything else away please?

Had a bit of a rubbish night's sleep between being in a noisy hostel filled with tour group children, dorm mates leaving at 7am, and dreams of Steve. I haven't had many dreams since his death as occasional smoking of certain substances tends to keep dreams at bay, but when I have had dreams they've been about him, but he's never been in them until now. In some ways it was lovely to see him in my sleep (if slightly surreal in the way that dreams are), but in the end he said goodbye and walked away and I woke up crying.

On a slightly lighter note, I wouldn't recommend blowing your nose when it looks like a strawberry. It hurts.

Maz and I are now having a lazy day of slobbing and sorting stuff out, now that we're not glacier walking today.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who's e-mailed me - I'll try to reply to as many as I can, but keep them coming, it's lovely to hear news from home.

On the road again...

Wednesday 27th - Saturday 30th December

Made my flight last night after an extremely stressful afternoon of trying to pack everything I need for the next 7 months in an hour and a half (a personal best). After lots of faffing about and some serious panic smoking, I boarded the 19:25 to Hong Kong, found my seat and tried to relax, despite the fact that I was surrounded by highly flammable liquid, inside an aluminium can suspended in the air - and I couldn't even have a cigarette to help myself deal with this. For 12 hours. I started to twitch, and began to wonder how much the HK$5,000 potential fine for being caught smoking in the toilets amounted to in sterling. I decided it probably wasn't worth it, and after the evening meal was served (not bad for airline food, dreadful judging by any normal standards of what constitutes food), I settled down to "An Inconvenient Truth". While it was informative, and made you sit up and think, there were a few points that irritated me about it. If you're easily bored, or not remotely interested in my tree-hugging ways, skip to the next paragraph. Firstly, Al Gore used the Mercator projection map of the world (rather than the Peters one), which not only fosters internationally inaccurate sizeist views, it meant that whenever he talked about the possibility of the ice sheets melting on Greenland and halting the Gulf Stream, the map looked disproportionately alarming. On the Mercator map, because of the way the poles are stretched out, Greenland looks roughly half of the size of Africa, but Africa is in fact 14 times larger. Stuff like this irritates me - you don't need to find quasi-legitimate ways to exaggerate the predictions of global warming, they're terrifying enough told honestly. All distorting the truth does is make the information you're presenting seem like it has less integrity, and makes it easy for the oil industry and stupid politicians to argue back. I also objected to the way he seemed to be trying to put himself in our minds as on the front line of, if not leading, the battle against Global Warming (a couple of things he said seemed to imply that he was the only one making the information available to the public - he showed a graph saying that only a handful of scientists had seen it - that graph has been around and has been readily available for years, has been published in numerous journals and is a standard part of any environmentally slanted undergraduate science course. Plus he kept referring to anyone whose research he used as his friend). It reminds me of a comment he once made about the internet being his idea, and makes the whole film seem like a bit of an ego trip. And he really can't say niche correctly. Don't get me wrong though, I was quite impressed by the ways he presented most of the information, I just wanted to give him a kick up the arse for the things I really didn't like.

At some point in the middle of the film it became clear that someone sitting in the immediate vicinity of me was having digestive problems, and was releasing greenhouse gases of their own periodically into an unpleasantly confined space. I breathed through my mouth for the rest of the journey. Oh, and at some point in the middle of the night (Christ only knows what time it was in whatever time zone we were flying above), some idiot who had been getting progressively more and more drunk as the flight wore on got really aggressive and abusive with the flight attendants, and he was arrested when we landed. Moron.

When I got to Hong Kong airport, after 12 hours on a plane with less than 2 hours sleep, I wandered around window shopping for a short time (I really don't understand the point of window shopping - standing there with my nose pressed against the glass staring longingly at pretty diamonds that cost a sizeable fraction of my annual salary is just frustrating). I was just thinking how desperate I was for a shower, and feeling pretty skanky, when I walked past a "tourist lounge" where for just under 30 quid I had a 30 minute seated massage (absolutely blissful), a shower, food and drink and internet access in a plush lounge. By the time I left for Auckland I felt like a new person.

The next flight was less eventful - I couldn't handle any films that required any depth of thought, so I distracted myself with "Step Up" (cheesy dance film where a boy from the wrong side of town and a rich girl get thrown together as dance partners by circumstance, and the whole romance develops with a very formulaic inevitability), and "Vertical Limit" (ridiculous climbing film), and managed a few brief power naps that didn't really leave me feeling any more powerful at all. I also discovered that the best way of distracting myself from the terror I experience during turbulence was to listen to Bach and breathe slowly.

I arrived at the hostel in Auckland at about 3pm, had a wonderful shower and changed into comfy clothes. After a bit of arrival faffing, sorting out of stuff and blind panic when I checked my e-mail and discovered that Maz's flight had been cancelled, I went to the roof for a cigarette and got chatting to a group of randoms from all over Europe, and we decided that we all needed to chill out a bit, so we booked the hostel's sauna and outdoor spa for an hour (for just under 4 quid altogether). It was just divine lying on the jets with steam coming from the water while being surrounded by the cityscape of Auckland. We spent the rest of the evening drinking on the roof (I discovered that they give free bubbly to anyone staying in the rather lovely but slightly more expensive all-girls dorm and happily sipped that for the rest of the evening). Had a wonderful night with some lovely people - I hope the rest of NZ is this friendly. I went to bed a little more noisily than I intended, probably waking up half of the dorm in the process, but what can you do if you've got the hiccups, and you're trying to find your pjs buried deep in your bag in a darkened room that won't stop spinning?

I'm now in Wellington having caught a flight far too early this morning (I still thought it was yesterday evening though, no matter what the sunlight was telling me), after about 5 hours sleep. I intended to sleep on the plane, but I got chatting to a lovely ex-professional rugby player called Jason who was back visiting family after a couple of years of living in Italy. Turns out he studied in Cambridge too. Who needs sleep anyway (the voices in my head and the chocolate fairy that no-one else sees tell me they do though)?

Oh and for some wonderful reason that I didn't understand or question, my seat was in first class. I love it here!

In a couple of hours I'm going to catch the ferry over to the South island where I'll be staying in another lovely youth hostel with another lovely spa in Picton, surrounded by the Marlborough Sounds. I'll wait there for Maz (who I'm informed is definitely on a plane now), idling away the hours in the spa and kayaking around the coast. It's a hard life.