Many of you may remember that in late summer 2002, I went to New Zealand for two weeks. I just had my photos converted to disc, and put them on flickr under the set "New Zealand 2002." Some of the pictures are stunning, but still fail to capture that country's incredible beauty. Many of the photos have a red mark on them, which is a flaw in the borrowed camera I was using. It shouldn't totally ruin the view, however. This trip focused mainly on the South Island, although I spent a week in the capitol of Wellington enjoying the gracious hospitality of my friend Kathy Farroba, who was temporarily living in Wellington and working for the New Zealand government as a consultant.
I also throw in as an added "bonus" the travelogue I prepared each day of the trip. I include it here unedited (except for removing a few names to protect the innocent), even though some of these statements, on further review, are fairly cringe-worthy. For some reason, I wasn't too keen on using personal pronouns or past tense verbs ("visit" vs. "I visited") back then, which is extremely distracting. I'll also go back in and edit later to add hyperlinks to various cites. Hope you enjoy.
Trip to South Island
August 24-September 1, 2002
Typing this while Kathy and I watch a Channel One special called “Call Boys.” Turns out that even though these people are too reserved to meet their new neighbors without a “proper” introduction, they have legalized prostitution.
The guidebooks lie—New Zealand looks exactly like Lubbock.
Actually, the scenery falls into four categories. Part looks like the beginning of the Sound of Music (only without any nuns or Nazis), part looks like Marin County (without the hot-tubbers), another part looks like Hawaii, and the other parts look like the road between Fort Worth and Wichita Falls, but with sheep and bigger hills. As previously advertised, I did, in fact, see mountains, glaciers, fiords, and penguins, as well as beaches, dolphins, waterfalls, valleys, snow, and, yes, fire and rain.
August 24, 2002 (Wellington to Nelson)
Rode the ferry over from Picton. Miserable weather, so no scenery. The rental car smells like a cat was living there for a few months. Visit the Hunter and David LeBrun wineries, then head to Nelson on the North Coast. Edie Falco was the proprietor at the motel. Driving is ok—not hard when you’re not making many turns. No one brings a check to you at restaurants, you have to go to the front. Also, no one tips in New Zealand, which I later find is because they impose a separate goods and services tax on every transaction.
August 25, 2002 (Nelson to Abel Tasman to Punakaiki)
Woke up watching golf—golf is something of an obsession around here, but not as much as rugby. There’s a rugby channel on TV, and rugby news routinely makes it to the front page. It’s a glorious morning, after a heavy rain the night before. The radio is tormenting me with nothing but soft rock hits—the rental car not only smells like cats but also lacks a CD player. Nothing like listening to Little River Band when you’re driving on the wrong side of the road. I’m already sick of the traffic circles. Advice to the Kiwis—there’s this new invention, called a “traffic light.” Invest in some. As I arrive at the mountains, the radio is playing, appropriately, Tina Turner’s “River Deep, Mountain High.” Abel Tasman National Park is beautiful. Looks a lot like Hawaii, except its really COLD. Two hour hike, down to the beach. Stopped in Motueka for fish and chips, which came complete with beet salad and a fried egg—what is that? See lots of waterfalls, streams, and great mountain views. Afterwards drive to the West Coast. Winding, mountain roads through dense foliage at sunset. Getting very cold, and rainy. The hotel is an “eco hotel,” meaning that they collect (and hopefully purified) rainwater as their primary water source, and use mainly natural gas—which in Texas can be considered “green.” Its right on the beach. Rains hard all throughout the night. Apparently it rains 300 days a year on the West Coast.
August 26, 2002 (Punakaiki to Franz Joseph Glacier to Haast)
Stunningly beautiful day. Start at the Dolemite Point/Pancake Rocks. These are limestone rocks layered in very thin sections right on the coast. Kinda hard to describe, but impressive. Drive down the coast to the glacier. Its been there since the ice ages, and actually has been advancing the last 20 years or so. The areas from which it retreated look like the moon—lots of rocks and boulders and no vegetation. Hour hike there and back. Frustrated at the short hike, I run for about half an hour on the main road leading out of town, and drive on to Haast, stopping momentarily at the Fox Glacier. We can stop with the one-lane bridges already. As much as these people are taxed, you think they’d spring for the extra lane.
August 27, 2002 (Haast to Mount Aspiring N.P. to Wanaka to Queenstown)
The longest I’ve ever driven without seeing a Dairy Queen. Australians are everywhere, as well as Japanese. I guess NZ is Australia’s vacation getaway, kinda like their Florida. The park people are absolutely no help, so I strike out in search of a hiking trail. Again, incredible weather, and gorgeous Alpine mountain scenery. Every turn on the road leads to another Kodak moment. Stop at Thunder Falls and Bridal Veil Falls. Start up the Blue Falls Track, but its virtually straight up and not even a marked trail, so I blow that off in favor of Mt. Shrimpton. 2 ½ hour hike, get about half way up before my legs and breath run out. Trail was very well marked, with great scenery. Afterward, drive through the mountains to Wanaka, a small ski town. Ran into a guy at the photo shop from Wichita Falls, who followed a buddy here and decided to work as long as he could (meaning til the money ran out). It’s a ski town, so lots of rich kids and American bums with snowboards hitchhiking out to the slopes. Drive an exceptionally winding mountain road to Queenstown, a bigger ski town. The road has lots of ice and snow near the crest. Turns out a rock fall closed it a couple of days after I drove through. Turns out the reason the women in the hospital for caesarians were catching fire because the prepping swab was alcohol-based and was catching fire due to some of the electronic equipment in the OR. Another reason never to go to National Health. I notice in parks and towns alike, everywhere is very clean—no trash, no grafitti, no slums, and no “bad areas of town.” Even public restrooms are very clean (they call them “toilets” which is a bit unsettling for reasons I can’t entirely understand).
August 28, 2002 (Queenstown to TeAnau)
Very cloudy and cold day, so I spend the morning walking around town and I book my Milford Sound trip. As the clouds break around noon, I go jogging. Run into more American stoners with ski boards hitchhiking out to the slopes who offer me a beer. After lunch I go up the gondola to see the town and surrounding ski areas. By now, its totally clear so I can see for miles and miles (as it were). Queenstown is on a mountain lake, which at the time was still and reflected the surrounding mountains like a mirror image. After the gondola, I drive on to Te Anau. Scenery still nice but I’m out of the Southern Alps so the land flattens out. Fewer mountains, more sheep. The motel at first glance looks like a cross between the Bates Motel and that motel in Officer and a Gentleman where Richard Gere’s buddy hanged himself. Fortunately, it turns out to be great, with a Jacuzzi tub and a proprietor who acted like Basil Fawlty. I’ve started telling people who ask what country I’m from that I’m from Texas. Everyone understands—I guess the world thinks Texas is a separate country (which in many ways, it is).
August 29, 2002 (Milford Sound trip)
Milford Sound is one of 13 or so fiords (they spell it with an “i” for some reason) making up Fiordland National Park, the largest park in the country. Don’t know why they call it a sound—it was made by a glacier. On Kathy’s recommendation, I booked a bus there followed by a 1 ½ hour cruise around the sound. Proved to be a good recommendation; I was tired of driving and would have missed some of the best sights on the trip so far. As I arrived at the bus, I saw a Japanese lady taking a picture of the surrounding parking lot (improbably evoking the famous “Hey Wang, it’s a parking lot” line from Caddyshack). Apparently Milford is a big Japanese destination, because the bus company had a Japanese translator on staff who came with us. The bus driver assaulted us with boring commentary the entire trip up there, but I did enjoy listening to the Japanese translation over the speaker. At the boat dock, hordes of stinging sandflies attack us, driving the smarter ones of the bunch (pretty much me) out of the line to get on the boat and back into the reception area. After this dubious start, the cruise was outstanding. No sarcasm—this was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Leaving the dock, a school (?) of dolphins swim along side us (which I don’t photograph b/c I’m eating lunch, which takes priority). The Sound essentially is a glacier carved valley filled with water, with mountains lining the shore. Along either side were several waterfalls. Also spotted a Fiordland Crested Penguin, which apparently is quite rare. Also saw the Pembroke Glacier, which is the remnant of the glacier that carved the Sound in the first place. The Sound ends at its entrance to the Tasman Sea. We returned, and drove back to Te Anau (held up at one point by a herd of sheep on the road, which our bus driver termed an “Australian Beauty Parade”). That evening I go jogging along Lake Te Anau, another still as glass lake that mirrored the surrounding mountains.
August 30, 2002 (Te Anau to Dunedin)
Everywhere in NZ, everyone says “thank you” millions of times. I guess, having bored of the same words, they’ve come up with some other phrases, like “good as gold,” “cheers,” and “cool.” Its sort of annoying, until you think about the usual American attitude. Having gone as far south as I’d planned, I spend the day going east to Dunedin, a town of Scottish origin. Although it was clear in Te Anau, it clouded up soon after and stayed that way all day. Along the way I stop for lunch in Gore, which curiously is not far from Clinton, NZ. After Gore, I see a sign saying “Gore-Clinton Presidential Highway,” which kinda gagged me. Scenery wasn’t all that great along the way—definitely the Wichita Falls part of the trip. As its “Daffodil Day,” I contribute in Gore to the cancer fund and get a daffodil to wear throughout the day. Apparently the government doesn’t contribute much to cancer research, so they have a major fundraiser culminating on Daffodil Day (daffodil being the NZ flower). Arrive in Dunedin around mid-afternoon, and walk around. Although there are some old Scottish-style buildings (mainly at Otago University), Dunedin is kind of a dud. Although there is a street not unlike the Drag, with the requisite freaks, coffee shops, and school kids (all in uniforms), its fairly low-budget (Weiner’s would fit in great on Georges Street). The Dunedin Railway Station was really nice though, like a European station, with the long platform you’ve seen in old movies. The floor tiles were Royal Doulton porcelain, with inlaid railroad icons. The place had recently been restored. I noticed here and elsewhere that the “old” sites date back to the late 1800s, which reinforces that this is a fairly new country. When they were consolidating their colony, we were starting the Industrial Revolution, invading Cuba, and (in the words of Mel Brooks) killing off every last Indian in the West. Maybe I didn’t care for Dunedin so much because the weather was so bad. Maybe I was expecting it would be like Brigadoon. There was a kilt shop though. Also a restaurant called “Tull” which the menu indicates was founded to celebrate the work of Jethro Tull. Why didn’t Chris ______ and Bill _______ think of that? Can’t wait for the Spice Girls restaurant to open.
August 30, 2002 (Dunedin to Christchurch)
On the radio, the DJ asks this trivia question to win the big prize (a CD or something): “What sense does Stevie Wonder lack?” That’s pretty unfairly hard; not everyone has a university degree. Why didn’t they ask something really hard, like “What color is the White House?” The drive to Christchurch is pretty nice, a la Marin, until the Moeraki Boulders. These are nearly perfectly round boulders, about 20 or so, on the beach. They look like alien pods, or dinosaur eggs, or bowling balls for really big people. Oamaru further up the coast is a pretty nice town. I stop at an Irish restaurant for some roast. Everyone in town was lined up for the 2 p.m. movie at the old theatre. Oamaru is one of hundreds of NZ towns with World War I memorials. The same way that every town in the South has a Civil War memorial, every town in NZ seems to have a World War I memorial. NZ must have been hammered in WWI. The British generals must have used colonials like cannon fodder. After Oamaru it clears up, and the drive up is quite nice. Canterbury (the area surrounding Christchurch), while beautiful, is the kind of place where people park their cars in their yard. Basically like Pasadena in a nicer area without the refineries. Christchurch proper, however, turns out to be quite nice. My hotel is near Hagely Park and the Botanic Gardens. The tram, restored 1800s streetcars, runs right outside the hotel. The Avon River runs alongside the Park and into the town center. The river is smallish, but lined with flowers and weeping willows. The lady at the hotel is very British, as is the hotel and the entire town. At night I go to Cathedral Square, the center of town, and the place is buzzing with nightlife.
September 1, 2002 (Christchurch to Picton to Wellington)
Every morning at my home, I wake up to the sound of doves cooing (which gets kinda annoying at times). This morning I woke up to the sound of the lady next door coughing up a lung, which was pretty special. Practically cut my nose off shaving, but despite my fears, I didn’t require stitches. Had an English breakfast consisting of “weet-bix,” tea, corn flakes, bacon, and the worst scrambled eggs of all time (I think they were done in grease). Went to church at the Christchurch Cathedral. It was lovely, even though the service was in New Zealand-ese (thankfully everything was written down so I could follow along). Went back to the hotel and changed, and spent the afternoon looking around. Rode the tram around the town center, seeing Victoria Square, the Arts Centre, New Regent Street, Christ’s College, Hagley Park, the Avon River, and Cranmer Square. The Arts Centre was having a street market, with lots of those street performers. I go to the other side of the world from Austin and still can’t get away from freaks. Leave Christchurch around 3:30 and arrive Picton at 8. Scenery til then is like Marin County, only on a larger scale and greener. Sheep everywhere. Catch the ferry at 9:00, and watch the Star Wars movie coming back (which by the way, was absolutely the worst movie I’d seen in years—the scene where Yoda was in a light saber fight with the bad guy reminded me of the “killer rabbit” scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail).
All in all, NZ is an extremely beautiful place, but I must say that there are places in the US of nearly equal beauty. Its just that in the US, they’re trashed out, packed with tourists, on fire, or filled with snakes and stinging insects. The people here are incredibly polite, but not outgoing. You might go months without meeting your neighbors. Its very clean, but somewhat lacking in “flavor.” Very white—this would be a Klansman’s dream land. Its also deceptively poor. It lacks a lot of American “modern conveniences” like sinks where the hot and cold water come out of the same spout (highly annoying—the only time I’ve seen separate spouts in the US was at my grandma’s house, built before WWII). Public infrastructure is OK and widespread, but lacking (I’d kill for a freeway, for example). Although things are cheap for an American (the NZ $ is about 47 American cents), its incredibly expensive for the natives. For example, a movie ticket costs NZ$12.50, and a 16 oz. (600 ml) coke is NZ$2. Average per capita income is NZ$35,000/year, so I don’t know how these people make it.
I’m off to the airport in a couple of hours. Can’t wait to get out of the cold. See you soon.
I also throw in as an added "bonus" the travelogue I prepared each day of the trip. I include it here unedited (except for removing a few names to protect the innocent), even though some of these statements, on further review, are fairly cringe-worthy. For some reason, I wasn't too keen on using personal pronouns or past tense verbs ("visit" vs. "I visited") back then, which is extremely distracting. I'll also go back in and edit later to add hyperlinks to various cites. Hope you enjoy.
Trip to South Island
August 24-September 1, 2002
Typing this while Kathy and I watch a Channel One special called “Call Boys.” Turns out that even though these people are too reserved to meet their new neighbors without a “proper” introduction, they have legalized prostitution.
The guidebooks lie—New Zealand looks exactly like Lubbock.
Actually, the scenery falls into four categories. Part looks like the beginning of the Sound of Music (only without any nuns or Nazis), part looks like Marin County (without the hot-tubbers), another part looks like Hawaii, and the other parts look like the road between Fort Worth and Wichita Falls, but with sheep and bigger hills. As previously advertised, I did, in fact, see mountains, glaciers, fiords, and penguins, as well as beaches, dolphins, waterfalls, valleys, snow, and, yes, fire and rain.
August 24, 2002 (Wellington to Nelson)
Rode the ferry over from Picton. Miserable weather, so no scenery. The rental car smells like a cat was living there for a few months. Visit the Hunter and David LeBrun wineries, then head to Nelson on the North Coast. Edie Falco was the proprietor at the motel. Driving is ok—not hard when you’re not making many turns. No one brings a check to you at restaurants, you have to go to the front. Also, no one tips in New Zealand, which I later find is because they impose a separate goods and services tax on every transaction.
August 25, 2002 (Nelson to Abel Tasman to Punakaiki)
Woke up watching golf—golf is something of an obsession around here, but not as much as rugby. There’s a rugby channel on TV, and rugby news routinely makes it to the front page. It’s a glorious morning, after a heavy rain the night before. The radio is tormenting me with nothing but soft rock hits—the rental car not only smells like cats but also lacks a CD player. Nothing like listening to Little River Band when you’re driving on the wrong side of the road. I’m already sick of the traffic circles. Advice to the Kiwis—there’s this new invention, called a “traffic light.” Invest in some. As I arrive at the mountains, the radio is playing, appropriately, Tina Turner’s “River Deep, Mountain High.” Abel Tasman National Park is beautiful. Looks a lot like Hawaii, except its really COLD. Two hour hike, down to the beach. Stopped in Motueka for fish and chips, which came complete with beet salad and a fried egg—what is that? See lots of waterfalls, streams, and great mountain views. Afterwards drive to the West Coast. Winding, mountain roads through dense foliage at sunset. Getting very cold, and rainy. The hotel is an “eco hotel,” meaning that they collect (and hopefully purified) rainwater as their primary water source, and use mainly natural gas—which in Texas can be considered “green.” Its right on the beach. Rains hard all throughout the night. Apparently it rains 300 days a year on the West Coast.
August 26, 2002 (Punakaiki to Franz Joseph Glacier to Haast)
Stunningly beautiful day. Start at the Dolemite Point/Pancake Rocks. These are limestone rocks layered in very thin sections right on the coast. Kinda hard to describe, but impressive. Drive down the coast to the glacier. Its been there since the ice ages, and actually has been advancing the last 20 years or so. The areas from which it retreated look like the moon—lots of rocks and boulders and no vegetation. Hour hike there and back. Frustrated at the short hike, I run for about half an hour on the main road leading out of town, and drive on to Haast, stopping momentarily at the Fox Glacier. We can stop with the one-lane bridges already. As much as these people are taxed, you think they’d spring for the extra lane.
August 27, 2002 (Haast to Mount Aspiring N.P. to Wanaka to Queenstown)
The longest I’ve ever driven without seeing a Dairy Queen. Australians are everywhere, as well as Japanese. I guess NZ is Australia’s vacation getaway, kinda like their Florida. The park people are absolutely no help, so I strike out in search of a hiking trail. Again, incredible weather, and gorgeous Alpine mountain scenery. Every turn on the road leads to another Kodak moment. Stop at Thunder Falls and Bridal Veil Falls. Start up the Blue Falls Track, but its virtually straight up and not even a marked trail, so I blow that off in favor of Mt. Shrimpton. 2 ½ hour hike, get about half way up before my legs and breath run out. Trail was very well marked, with great scenery. Afterward, drive through the mountains to Wanaka, a small ski town. Ran into a guy at the photo shop from Wichita Falls, who followed a buddy here and decided to work as long as he could (meaning til the money ran out). It’s a ski town, so lots of rich kids and American bums with snowboards hitchhiking out to the slopes. Drive an exceptionally winding mountain road to Queenstown, a bigger ski town. The road has lots of ice and snow near the crest. Turns out a rock fall closed it a couple of days after I drove through. Turns out the reason the women in the hospital for caesarians were catching fire because the prepping swab was alcohol-based and was catching fire due to some of the electronic equipment in the OR. Another reason never to go to National Health. I notice in parks and towns alike, everywhere is very clean—no trash, no grafitti, no slums, and no “bad areas of town.” Even public restrooms are very clean (they call them “toilets” which is a bit unsettling for reasons I can’t entirely understand).
August 28, 2002 (Queenstown to TeAnau)
Very cloudy and cold day, so I spend the morning walking around town and I book my Milford Sound trip. As the clouds break around noon, I go jogging. Run into more American stoners with ski boards hitchhiking out to the slopes who offer me a beer. After lunch I go up the gondola to see the town and surrounding ski areas. By now, its totally clear so I can see for miles and miles (as it were). Queenstown is on a mountain lake, which at the time was still and reflected the surrounding mountains like a mirror image. After the gondola, I drive on to Te Anau. Scenery still nice but I’m out of the Southern Alps so the land flattens out. Fewer mountains, more sheep. The motel at first glance looks like a cross between the Bates Motel and that motel in Officer and a Gentleman where Richard Gere’s buddy hanged himself. Fortunately, it turns out to be great, with a Jacuzzi tub and a proprietor who acted like Basil Fawlty. I’ve started telling people who ask what country I’m from that I’m from Texas. Everyone understands—I guess the world thinks Texas is a separate country (which in many ways, it is).
August 29, 2002 (Milford Sound trip)
Milford Sound is one of 13 or so fiords (they spell it with an “i” for some reason) making up Fiordland National Park, the largest park in the country. Don’t know why they call it a sound—it was made by a glacier. On Kathy’s recommendation, I booked a bus there followed by a 1 ½ hour cruise around the sound. Proved to be a good recommendation; I was tired of driving and would have missed some of the best sights on the trip so far. As I arrived at the bus, I saw a Japanese lady taking a picture of the surrounding parking lot (improbably evoking the famous “Hey Wang, it’s a parking lot” line from Caddyshack). Apparently Milford is a big Japanese destination, because the bus company had a Japanese translator on staff who came with us. The bus driver assaulted us with boring commentary the entire trip up there, but I did enjoy listening to the Japanese translation over the speaker. At the boat dock, hordes of stinging sandflies attack us, driving the smarter ones of the bunch (pretty much me) out of the line to get on the boat and back into the reception area. After this dubious start, the cruise was outstanding. No sarcasm—this was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Leaving the dock, a school (?) of dolphins swim along side us (which I don’t photograph b/c I’m eating lunch, which takes priority). The Sound essentially is a glacier carved valley filled with water, with mountains lining the shore. Along either side were several waterfalls. Also spotted a Fiordland Crested Penguin, which apparently is quite rare. Also saw the Pembroke Glacier, which is the remnant of the glacier that carved the Sound in the first place. The Sound ends at its entrance to the Tasman Sea. We returned, and drove back to Te Anau (held up at one point by a herd of sheep on the road, which our bus driver termed an “Australian Beauty Parade”). That evening I go jogging along Lake Te Anau, another still as glass lake that mirrored the surrounding mountains.
August 30, 2002 (Te Anau to Dunedin)
Everywhere in NZ, everyone says “thank you” millions of times. I guess, having bored of the same words, they’ve come up with some other phrases, like “good as gold,” “cheers,” and “cool.” Its sort of annoying, until you think about the usual American attitude. Having gone as far south as I’d planned, I spend the day going east to Dunedin, a town of Scottish origin. Although it was clear in Te Anau, it clouded up soon after and stayed that way all day. Along the way I stop for lunch in Gore, which curiously is not far from Clinton, NZ. After Gore, I see a sign saying “Gore-Clinton Presidential Highway,” which kinda gagged me. Scenery wasn’t all that great along the way—definitely the Wichita Falls part of the trip. As its “Daffodil Day,” I contribute in Gore to the cancer fund and get a daffodil to wear throughout the day. Apparently the government doesn’t contribute much to cancer research, so they have a major fundraiser culminating on Daffodil Day (daffodil being the NZ flower). Arrive in Dunedin around mid-afternoon, and walk around. Although there are some old Scottish-style buildings (mainly at Otago University), Dunedin is kind of a dud. Although there is a street not unlike the Drag, with the requisite freaks, coffee shops, and school kids (all in uniforms), its fairly low-budget (Weiner’s would fit in great on Georges Street). The Dunedin Railway Station was really nice though, like a European station, with the long platform you’ve seen in old movies. The floor tiles were Royal Doulton porcelain, with inlaid railroad icons. The place had recently been restored. I noticed here and elsewhere that the “old” sites date back to the late 1800s, which reinforces that this is a fairly new country. When they were consolidating their colony, we were starting the Industrial Revolution, invading Cuba, and (in the words of Mel Brooks) killing off every last Indian in the West. Maybe I didn’t care for Dunedin so much because the weather was so bad. Maybe I was expecting it would be like Brigadoon. There was a kilt shop though. Also a restaurant called “Tull” which the menu indicates was founded to celebrate the work of Jethro Tull. Why didn’t Chris ______ and Bill _______ think of that? Can’t wait for the Spice Girls restaurant to open.
August 30, 2002 (Dunedin to Christchurch)
On the radio, the DJ asks this trivia question to win the big prize (a CD or something): “What sense does Stevie Wonder lack?” That’s pretty unfairly hard; not everyone has a university degree. Why didn’t they ask something really hard, like “What color is the White House?” The drive to Christchurch is pretty nice, a la Marin, until the Moeraki Boulders. These are nearly perfectly round boulders, about 20 or so, on the beach. They look like alien pods, or dinosaur eggs, or bowling balls for really big people. Oamaru further up the coast is a pretty nice town. I stop at an Irish restaurant for some roast. Everyone in town was lined up for the 2 p.m. movie at the old theatre. Oamaru is one of hundreds of NZ towns with World War I memorials. The same way that every town in the South has a Civil War memorial, every town in NZ seems to have a World War I memorial. NZ must have been hammered in WWI. The British generals must have used colonials like cannon fodder. After Oamaru it clears up, and the drive up is quite nice. Canterbury (the area surrounding Christchurch), while beautiful, is the kind of place where people park their cars in their yard. Basically like Pasadena in a nicer area without the refineries. Christchurch proper, however, turns out to be quite nice. My hotel is near Hagely Park and the Botanic Gardens. The tram, restored 1800s streetcars, runs right outside the hotel. The Avon River runs alongside the Park and into the town center. The river is smallish, but lined with flowers and weeping willows. The lady at the hotel is very British, as is the hotel and the entire town. At night I go to Cathedral Square, the center of town, and the place is buzzing with nightlife.
September 1, 2002 (Christchurch to Picton to Wellington)
Every morning at my home, I wake up to the sound of doves cooing (which gets kinda annoying at times). This morning I woke up to the sound of the lady next door coughing up a lung, which was pretty special. Practically cut my nose off shaving, but despite my fears, I didn’t require stitches. Had an English breakfast consisting of “weet-bix,” tea, corn flakes, bacon, and the worst scrambled eggs of all time (I think they were done in grease). Went to church at the Christchurch Cathedral. It was lovely, even though the service was in New Zealand-ese (thankfully everything was written down so I could follow along). Went back to the hotel and changed, and spent the afternoon looking around. Rode the tram around the town center, seeing Victoria Square, the Arts Centre, New Regent Street, Christ’s College, Hagley Park, the Avon River, and Cranmer Square. The Arts Centre was having a street market, with lots of those street performers. I go to the other side of the world from Austin and still can’t get away from freaks. Leave Christchurch around 3:30 and arrive Picton at 8. Scenery til then is like Marin County, only on a larger scale and greener. Sheep everywhere. Catch the ferry at 9:00, and watch the Star Wars movie coming back (which by the way, was absolutely the worst movie I’d seen in years—the scene where Yoda was in a light saber fight with the bad guy reminded me of the “killer rabbit” scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail).
All in all, NZ is an extremely beautiful place, but I must say that there are places in the US of nearly equal beauty. Its just that in the US, they’re trashed out, packed with tourists, on fire, or filled with snakes and stinging insects. The people here are incredibly polite, but not outgoing. You might go months without meeting your neighbors. Its very clean, but somewhat lacking in “flavor.” Very white—this would be a Klansman’s dream land. Its also deceptively poor. It lacks a lot of American “modern conveniences” like sinks where the hot and cold water come out of the same spout (highly annoying—the only time I’ve seen separate spouts in the US was at my grandma’s house, built before WWII). Public infrastructure is OK and widespread, but lacking (I’d kill for a freeway, for example). Although things are cheap for an American (the NZ $ is about 47 American cents), its incredibly expensive for the natives. For example, a movie ticket costs NZ$12.50, and a 16 oz. (600 ml) coke is NZ$2. Average per capita income is NZ$35,000/year, so I don’t know how these people make it.
I’m off to the airport in a couple of hours. Can’t wait to get out of the cold. See you soon.
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