View Over Wellington

Wellington is charming. This footage was shot from the roof of our building. The fields across the street are used for cricket and croquet. We're surrounded by Victoria University. The band plugged in by the park jammed 'til well past midnight and probably comprised university students.


As you can see, the city is built on a hill by the sea across from mountains. If that doesn't impress you consider that during the course of a brisk walk across town you could speak in parliament, bungy jump, and visit a brothel. Not a bad day. Thankfully, Wellington has more cafes per capita than New York City. This sort of brisk walking demands caffeination.

Christchurch to Picton

The last leg of our trip. At Picton we turned in our trusty campervan, which had begun to feel like home, and took the ferry back to Wellington.

We stopped at Nin’s Bin for a bucket of green-lipped mussels. I’ve convinced Sawyer eating mussels will grow him big muscles.



Our last night on the south island we spent at the Picton Top 10 Holiday Park. I think the kids’ favorite south island memories will be of playing with kids on the motorhome playgrounds. One of my favorite memories is watching them play.

We logged 3,022km (1,888 miles) on our counterclockwise circle around the south island. We saw a lot but left plenty for next time. Many of our stops would be great destinations. I hope we’ll come back when the kids are older to hike, sail, and float down a river. Heck, I might even jump off a bridge.





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Antarctica

Toured the International Antarctic Centre on our way out of Christchurch. Did you know that, second the Sahara Desert, Antarctica is the driest place on the planet? The Hagglund ride was everything the waiver suggested. Unlike the Hummer, the Hagglund can actually climb cliffs and drive through creek beds. Not that creek beds exist in Antarctica. But our driver took us through one anyway. Water came up to the windows and we fortunately kept going. Not much suspension, though. They make riding bareback feel like the back of a pink Cadillac, whatever that means.

Christchurch

We took a picnic lunch to the beautiful Christchurch Botanic Gardens. Here are the kids standing next to a very large eucalyptus tree. Sir Isaac Newton discovered the healing powers of menthol while standing under a tree like this one. We took the tramway to Cathedral Square to watch performers taking part in the annual World Buskers Festival. Back at the Top 10, Hillery and I ate bad Thai food while watching the kids bounce on the trampoline.

Dunedin to Christchurch

A five-hour drive over the Canterbury plains took us to Christchurch. “One more hour! One more hour! One more hour!” the kids chanted for the last 3 hours of the drive. We checked into the seventy-dollar per night Meadow Park Top 10 Holiday Park near the airport. After brie, macaroni and cheese, iceberg wedges, and beanie weenies, I took the kids for a swim in the “heated” pool.


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Cadbury Factory Tour

Toured the Cadbury Factory. Our tour guide John, clad in purple overalls, educated us about the history of chocolate and the factory, which was originally a bakery that produced ship’s biscuits. Cadbury of Birmingham, England acquired the factory in the 1920’s. John was very entertaining and rewarded our close attention with Cadbury goodies he pulled from the chest pocket of his overalls. The kids sure thought that was dandy.

The cocoa beans come from Singapore; the milk comes from local cows. We had samples of warm chocolate and climbed to the top of a big, purple silo, which is used for pouring tons of liquid chocolate down. Spilling tons of chocolate down isn’t part of the production process, John later told me, but “the kids sure think it’s dandy.” We had a hard time keeping the kids from licking the handrail along the silo’s spiral staircase. Can you believe the factory doesn’t have a gift shop?!! Just kidding. Did you get our package yet?

Nugget Point to Dunedin

Being at the south end of the island with the campervan due in Picton on the 26th, we decided we’d better extend our rental agreement. Big plug for Affordable Motorhomes, here. They were a pleasure to do business with. Our campervan had few problems, but when it did, Affordable was very good about resolving them. And when we crashed into a gate post, cracking the front left cabin corner and bending the door out of square, they were understanding and didn’t fleece us for major repair costs.

The south island’s east coast is flatter, drier, and more developed than the west coast. The outskirts of Invercargill and Dunedin look not unlike any American suburb, with fast food restaurants and car dealerships along traffic-congested highways. Sheep are still abundant, despite the development, and can be seen grazing within city limits.

We’d planned to stop at Dunedin for lunch at the farmer’s market and scurry our way up to Christchurch, but we were so immediately charmed by the town we decided to stick around the rest of day.

Dunedin is a college town, home of the University of Otago. Everyone seemed hip: students, young families, older folks. What’s more, everyone seemed accidentally hip. Nobody was putting on airs, like, “Look at me in my chestnut beret!”

We easily found the railway station and parking across the street at the Cadbury Chocolate Factory.



We were famished by the time we’d parked the campervan and found our way into the market. With not a minute to spare, we arrived at the French crepe stand. Ivy was melting down faster than chocolate on a hot plate. Ham, cheese, and spinach….and then, chocolate, banana, whipped cream. The only thing better than warm, fresh crepes is warm, fresh crepes when you are really hungry. Huddled around Ivy’s stroller, we failed to notice the vendors packing up and leaving.



With the crowds and stands gone, we noticed the railway station, the second most photographed building in the southern hemisphere. Ornate and grand, this massive Victorian structure built around 1900 remains a focal point of the city. We digested our crepes on the front lawn where the kids frolicked among the hedges and flower beds.



Hilllery and Sawyer rode the scenic Taieri Gorge Railway, which leaves from the Dunedin station and winds through the rugged Taieri River gorge. The old-timey train presents breathtaking, jaw-dropping views of the gorge and transits numerous tunnels and viaducts along the way. Hillery and Sawyer rode in the caboose on the outbound trip. At the end of the line, an engine was connected to the caboose and they rode in the front car on the way back to Dunedin.



Meanwhile, Ivy and I enjoyed the eye-dropping views of the Dunedin Holiday Park where we napped in the campervan. The warm sunshine coming through the windows felt good on this breezy, cold day. Dunedin had the perfect blend of ma/pa character and modern sophistication. In other words, the Shrek-, wild west-, Kokopelli-themed murals painted on the cinder block walls of the bathhouses, laundry facilities, and cabins were as charming as the hot showers and wireless internet access were convenient. A beautiful beach supposedly lay just over the bluff.


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Colac Bay to Nugget Point

After breakfast we explored the beach at Colac Bay, where we discovered strange creatures lurking in the tidal pools.



We drove to Riverton in search of Something Special, a craft store recommended by a weaver in Colac Bay. Sawyer wanted to find some yarn for Grandmum Chris to knit him a new sweater—one that “looks like a sheep.”

Riverton is an old whaling town and the only safe harbor in the Foveaux Strait, which separates the southern tip of the south island and Stewart Island further south.

For $5 we filled our water tank at the Riverton Caravan Park & Holiday Homes. “So, it’s your campervan making all that noise!” said the proprietor on her way to the laundry room (probably to notice someone’s pocket change rattling in the dryer). I had thought the engine sounded a little rough, but I was hoping it was just my imagination.



At a local petrol station down the hill we relieved both tanks: the grey and the brown, which to this point had remained yellow. Don’t let my gleeful countenance deceive you: next time we are packing waders and a gas mask.

Across the bridge and into town we stopped for fish and chips and diesel.
Brandon, a friendly but green mechanic, diagnosed our excessive engine noise: a loose serpentine belt. He confirmed his diagnosis by spraying the belt with noise enhancer. Unfortunately, his shop had no tensioner—whatever that is—and sent us squealing to the Ford dealership in Invercargill where Bruce, a truck whisperer, stuck his head in the engine.

“Careful!” I almost said, but stopped myself when I remembered he was a mechanic.

“Do you have a tensioner?” I asked smartly.

“Nah, this van has an autotensioner,” said Bruce with his ear on the engine block.

Autotensioner? Sounded like a marketing campaign in need of a product. What’s next? Memory foam?

Bruce removed his head from my hood. “You need a new belt.”

The dealership had no replacement belt in stock, but Bruce removed the belt and ran it over sand paper. When he put it back on the noise was gone.



We were soon on our way through the Catlins, a mix of hilly wood and pasture, to Roaring Bay to look for yellow-eyed penguins, the world’s rarest. A newly build blind on the steep hillside above the beach affords a glimpse of these rare birds, which come ashore in late afternoon to feed their young.



Yellow-eyed penguins don’t march in flocks. Like tuxedo-clad marines, they stealthily emerge from the surf, only to preen for a minute or two before disappearing into the bush.



A stone’s throw up the hill is Nugget Point, site of the Nugget Point Lighthouse. We had dinner in the parking lot before taking a walk to enjoy the panoramic view from the lighthouse perch. As night fell we watched seals and sea lions lounge on the rocks below and a fishing boat, lit up like a Christmas tree, haul in its catch.



When we returned from our walk, our van was the only vehicle left in the parking lot. Too tired to obey the no camping sign, we turned in for the night and listened to the eerie call of the morepork owl.


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Milford Sound to Colac Bay

The tourists quickly thinned out south of Milford Sound on the Southern Scenic Route where SH99 winds through rolling pasture.



We stopped at the now out-of-service Clifden Suspension Bridge for a late lunch/early dinner. The one-lane bridge crossing the once mighty Waiau River was a big deal when it was completed in 1899. At the time, it was the longest bridge in New Zealand and a major trade route. But no longer. Now it’s a quiet picnic park for locals.

Sawyer walked about halfway up to the east tower on the massive bundle of cables supporting the south side of the bridge before I told him to get down—“before you fall and brake your neck.” As he slid down on his butt I realized what gave the cables their bright red color. Grease!

I groaned. The stuff was all over his hands, shoes, and pants. As I stood by the campervan wiping grease off his shoes, a man who looked like a service station attendant from the 1950’s rode past on his bicycle. “Good day,” he said with a grin. The bridge must have been convenient way home from work. “A father’s work is never done,” he continued without interrupting his pedaling. I brightened and watched him disappear around the bend. Was that my conscience? I wondered. Ghostlike, he seemed. Whoever he was, he reminded me my job actually is to prevent my children from falling off bridges and to remove grease from their shoes. And that I should rejoice in the privilege of doing it on holiday in pastoral and remote New Zealand.

Here's Ivy giving the cables a shot.



On we drove through this desolate but beautiful landscape. We had not passed another vehicle for at least an hour. When the Waiau River spills into the Pacific at Te Waewae Bay, the highway heads east. Here, Antarctic winds batter the southern coast so relentlessly the trees look like they’re scrambling for cover.



We stopped at Colac Bay, a little fishing village with a great sea view but no tourists to admire it. Modest bungalows lined the road opposite the beach, but there was nothing going on. The town was spooky quiet. So quiet, in fact, we hesitated to park for the night at the deserted beachfront Department of Conservation campground. In my experience, free, beautiful beachfront destinations are packed with annoying tourists. Where was everyone?

We aimed the back campervan windows toward the sea to admire the view.





The drizzle let up long enough for us to watch the sun set behind the hills. Magically, as we watched cattle grazing on the hilltops turn to silhouettes, a rainbow appeared in the other direction over the bay. When the sun went down we ate chocolate and listened to rain lick the roof and waves lap the beach.





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Milford Sound Cruise

After showers and scrambled eggs and ham we ran to the wharf to catch our scenic fiord cruise. The boat had complimentary tea and coffee, plush seats, and big windows for viewing the fiords.



The below photos don’t capture the beauty of this landscape. To appreciate the fiords’ enormity, you really must look straight up from ship’s deck 5,500 feet to the top of Mt. Mitre.





Falls surrounded us. Our captain paused several times to park the bow under a few and encourage the brave to take a shower. He also stopped to take a close look at seals lounging on the rocks.



The boat cruised out to a dark and stormy sea where we turned around. Sawyer looked a bit green, so Hillery took him on deck.



On our way back to the wharf the captain dropped us off for a visit at the Milford Underwater Observatory. A thick, plastic tube with a spiral staircase inside descends 35 feet below sea level. Due to constant rains, sea in the fiordland is covered with a layer of tannin-rich freshwater, which blocks light to the clear saltwater beneath. The result is deep sea life living relatively close to the surface. Unique is the black coral, which is actually white. Saw lots of colorful fish and other sea life, including a starfish eating a mussel. Learned the starfish injects its own stomach into its food to dine.

Te Anau to Milford Sound

At Te Anau, which sits on New Zealand’s second largest lake, Sawyer and I cruised town in a 4-wheel dune buggy bicycle, while Hillery and Ivy had tea at the Hoppin’ Café.



Visited the Department of Conservation Fiordland National Park visitor information centre, where Hillery and Sawyer saw a film about the fiords. Meanwhile, Ivy and I chased ducks lakeside, jumped in puddles, and viewed the bug sculptures made from old car and motorcycle parts.



Fiords, you’ll be happy to know, are steep, glacier-cut gorges. Sounds, on the other hand, are sea-flooded river valleys. The distinction was lost on the European explorers who named Milford Sound, which really isn’t a sound at all. It’s a fiord.

Walked over to the Te Anau Wildlife Centre, where we saw kaka, weka, and one very old pukeko, a bright blue bird with orange beak. The wildlife there was “recovering,” although I’m not so sure about the pukeko, who we found collapsed in a heap. According to the sign on the cage, this posture was quite normal, and expected for a bird her age.

After lunch we filled up the campervan with diesel, slopping a quart or so on the passenger-side of the cab when the automatic shut-off malfunctioned. Diesel stinks! It’s oily, too, and doesn’t evaporate like gasoline. But off we drove to Milford Sound for a close look at the fiords, a trail of diesel fumes killing sand flies in our wake.

“The fiords are no more spectacular than anything else we’ve seen in New Zealand,” I said to Hillery on the road to Milford Sound. I’d grown accustomed to soaring peaks and expansive valleys, crystal blue rivers, and endless skies on our drive through the Southern Alps. Big deal, I thought.



But the fiordland is not “cute little cabin on the mountainside,” it’s the setting of that scene in Lord of the Rings when Gollum pulls a fish out of the river and eats it raw. By the time we reached the Homer Tunnel, the only way to get to Milford by car, I thought the fiords were not only spectacular, they also gave me the heebie-jeebies.



Rain falls 3 of every 4 days in the fiordland and it was raining we arrived. All around us were waterfalls cascading down the steep canyonsides. The sky was gray and wet. Black rocks spread skyward, closing off the horizon.



The Homer Tunnel, built during the great depression, appears to have been dug with shovels and picks. Traffic lights at either end alternate traffic direction, as there is only one lane inside the tunnel. Keas, the world’s only alpine parrot, outside the tunnel entrance, amused tourists waiting for the light to turn. One landed on our campervan and made a lot of racket with his claws.







Took a rainy hike at The Chasm, where the Cleddau River cuts through layers of soft and hard rock creating a web of stone. A cold jungle.









Early evening we pulled into Milford Lodge, Milford’s only accommodations. Milford really isn’t a town as much as bus parking for the scenic cruises that depart from there. Not much to do in Milford but admire the view and swat sand flies. The lodge is a backpacker’s oasis, with hot showers, a swank little café, and a lounge with overstuffed couches. No moose heads or pine log furniture here! When I stepped in out of the rain to check in, twenty-something hipsters were reclined on the couches wearing fashionable fleece, drinking coffee, and reading paperbacks. We were one of only two dozen or so vans plugged in outside. Most guests were staying inside.

The rain continued, so we sat in the back of the campervan and watched Spongebob Squarepants. The clouds broke up, and I BBQ’d some chicken, while pacing and swatting sand flies with the spatula.

Sand flies are a bit clumsy and slow. Keep moving and they won’t bite. Initially, bites aren’t so bad. Itchy, red welts appear the next day, however, and remain for up to several weeks.

The kids fell asleep early. Could have been the fresh air or the diesel fumes. Not sure. But as a result, Hillery and I had a rare opportunity to chat. We drank a bottle of wine, listened to rain rattle on the roof, and through the rear picture windows watched clouds drift through the dark canyons outside.


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Lake Wanaka to Te Anau

Drove through the modern, touristy town of Wanaka at the south end of the lake. Found an internet connection to pay some bills and shopped at the New World. Beyond Wanaka, SH6 opens up into big sky country between the Dunstan and Pisa mountain ranges. Reminiscent of Colorado, the valley here is warm, dry, and full of orchards and wineries.



We saw hitchhikers in wetsuits and unicikers along SH6 as it turns into the gorge tracing the frothy Kawarau River.



Stopped at A.J. Hackett Bungy Jumping outside of Queenstown, playground for the adrenaline-deficient. A.J. Hackett is the world’s first commercial bungy jumping operation.





The 43-meter (141-foot) jump off the bridge is impressive. More so is Hackett’s business model, which judging by the size of the Kawarau Bungy Centre, complete with Bungy Dome Theatre, café, bar, and gift shop, has made Hackett and associates very wealthy.

Hackett dangles someone over the bridge about every ten minutes, at $175 a pop, for the amusement of latte-swilling or mesclun-chomping onlookers. Hackett even employs cheerleaders to fire up the crowd before each jump. Few businesses have the privilege of relying so heavily on customer-provided entertainment. The place filled me with “hey, why didn’t I think of that” jealous admiration.

We watched a few jumps from behind the glass-fronted viewing platform. Try explaining bungy jumping to a 2-year-old! Sawyer would have none of my nudging to take the plunge.



I always wondered how the jumper got off the line. At Hackett, a crew is stationed in an inflatable dingy moored below the bridge to retrieve the jumper when finished bouncing. The jumper grabs a long pole held up from the raft and then the folks at the top put some slack in the bungy. The jumper then tucks his head and rolls onto his back on the raft deck. In reality, this is the most dangerous part of the experience. The jumper could easily be swept away into the rapids if he missed the boat. With his feet tied together!



Queenstown is full of similar death-defying activities: canyon swinging; jet boating; whitewater rafting, sledging, and surfing; canyoning; paragliding; and skydiving. But if that’s too extreme, or if you’ve recently been denied life insurance, skiing, mountain biking, and horseback riding are also available.

With our wallets and eyeballs intact, we skirted Queenstown and headed toward Te Anau, gateway to the Fiordland National Park. We stayed at the modern, convenient Top Ten Motor Park in Te Anau. Top Ten campgrounds are all over New Zealand, as are purveyors of Tip Top ice cream. Every convenient store, called “dairies” in New Zealand, bears a Tip Top sign outside. Sawyer loves the Tip Tops because they have nice playgrounds and kids to play with. He’s not the least bit shy about asking other kids to play.


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