2.6 – Going uphill slowly

…for the bee. I’m left with a sore head and the irony that my hated helmet has just caused one death and one head injury. The poor insect flew right into the vent and got stuck, so stung me with all its might, instead of bouncing harmlessly off my head. Great, just what I need: another lump on the forehead.

I went in search of medicinal alcohol, and found it in a car park. There’s a “Slopestyle” tournament in town, a few hundred people watching professionals on mountain bikes hurl themselves down a purpose-built track and launch themselves thirty feet into the air, often upside-down.

I then check out a few pubs. Queenstown’s supposed to be a party town, so it should be awesome for Easter. But the bars don’t have stools, and I don’t have the nerve to just wander up to a group of people sitting round a table and say: “Mind if I join you guys?”

After a few bars I’m getting cold, bored and tired, and decide to call it an early night. But on the way back to my van I get annoyed. I don’t want to quit yet. So I grab a jumper and head back out. There’s two bars just down the hill, and the second one is called “Harry’s Pool Bar” but turns out to be the promised land. A busy bar with lots of happy people, screens showing a rugby game, no queue to get served, and …a beautiful long bar with stools.

Harry, I love you.

Probably not the best thing to say when you walk into a bar, but fortunately the barman wasn’t named Harry. I sat down, got a beer, watched rugby, and sure enough got talking to a few random people about Queenstown.

There’s a heck of a lot of English people here. After a few short conversations, I notice another Northern accent and get talking to a girl named Jess who look’s about 21. It’s nice to chat to someone who comes from the same place. Quite literally, as Jess explains to her German friend:

“This is Paul. We were born in the same hospital!!!”

“Wow, on the same day?”

Who says Germans don’t have a sense of humour?

We have a good talk about travelling the world, and I find Jess’s exploits far exceed mine (I hope she can’t write witty nonsense about them!). A poor night turns into a great night, and I’m disappointed when they close the bar at midnight.

On Friday I have a potter round the shops, loads of Outward Bound places here and quite a few bike shops, though of course they don’t have any….

Wait. What’s that? Could it be? ..and reasonably priced…and in the sale?

An XL!!!!

Not just the promised land, I’ve found the Holy Grail!!

Eager to enjoy my new purchase I head out to Seven Mile Track, about ten kilometres out of town. Both of my fellow gondola passengers recommended it as more varied cross-country riding. But actually, the ride in is ridiculously steep, then you choose from a maze of descents. It’s not up there with my favourites, but still good fun and there’s a real sense of achievement when I finally make the climb without stopping or losing traction. This is no mean feat as I have one eye shut because it’s stinging with sweat!

I vacate the park just as girls in fancy dress start arriving for a “Lady’s Only” event. Boooo! Back to town, and back to Harry’s. I’m starving.

“Are you here for the purpose of dining sir?”

“Why, yes I am my good fellow”.

That was an odd greeting.

I drink my beer and wait for my pizza, it’s quiet in here tonight so I chat to the staff. One lady shares my love for Oakley’s amazing bronze lenses.

“I call them my Awesome lenses” she says, and I’d have to agree. Forget rose tinted spectacles, buy some of these and the present always looks way better. Like Instagram-ing your eyeballs.

More people walk in and receive the odd greeting-come-challenge:

“Are you here for the purpose of dining?”

“Er, we want a drink and to play pool.”

“We’re only open for the purpose of dining, it’s Good Friday”

“Can we just drink water and play pool?”

“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”

“What about if we get a snack?”

“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”

“One small pizza between four?”

“It has to be a substantial meal”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s the law”

“Hmm”

“I’ll have to ask you to leave, thanks, goodbye”

They walk out, more people walk in.

“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”

“What???”

And so the play repeats. A scene which must happen in bars across New Zealand every public holiday as foreigners encounter this ludicrous law.

And you know what? You can come back at midnight and get as hammered as you like.

So the challenge is to make your pizza last until midnight.

My pizza arrives at the bar, and so does Jess. I hadn’t spotted her in the pub, but she is kind of small. Her and her friends have had their pizza though and are leaving, so she invites me to join them at the backpackers while we all wait until we’re allowed to drink.

I take the rest of my pizza back to my fridge, grab some beers and head down to join them.

The backpackers were a young, attractive and fun bunch to hang out with, but to protect the “innocent” I never blog about drunken debauchery, ahem, I mean: social nights out with entertaining people, so I’ll just say that it was a really fun night out. Am I too old to become a backpacker?

Staying out all night with people half your age isn’t difficult. Recovering is the hard part. So the next day was pretty slow, although I managed a good run along the shore of the gorgeous Lake Wakatipu.

Back to Harry’s, more rugby to watch, but it’s a bit warm in the bar. A good looking girl appears besides me and asks the barmen:

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

Oh Harry, now you’re even gifting me punchlines?!

So I spend another enjoyable night talking to people from all over, well, England.

Michael from Hampshire:

“Yeah, I dunno why people want to go to bars and just sit with the people they know. You could sit at home and do that! Much better to sit at a bar talking nonsense to some random nutter, far more of a larf!”

At which point some random nutter girl buys me a jagerbomb, before leaving. And if you don’t know what a jager-bomb is, consider yourself lucky!

Finally I speak to a non-English person, from Vancouver, where I go next. He tells me a week won’t be enough, but has to go play pool before he can explain why.

It’s a Saturday night, so there should be more epic drunken silliness. But the crazy laws come back into force at midnight, saving me from myself.

Easter Sunday, and time for something extreme. I still don’t fancy putting my life in the hands of jobbing backpackers, so I’m going to take on the mountain. A run up the “Tiki trail” through the woods to the top of the Gondola.

“Tiki” is a Maori word for “bloody steep”, probably, because it’s a ridiculous climb. The same steep slopes I described biking down, but worse, because it’s more direct. A figure in skimpy shorts and vest arrives behind me, more goat than man.

“What are you training for?”, he asks.

“Er, I’m just trying to make it to the top!” I gasp, as he disappears above me. I bet he didn’t have a half a dozen pints last night (at only 5 bucks each! Cheers Harry!)

It’s futile.

I can barely get my foot up to the next rock, let alone maintain a “run” so I drop to a fast climb. I WILL make the summit. I’m gasping, so I stop for a swig of water (Hey! I actually brought some water!)before battling on.

As I pass walkers, descending or ascending, I find mysterious bursts of energy, and manage to run a little, before rounding the next bend. Their shouts of encouragement help, fraudulently earned though they may be.

About two-thirds of the way up the track joins a service road, and I can just about run. It’s still insanely steep, but I’m getting there. Then all of a sudden I spy a wooden shack, then I see a wire, then a larger building, and I emerge from the forest to the magnificent view.

Staggeringly, gobsmackingly, magnificent.

Even more incredible than I remember from Thursday. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, but this place really is eye-wateringly phenomenal.

And back down again.

This time I stick to the road. But it’s so steep even descending hurts. By the time I reach the bottom my legs are jelly. I didn’t manage to run it all but I’ve made it. A score draw perhaps? Too close to call, Mr Mountain?

When some sensation returns to my limbs I pack up the van and head to Glenorchy. It’s a small town at the North end of Lake Wakatipu. Actually, it’s more of a hamlet, and there’s not much point being there. But going there! Wow, the view across and around the lake gets impossibly better. Of course I have my “Awesome Lenses” on, but even without them this place is stunning.

Back for one last night in Queenstown, one last trip to Harry’s and after that run…

You’re damn right I’m here to dine!

2.5 - Contains scenes of mild peril

“All aboard!” yelled the Captain.

Well, he actually mumbled something about yellow tickets, which wasn’t very nautical. Nobody seemed to have shown up speculatively at the end of the 120km road, as there were indeed about 20 of us on a boat for 75. So it was easy to get a good spot on the bow with a great view. I slapped on some sun-cream to protect my bonce, then realized the wind was going to batter it, and a cap wasn’t an option. Bother! Looking out of a grubby window isn’t the same, but I don’t want a wind-blasted scalp. Ah, but I have my fabulous new jacket with a superbly adjustable hood. So as the others around me stood around in t-shirts I covered up and…

What? You’re more interested in Milford Sound than my wardrobe choices?

Oh, OK.

Awesome.

There you go.

There’s a few places on earth that you have to see for yourself. Photographs just don’t convey the scale of the experience. The Grand Canyon is one, this place is another.

The weather’s glorious, a bright warm sun shining from a clear blue sky. The mountains soar above us on all sides, dwarfing our boat. You can fit the QM2 in here, with ease. In fact they did just that only ten days ago. Our Captain takes us in close to the cliff, then closer, then closer, until the bow is within touching distance. We get a great view of the colours in the rocks, and the rainbows from the water cascading down them.

Further on we see seals basking on a ledge. An unusally shaped mountain dominates the first bend.

“That’s Mount Kimberly” announces the guide, “though it’s more commonly known as “The Lion Mountain””

…because it looks like a lion.

“Next to it is the Elephant mountain”

…which looks nothing like an elephant.

Onwards we sail. (“Sail?” don’t you need sails to “sail”? Hmmm.)

Onwards we cruise. Out into the open sea, pausing to check a crayfish pot. It’s empty. Out at sea you can understand how Captain Cook missed this place. The entrance disappears like a magic trick, or one of Puzzling World’s illusions. Even as we head back in, it resembles only a small bay until we’re well within the Sound.

“Milford Sound is not a sound”, explains the guide, “it’s a fjord, made by a glacier, not made by a river as a Sound would be”

“In fact all the Sounds round here are fjords. To correct the mistake they called the place “Fiordland” …but they spelt it wrong, and they haven’t corrected that”

The water’s choppy, but not bad, so I bounce around on the bow, happily ensconced in my jacket, noticing a few wind-reddened faces around me. A group of dolphins appears from nowhere, and puts on a short display for us, then we approach a waterfall and I get to test out my jacket as the Captain pokes the nose of the boat under the 15 storey drop.

Refreshing.

All too soon we head back to the wharf. Two hours have flown by. It was a fantastic trip. I’m only sorry I don’t have the poetry to do the place justice, and pictures don’t capture it, so you’ll have to go for yourself!

Oh, and you know what? The 4.30 didn’t go out.

The drive back down the road is more restful. Almost too restful, it’s been a long day and I’m tiring as the sun sets. I’m desperate to reach the campsite before darkness, but the sunset is turning the little fluffy clouds red as they reflect in the mountain lake below. This demands a few stops for pictures. My camera’s battery is as dead as mine. The warning has been flashing since the dolphins yet it keeps on clicking. Good work Panasonic!

(..or maybe “shoddy work, sort your battery display out!”)

Finally I make it back to the campsite, thank Dannieyell and ask for the nearest pub.

“Ridcliffs”

“Radcliffs?”

“Ridcliffs!”

I walk down the road and find a restaurant called Red Cliffs, but it’s a bit posh for me so I nip in another bar and just manage to get food before they shut at 9!

The next day was a Wednesday. And because of my successful dash I had nothing to do. By this point I needed a rest day. After RTW1 I came up with a rule of staying put at least one day a week, and I’d already blown that. So I would do nothing today. Except go for a run on the shore of Lake Te Anau (the second largest lake in NZ, lake fact fans!)

Then I got itchy feet, and not just from the sand fly bites that you get round here. I went into town and asked the man in the bike shop about mountain bike tracks round here.

“Nope”

…and XL helmets

“Nope”

I spotted a small plane floating on the lake. I’ve never been in a small plane, or landed on water, this could be a laugh. But it was too windy for the pilot. (…and I didn’t fancy going without him)

So I was forced to rest. I did find a cinema showing a movie which purports to represent Fiordland in all it’s magnificence. But even swooping helicopter shots on a big screen don’t do that. Especially when the real thing is just outside the door.

Back to the campsite to write a bit, when Rob and Kerry showed up for one last time. We had a beer and a chat about plans, ideas and experiences and confirmed we were parting ways. I’ll miss their familiar faces at the campsites.

Thursday and off to Queenstown. Retracing my drive from Tuesday, but with time for photo stops and, boy, is it worth it. The views across the lake to the cliffs are incredible. Miles and miles of astonishing scenery, until Queenstown appears on the far shore.

The Top 10 was full for Easter, so I’m at a different campsite up the road. Whereas the Top 10 was small, with compact sites tightly knitted between a few trees, the “Lakeview” is a wide expanse of barren, gently-sloping hillside. But the sites are still compact, so they can squeeze 300 campervans cheek-by-jowel.

It’s also very close to the gondola ride up the mountain, which looms over the town, and has a mountain bike track down it. Unsure if I’ll ride today or wait for tomorrow I take a ride up the gondola with my camera and fail to capture the immensity of the vista.

At the top there’s an insane bungy jump, and a more tame “luge” which is a downhill track for kids go-karts. Except big people are allowed to play too. So I painfully squeeze my melon into a piss-pot helmet and hop on. I whizz past a few people, but it’s hardly thrilling.

I’m not daft/brave enough to fling myself off a mountain at the end of a rubber rope, so it’s time to grab a 3-day pass and fling myself off a mountain on some rubber tyres.

“The bike track will be closed over Easter”

Oh.

“Seriously?”

“Over Easter??”

“During Queenstown Bike Week?!?!”

I’m appalled.

I grab a half day pass and dash back for my bike figuring I’ve got 3 hours left and that will be enough for one day. I was really looking forward to spending the weekend getting better, getting off the easy green tracks, getting the hang of the blue intermediates, and maybe onto the insane black tracks.

I grab my bike and helmet, and join the bikers queueing for the Gondola – no riding up hills here!

Everybody else has a bike with more suspension than a Monster Truck, and they’re dressed like Robocop. Shin pads, knee pads, elbow pads, full face helmets, ski goggles… If you called the riot squad, nicked their shields and gave them a 3 grand bike each, you’d pretty much have this queue.

Uh-oh!

What have I heard about this place?

Well, someone said “You’ll be alright, just don’t stop!”

…and the guy at the campsite said simply, “You will fall off”

OhhhKayyy.

A nice man whips my bike from me and dangles it perilously from a hook atop the gondola, which holds just the front wheel. As I ascend I scour the mountainside below for the debris of fallen bikes, but my bike is still there when another nice man removes it at the top.

I give way to a couple of guys, or maybe girls, they’re wearing so much gear it’s hard to tell, and then it’s time to go.

Even though I’m on the green run, it’s incredible. It’s steep, fast, twisty and bumpy. Within moments my hands hurt from hanging onto the bars and squeezing the brakes. Damn right I’m braking, but I’m still dropping like a stone across dirt and rocks.

“HoooOOooooOOoollllLLLllllYyY CraaAAaaPP” I exclaim as I vibrate furiously. This is not like the other tracks. And because it’s all downhill there’s no let-off! My legs are bored with no work to do, but my arms are on fire. They’re steering, braking, carrying my weight, and braking.

I am so very glad I didn’t by the 3 day pass. This isn’t fun. Not because it’s scary, it’s just so damn rough, and there’s no glory from climbing any steep parts.

I reach the half-way clearing and stretch my aching hands.

“Owwwweeeowwweeeowww” (or some more profane utterance)

The only way is down so I plough on. At least this makes you focus!

Finally the track bottoms out above my campsite – “Hey there’s my van!” – and I get to pedal back to the gondola.

I head back to my van for a drink of water, hoping to regain some feeling in my hands and so very glad that the experience is over.

“Maybe just one more go…”

Helpfully, they can fit 2 bikes on each gondola carriage, so I get to have a chat on the way up. A guy from Christchurch recommends a track a few miles from town that has more variety.

The second time it’s not so bad. I know where you can go quick without disappearing off a cliff, and where to slow down. I drop my seat all the way so I can get some weight off my hands, though they’re still screaming. This is not so bad, in fact I’m quite enjoying it this time. I still wouldn’t want to do 3 days, but I might have another go.

It was on the third go that I was involved in a fatal collision.

I met another nice guy in the gondola, and he was dressed like me! No plastic accessories other than the mandatory helmet. I went back down the same green route. It would be nice to explore some other stuff, but given how crazy the green track was I didn’t fancy the blue with only a week’s experience.

“I’m getting the hang of this”, I think. Then remember that’s exactly the point where you gain confidence before skill, and have an accident. Through the halfway point with barely a pause. My hands are getting stronger, or they’ve gone numb.

Down the last section, and I’m actually catching one of the Robocops up! When…

Wham! Something small slams into my helmet.

I brake, but it’s too late. There’s a piercing pain in my head. I finally bring myself to a stop, duck to the side out of the way of the bikes behind me, and rip my helmet off. It’s no use. Death follows swiftly.

2L4C - Too Late?

I managed to complete my run on the beach before the sun disappeared behind the clouds. It decided to stay there, so the rain showed up to keep me company.

I’ve said it before, but there’s nothing quite so grim as rain at the seaside.

First stop of the day was at Punakaiki “Pancake Rocks”. Well, they have rocks, which look like a stack of pancakes. But they also have a café serving actual stacks of pancakes. Guess which I preferred!

The rain continued to fall, and after two days of jaw-dropping wonderment my feet were back on the ground. The scenery turned into trees. Miles and miles of trees. Occasionally there was something amazing – a ridiculously blue river for instance. But it was all a bit glum. I rolled on into the descriptively named town of “Franz Josef Glacier”.

I took a quick look around town, but there wasn’t much to see. There was a new Mountain Bike track on the map but nobody knew how to get to it. The rain finally lifted and there was even some light in the sky, so I figured I’d have a quick nip down to the glacier that evening, instead of chancing what the weather would be doing in the morning.

Stunning. Mesmerising. Spectacular. Awe-inspiring.

These are words I’d expect to be using to describe a glacier that has a whole town built for it, on an island where every bend unveils a new wonder.

But the only word that sprung to mind was: Grubby.

The white ice is cloaked in a layer of black debris, which kind of spoils the magnificence. The glacier on the Icefield Parkway is far better, and it has the decency to come down to the car park, where Franz Josef, and his mate “Fox” down the road, require you to hike for 40 minutes to even get to the viewing spot 500m away from the face.

Which is why the following morning, with the clouds and rain still hanging around (well, the clouds were, don’t suppose rain can hang) I decided to keep rollin’.

But I should mention the surprise encounter at the campsite. I got back after grabbing dinner to find my new neighbours were my old neighbours! Rob and Kerry were parked next to me again. They were talking to a couple of “Clockers”.

I’d best explain that: There’s not many roads round the South Island, and most campers seem to be trying to see all of it. So everybody does a lap, and you’re only choice is which way round you go. Hence there’s a tribe of people heading the opposite way to me who I’ll only ever encounter briefly, the “Clockers”, and my tribe, who I keep running into, the “Antis”. It’s weird, you find yourself checking in at the campsite next to the German lady you saw in the layby when you were both taking the same picture, or the old guy you said hello to at the lake.

So we had a nice chat to this particular pair of “clockers” but I didn’t remember their names. Those guys are just not worth it.

In the rain I reach Haast, which seems to entirely consist of a café. It is at least a nice café, with a roaring fire and décor reminiscent of Northern Exposure, with animal heads protruding from above the bar.

I stodge up and roll on. The incessant rain and monotonous trees require an aural remedy, I select “The Javelin” by Blue Amazon. It’s an album that’s basically an hour of not particularly remarkable trance music which serves to heighten the impact of the final tune, their big hit: “..and then the rain falls” which seems appropriate.

So for an hour I drift along in a contented daze. The road meanders and traffic is sparse. I’m enveloped in the music as I reach the final track. The synthesized strings swell to a roaring crescendo, then fall away leaving one kicking bass drum, followed by that glorious vocal:

“…and then the rain”

STOPS!

Bloominheck! I’ve been building up to this point for an hour. Coping with the drudgery in anticipation of a glorious climax and now the weather has ruined…

Hang on, the rain’s stopped!

…and at almost the exact same time I emerge on to a glorious lakeside road. Twisting and turning, clinging to the steep slope at the side of the lake. Above me, the arboreal monotony has given way to a dry cragginess. Incessant green has been replaced by browns, reds, yellows and black, reflected in the blue lake below.

This is better. This is more like it. This… is Otago!

Around Lake Wanaka I skirt, then Lake Hawea, equally beautiful and into the town of Wanaka.

First stop, “Puzzling World”. Almost like a museum, where all the exhibits are optical illusions, but so much more. There’s a hall of faces, where all the faces follow you around the room. There’s a perspective twisting room, that looks square, but makes an adult on one side appear smaller than a child at the other. I particularly liked the sloping room. The floor slopes steeply, but the walls don’t, giving you the impression that the floor is level. This makes it hard not to topple over, and indeed a Japanese tour group entered, literally fell through the room, then left!

After more mind-bending exhibits, and the chance to play with a stack of puzzles and games from around the world there’s a 3 dimensional walk-through maze.

“As long as you start the maze by 6pm you’re OK” says the guy on the desk.

“Will you come and rescue me if I get lost?” I enquire, half joking.

“We’ll bring you tea and a sandwich”.

But I needn’t have worried. The maze sign says it takes 30 minutes to 1 hour. I reckon I can beat that with my top-secret maze-solving strategy!

In 19 minutes I’m within sight of the exit when a guy stops me and asks me to photo him and his wife! Doesn’t he see I’m against the clock?

“smileonetwothreeclicklovely!!........what ANOTHER ONE?!”

But I make it to the exit and crash through, at 20 minutes on the dot, to rapturous applause!!

(Funny, the looks people give you when you crash through a wooden gate in a sweaty mess and rapturously applaud yourself. Oh well!)

Brilliant place that Puzzling World. And I’d steamed round so fast I still had time to find the local mountain bike park, and navigate my way round it without a map. Which turned out to be considerably more difficult than the maze – and the maze didn’t have huge drops to fall down!

Fortunately I found my car and emerged just as a young couple of bikers were loading their bikes onto their car.

“Is there a map for this place?” I pant.

“Sure, have mine” says the guy, and explains that they’re on their way to Queenstown for Mountain Bike Week.

Which I knew nothing about a week ago, but now find myself heading inexorably towards!

At the campsite I have a quick look around for Rob and Kerry, but they’re not here. Well, I didn’t ask where they’d be next, so it was pretty unlikely.

…until the morning, when there they are, getting their van ready for the day!

OK, I should point out I keep staying in the Top 10 chain of Holiday parks, as do they, so it’s less extraordinary, but still nice to see familiar faces. We compare plans, they’re doing 2 nights in Queenstown, then 2 in Te Anau, I’m doing 1 in Queenstown, then 2 in Te Anau, then back to Queenstown…

Wait, that sounds like planning!!

Well, yes, but only because Easter weekend is approaching so I’d better have something booked.

It’s raining again. I don’t have far to go to Queenstown, and I’d like another go at the Wanaka track, armed with my sweaty second-hand map, but it’ll be ridiculous in the wet (the track, not the map!). So I kill some time wandering round sports shops in a bemused attempt to see if anyone stocks XXL helmets.

Lucy doesn’t but she has some very nice jackets for half price, and I don’t have a really good waterproof so I buy one. She says I should ride the “Dean Bank track” before I leave town.

Their helmets are too small.

I try another shop.

“Good Morning, no, sorry those are all the helmets we have”

“Sigh. It’s not that good, what with all the rain”

“True, but you have a nice jacket”

“Ah, thanks”

…and another 2 shops, but no protection for the cranially well-endowed.

It’s still pouring down. What to do? I don’t want to leave town without a ride, but yesterday’s track in the rain will be lethal. I decide to head out to the start of the Dean Bank track, just to have a look. It’s only 2km out of town, but what do you know, the rain stops as I get there, so I give it a go.

Well, thank you Lucy!! Another truly awesome mountain bike track. No decision points or clumsy maps on this one, just 11km following a twisty, turny track across desert sands, up cliff faces, into the woods, down to the river valley floor, up slippery slopes, over jumps, under tree boughs…fantastic. And thanks to the rainfall I got a good spraying with mud as I went!

Luckily I have my awesome van and my own portable shower which …isn’t working. Hmmm. The taps are coughing and spitting up water and the pump is making an awful racket. I manage a quick wash in the tepid dribble but this is not good with weeks still to go. Hopefully the tank’s just empty, but I filled it up recently. Then I remember, there’s a Britz rental place in Queenstown, and I’m going there next.

I take the scenic route to Queenstown via Cromwell, and there’s lots more beautiful views of lakes and craggy desert hills, but I press on and make it to Britz. They shut in 15 minutes but the mechanic is happy to take a quick look. While I wait the girl on the desk says, “oh the water tanks are very small. One 2 minute shower and you’re pretty much out”

I’d have expected more from a 2 person van, but sure enough the mechanic tops it up and it all works fine.

I apologise for wasting their time (better than wasting mine coming back if it needed fixing) but they’re very pleasant and I’m in Queenstown.

After a week of campsites a few km from small sleepy towns it’s fantastic to stay a few hundred metres from the centre of a bustling young town with so much to do. And Rob and Kerry show up again.

But I’m coming back for the Easter weekend so tonight I take it easy and find a pub with a live singer. No stools at the bar though. It seems the Kiwis don’t tend to adopt the American sit-at-the-bar-and-talk-to-strangers habit which is a real shame for a stranger in a strange land like me.

Tuesday, and a quiet day in store. Next stop is Te Anau, a small town of no real consequence, but the start of the 120km road up to Milford Sound, the biggest attraction in Fiordland. So I take my time, fill up with diesel, and set out on the leisurely 2 hour drive.

I’ll get to the campsite in the early afternoon, then spend the rest of the day sorting out a cruise around the Sound on the next day. The guidebook warns that the road to Milford will be packed with buses heading for the popular midday tours, and that booking is essential. I don’t fancy an early start so I might as well aim for a late afternoon tour, and try and get one of the smaller boats. I’d rather tour with 75 people than a couple of hundred, and at least the drive back will be quieter.

It’s a really beautiful day today, barely a cloud in the sky… what will it be like tomorrow?

Hang on, if I’m going for a late cruise anyway, why wait? It will be awful if the weather’s grey tomorrow and I could have gone today.

Have I got time?

Suddenly my quiet day vanishes and I’m against the clock. Luckily the roads are as deserted as the land. If I push on I can reach Te Anau around 12.30. Plenty of time you’d think, but the 120km drive with all the buses and tourists takes two and a half hours, and that’s without stopping for views.

I’m in luck, one of my brochures has a small boat going at 4pm in “Late December-March”, check in 20 mins before departure. That gives me 40 mins to call at the campsite and maybe grab a quick lunch.

So I screech into Te Anau at 12.30 and find the Cruise centre.

“Sorry sir, we’re not running the 4pm cruise anymore. It’s only Decenber to March.”

“But it IS March!”

“Exactly, so it isn’t running”

“Eh!! ….er…..OK, when’s your last cruise go?”

“2.45”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“Two and a half hours”

Maybe I ain’t cruisin’ today.

But there’s another company, offering a 4.30 cruise, so I call them:

“Do you have space on the 4.30 cruise?”

“Yes, certainly. But we need six people to go out”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with you, we only have three people booked, and we need six before we’ll go out.”

“Oh”

“It’s a nice day, I’m sure we’ll get more and go out though, don’t worry”

But I do worry. It’s what I’m best at. They’re at the end of a very long slow road, where there’s nothing else to do. How many people are going to drive all the way down there without booking?

It’s such a beautiful day though, I’ve got to take the chance. So I duck into the campsite because I’ll be late back, and the girl on the desk – some oddly spelled name like Danniyell – recommends another tour group, who do a 3.45 sailing.

“Thanks, but I wanted the smaller boat. Besides I don’t think I’ll make that one”

If I’m going to drive another 2.5 hours, then jump on a boat for 2, then drive 2.5 back, on top of the 2 I did this morning, I’m gonna need lunch. Thankfully Te Anau has a Subway. So I munch down a footlong and hit the road soon after 1pm.

But there’s nobody on it!

And there’s not much to see for the first 60km. I mean it’s fabulously beautiful, but only in the way most of the South Island has been. So I push on. In a car I’d be tempted to plough on, but in a campervan it’s a bit more tricky. At least I don’t feel like I’m missing stuff by not stopping…

Oh.

Wow.

At about the 30km part the road emerges from the trees into a valley. And what a valley. The floor is flat and wide, but there’s mountains soaring into the sky. As Tennyson might have put it:

Mountains to the right of me.

Mountains to the left of me.

Mountains in front of me.

Hang on… in front of me? How’s that going to work? No time now, keep pushing on.

I’m making good time. The 3.45 is easily do-able even with 20 mins check-in. But I’m heading towards the face of a cliff. Surely that’s going to slow me down?

Yes.

On the upside, there’s a tunnel.

On the downside there’s traffic lights and a sign saying “Wait up to 15 minutes”.

To the right there’s a countdown clock. 5 minutes 15 seconds to go.

“Come on, come on”

If they need six people and there’s 3 of us, can’t we pay double?

I’d pay double not to have to come back again, not to have to pay for diesel, and we’d get a tour with just the 3 of us. How cool would that be? Surely the others will pay double? How much would I pay not to have to come again? Could I buy 4 tickets?

Green!

Great tunnel. No messing around with any bends, or a ceiling. Just a straight drop through a mountain, getting dripped on.

Out blinking into the sunlight.

Onwards and downwards.

Come on, come on!!

The road twists and turns, but luckily there’s still nobody on it. Of course that means there’s nobody to join our cruise.

Damnit!

How’re we doing?

3 o’clock.

Ten km to go.

Good, I’ll have time to bag up stuff for the trip. Have a quick pee. Ask about the 4.30, and if it’s not going, still catch the 3.45 - If there’s any places left.

Except there’s something funny about the destination on the sat nav.

No time to look now. The road’s still twisty, and beautiful, …look at that view…

No, watch the road!

I’m there!

Except I’m not. I’m in the car park, but there’s still a “ten minute walk” to the cruise terminal

Quick, quick, quick.

The drive was great, but I really don’t want to do it again tomorrow.

Into the cruise terminal. I spy the desk with “Next cruise 4.30pm” and gasp the question:

“Is the 4.30 going out?”

“We still don’t have 6 people, but we’ll get them, it will most likely go out, it’s a nice day.”

“How many do you have? Still 3? Or have you got more”

“Oh, the other 2 came earlier and decided to catch another cruise. It’s just you”

“I see” I yelled over my shoulder, running for the other desk.

“Have you any space on the 3.45?”

“Oh yes”

“It’s a big boat then?”

“Oh no, it’s a small 75 seater”

“Oh great, how many people are going?”

“20”

And there I was. I’d made it. And after a long frenetic dash there was nothing to do but wait.