To kill time while I waited for my visa extension to be processed, I took a ride on the Taieri Gorge Railway, a scenic ride from Dunedin to Pukerangi. It was a lovely ride, but the train car was bitterly cold and I was fighting the drowsies brought on by motion sickness drugs. When my camera battery died, I confess I was relieved that I wouldn't have to worry about missing any great photo ops. Not my finest hour as an observer.
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April 2009
04/28/2009
04/26/2009
More From The Catlins
Oops. I had a bunch more pix in my camera.
The Catlins
The Catlins is a region in southeast New Zealand known for stunning bays and wilderness walks.
But what ended up being the highlight of my time there wasn’t a waterfall or a bay, it was the hostel. At the Catlins YHA in Owaka, I had the type of experience that makes traveling so fun. Six of us (including the owner) had the run of the place for the two nights I was there, and it was one of those serendipitous occasions when everyone present was interesting and interested. We shared food and wine, played pool, talked music, and had scooter races and cricket matches in the hallways.
When everyone left Sunday morning, it was like the end of Summer Camp. Back to the serious business of travel and tourism and waterfall watching.
Stewart Island
About 20 miles south of the South Island, across the Foveaux Strait, lies Stewart Island, known primarily for its walking tracks and its multitude of bird species.
Take a moment and check out the video in the Oreti Beach entry (2 blogs previous). Remember, if you will, my tendency toward seasickness and imagine me taking a ferry the next morning that heads pretty much exactly in the direction you’re looking. You’ll be tempted to call me a dumbass, I know, but the ticket was bought and I had confidence in SeaLegs, the Kiwi version of Dramamine. But confidence doesn’t make for calm seas or calm stomachs. Once on the island, I very nearly became a permanent resident, as it seemed the only way to avoid ever stepping on that ferry again.
The good news is that the charms of the island are worth a little nausea. I hiked one leg of the Rakiura Track – a 3-4 day tramp that is considered one of New Zealand’s Great Walks – and traveled (by boat!) to Ulva Island, an open sanctuary teeming with native flora and fauna.
Below is a little excerpt from the Stewart Island web page about the naming of the island. Forgive me for not paraphrasing.
THE NAMING OF
STEWART ISLAND
Te Punga o Te Waka a Maui, the original Maori name, positions Stewart Island firmly at the heart of Maori mythology. Translated as "The Anchor Stone of Maui's Canoe", it refers to the part played by this Island in the legend of Maui and his crew, who from their canoe (the South Island) caught and raised the great fish, (the North Island).
The more commonly known and used name however is Rakiura. Translated as "The great and deep blushing of Te Rakitamau" an early Maori Chief, seen today as the glowing sunrises, sunsets and the Aurora Australis or Southern Lights.
Te Rakitamau left his home to ask a high ranking Kati Mamoe family for the hand in marriage of the elder of his two daughters. To his embarassment he blushed terribly when he was turned down. Te Raki Tamau then asked for the hand of the second daughter, but she too was already betrothed. It is said that the red skies of Stewart Island reflect the blushing embarrassment of Te Rakitamau.
From this story came Te raki o te uraka o Te Rakitamau, then, Te raki ura o Te Rakitamau. It has been shortened to Rakiura. In memory of the heat of his face the highest peak was named Hananui (the great blush).
In 1809 the 'Pegasus', sailing from Port Jackson, Australia, on a sealing expedition had aboard as first officer, William Stewart. While the boat was in the large south eastern harbour (which now bears it's name 'Pegasus'), William Stewart began charting the southern coasts, and his work is acknowledged by the Island's present name.
Stewart Island anchors more then Maui's canoe. It anchors in it's rocks, rivers, and rugged shores and in its garnishment of plants and animals, the hope of generations unborn that places like this will always exist.
Neville Peat 1992
04/25/2009
Oreti Beach, Invercargill
This is the blowing sand that nearly ended the photo portion of this blog.
The Middlemarch Singles Ball
Eight years ago, in the small farming community of Middlemarch in south central New Zealand, an idea was formed. With the nearest hospital some 80 kilometers away and a male-to-female ratio to rival Alaska’s, the town’s denizens devised a plan to lure a nurse to the community. They planned a singles’ ball, to which they invited ladies from the nearby city of Dunedin, with an aim to match up their farmers and, hopefully, marry one of them to a healthcare professional. In the years since, the ball has become a biennial event, attracting single lasses from all over New Zealand and, indeed, all over the world.
I am one such single lass.
While I was still working on the ranch, Linda (my boss) asked me how serious I was about finding myself a Kiwi bloke. I wanted to say, “Why, not at all, Linda.” But, not wanting to offend, I simply asked why she wanted to know.
“Well,” she said, “there’s this thing called the Middlemarch Singles Ball and I saw some tickets for sale on the internet.”
At first, I had zero interest in going to anything with Singles in the title – I find it generally spells disaster. However, the more I thought about it, the harder I found it to resist the idea, if only to be able to say I’d gone to a “Farmer Needs a Wife” matchmaking event.
It seemed the Fates were against the idea. With the ball on Saturday evening, I arrived in Dunedin Friday morning, thinking I’d have plenty of time to buy a dress, shoes, and accessories, and to get my hair and nails done.
“Ha!” said the Fates. “It’s Good Friday. And in New Zealand, nothing is open on Good Friday (except cafes and movie theaters, and good luck finding shoes at a café).”
Okay, I’ll just have to hustle Saturday morning, I thought. So I got in my car and headed back to the hostel. As I rounded the corner, the thunk thunk thunk coming form my car’s undercarriage alerted me to obstacle #2: a flat tire.
This obstacle was made a little less burdensome by the help of Carl, an off-duty police officer who stopped to help me change my tire. Well, I helped him.
Luckily, there was a small window Saturday morning in which the tire shop was open. I dropped off the car at 9 and the mechanic told me to come back in an hour. When I returned, it was to the news that a repair was impossible – a new tire was required. “Come back in another hour.”
I embarked on my mad shopping spree. Dress, check. Shoes, check. Strapless bra, check. Oh, why not a pedicure? And back to Firestone. Only I’d forgotten that they closed at noon. I arrived at one to find the garage closed and my car locked inside – with all my luggage and the tickets to the ball. Obstacle #3.
I’m pretty sure that if this had happened in the States, in Los Angeles certainly, I would not have gone to the ball and my car would have remained locked up through the Easter Sunday and Easter Monday holidays. But in New Zealand, the nice folks answer their after-hour phone calls and actually came back to the store to let you re-claim your car.
The ball was on. My new friend Lis came down from Oamaru to join me and we set out for Middlemarch and the 2009 “Some Bunny Loves You” Singles Ball.
I’m sorry to say that the same plague which has infested Mardi Gras in New Orleans has crossed the Pacific and found its way to Central Otago – the ball has become an enormous frat party. Lis and I had a ball at the ball, but there were few farmers in sight. And the ones who were there were forced into the corners by the blue-and-white-button-down college boys from Dunedin.
I think perhaps it’s time for Middlemarch to send one of its own to medical school.
04/13/2009
Lake Tekapo
When I went to bed, everything was brown. There wasn't even any snow on the mountain peaks. I woke up to this.
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