It is dark. I’ve slept six hours and I needed every one of them. After dinner, I return to my room. I am going to make an early night of it to be as rested as possible this week.

I’m up by 7:30, but just can’t get going. As I’m leaving, my hosts hand me a rose and a chocolate. These people are awesome! I stop by the last two wineries I had originally intended to finish with yesterday. They are both closed. I am not the least bit disappointed and move on up the road back toward Nelson. I see a sign for Havelock. I must be in a strange mood as I think I’ll “have a lock around Havelock.” The town, as many towns in NZ, is basically made up of one street. After perusing this, I find out that Havelock is the “gateway” to a series of sounds, much the same way Te Anau is the starting point for the fiords. I walk into a tavern accommodation. I like this place immediately and she will hold a reservation for me until 5pm. I enter the Queen Charlotte Drive, which is a scenic route between Havelock and Picton. I stop at the first Lookout I see. This has a 20 minute pathway and some great views. I move on. The next stop is a place called Linkwater. Here is the beginning of the road that will take me to the major treks. As I step out of the car to grab a map, my nostrils are accosted with an odor I don’t think I’ve experienced since the morning near Cape Palliser. Wow, is this bad! I drive up the road before stopping again to look at the map. It is cloudy, windy and rainy today so I have to pick my trails carefully. I turn into Mistletoe Bay which isn’t on the map, but sounds pretty and has two 11/2 hour trails and two 4 hour trails. I wander around Mistletoe for a short while. This is an eco village which, when complete, will be completely self reliant. Right now, it looks like an undersized camp ground charging $10 for adults and $5 for children, has four toilets, two showers and no drinking water. It is no longer part of the DOC (department of conservation) but the trails are and that’s why I’m here. I move back up the hill to a car park and take to the trails. It takes me awhile, but I finally find that I am walking the Queen Charlotte Track. I do find Mistletoe on the map and I spend the next 5 hours “ooing and ahing” about every ten minutes when I can get a breath. This trail is steep! Based on my map, my views are of bays within the Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds. And just in case you’ve forgotten, sounds go from shallow to deep because they are back filled by the rise of the ocean waters at the end of an ice age when there is major melting. Along one of the trails, I am annoyed to see orange containers dumped over the side of the trail. It takes me several minutes before I realize these aren’t containers, they are mushrooms or more precisely, toad stools. A few of them are large enough, 6-8 inches on top, to make me wonder if Lewis Carroll ever came here. They really are inspirational.

Seven trail bikers pass by me in the opposite direction. Everyone looks miserable and tired. Another biker, who is very muddy, also passes and asks how much further to Anakiwa. I have no idea and tell him so. What I didn’t tell him is that Anakiwa is a three hour walk according to the place I started from over two hours ago. There were a few of us walkers as well and everyone is pleasant enough. However, today as I walk, my mind is on coming back to a warm room that I don’t have to share with anyone. I see these people on the trails and they all look cold and tired. And I know that I would look and feel that way too, if all I had to look forward to was a tent or tight room with three to seven other bed/cots/bunks in it. Tomorrow I’ll do it, but tonight I intend to be spoiled.

I get back after 5pm, but she held the room. I am given a beautiful room with a double bed, TV, heater and a view of the harbor. The building is from the 1860’s with hardwood floors, stained glass doors and twelve foot ceilings. The shower is spacious and immaculate. Downstairs, they serve “pub grub” for $10. I get my fish and chips plus a salad and a pint of Speight’s Old Dark. This is the last indulgence until after the race, except for a room alone this Saturday night. The race is Sunday. I take a walk after eating, but they’ve already tucked away the sidewalks. I considered seeing the sounds by boat. To do this, you take the mail delivery boat which starts at 9:30am and returns around 4:30pm. Today is Tuesday. The next mail boat goes out Thursday. It’s too long a wait and I had a price tag in mind that is less than what they charge. I’m disappointed for about a minute until I remember that I’ll be traveling through the Queen Charlotte Sound to get back to Wellington. No worries.

I’m awake. It is still dark, I’m rolled up in a little ball because I’m so cold and I am soaked. Even my hair is wet. I change my clothes and put on warmer stuff. I think I must have run a fever. It takes me awhile to fall back asleep. I don’t feel well.

I’m up and attempting a run. The day is bright and sunny and the view out my window is delightful. First, I get the number for the Laughing Kiwi. My run goes badly. I don’t think I’ve run two miles. I shower and have a light breakfast, which includes freshly brewed KawaKawa, then call Laughing Kiwi, but have to leave a message. Now that I think I have a room, I can take my time getting there. I want to stop in Nelson anyway to pick up something for my daughter that I should have just gotten earlier, go to the bank and book the ferry.

I’m doing well. I only stop once between Havelock and the Pelorus Bridge. I see signs for Pelorus Bridge and walk. This is yet another beautiful bridge and trail. In the 1843, this was part of the trail used to connect Nelson to the Wairau Valley, taking a day and a half on horseback. Prior to this, it was one of several tracks used by the Maori. When gold was discovered in 1864, the track became inadequate for transport and by 1885, there was a road put in suitable for horse drawn vehicles. Once the gold rush abated, timber became the next target and soon, most of the dense rich forest was completely stripped. In 1912, this area was one of the only forested areas left between Blenheim and Nelson and was declared a scenic reserve. The water is crystal green in places. I watch about eight teenage boys in togs (swimsuits) brave the cold waters down beside the bridge. Their laughter is infectious and I notice others besides myself smiling at their display.

A bright blue sky day in Nelson makes you understand why it is so popular. A huge sign as you enter says “Nelson-Live the Day.” I stop at the i-site to book the ferry. I get #B464 (B for booking). They handle everything by category which is very efficient. If you only have a question, you get a number with a Q and someone will come up and answer it so you can get on your way and the place isn’t so crowded. Unfortunately, they are on #B453. I ask if I have time to go to the bank. I walk to the other side and length of the Trafalgar Street and back. They are on #B458. I hand my ticket to a couple who just walked in with #B468 and leave. I stop to make a purchase and it feels good to return to a place and easily drive from place to place without getting lost. Once on Rte 6 again I stop to take pictures of my running route by the bay. I don’t even try to resist going to Tahunanui Beach. I passed it when I ran but I had no idea how expansive it is. This place is interesting in that the beach is almost in three parts. During low tide, pools and sandy juts allow you to stay beside one area of water or continue on the sand around that spot and go farther out or farther across. No matter where you are on this beach, the sand is tan with a smattering of interesting shells and tiny driftwood pieces and is so massive; you can have all the solitude or social interaction you desire. I forgot my pencil to work my Sudokus, so it isn’t long before I’m drifting off. I am slathered in sun screen, but cover my head all the same. When I wake up, my towel around me is covered in drifted sand. Actually, I am covered in drifted sand, including my face and nostrils which were protected. I shake off as much as possible, but it’s very fine and I find it just doesn’t come off completely. I wander along the beach just to refresh; then head for the car. The trip to Motueka is not far and goes quickly. Once again, I was able to secure the last available bed. Sarah is still here, but out; Stefan and Lars are all still here. Grocery shopping, a mildly more successful run, dinner, then wine and the hot tub while catching up with Sarah make me feel much better. Then it starts to rain.

It has rained hard all night. I really need to keep active these last few days before the race. I go to the i-site and book both the ferry back to Wellington and my room for Saturday night. The rain stops. I am getting really restless. I’ve asked Sarah if she would like to come with me back to the Abel Tasman. I have a date to walk to Anchorage which I should have done the last time, but was too down to do it. We pick up a young backpacker from Germany going to the same starting place. I really enjoy the different people I meet. I am hoping Sarah will be game for Anchorage; it says that it is a four hour walk; and that is one way. We stop at Tinline Beach again because I think she will like it. We also stop at a few overlooks, Appletree Beach, a place I didn’t even get to last time and a few others. We are just approaching a rest place when I hear, “We know you!” As I look up, I see two guys I met when I walked the Queen Charlotte Track a few days ago. This is yet another phenomenon I have only witnessed and am now so appreciative to experience. What are the odds that strangers would show up on the same day, same track and miles apart and recognize each other after one passing encounter? This is such a blessing. We continue first, but take yet another brief tangent so they get to Anchorage and Torrent Bay first. If my breath were truly taken away each time I saw beauty in this country, I would have been dead long ago. I’m glad I’ve lived to see Anchorage. They are staying, these two friends from Arizona, but we will be returning and it is getting on toward dusk. Because it is getting dark and I won’t get to run, I run up all the hills with both my pack and Sarah’s. Our return is around three hours, not four, but it is dark and the sun has set. As we approach the car park, there are lights and music. Sarah is starving so we go and check out what’s happening. The restaurant is still open and it is open mike night. There is a fellow playing guitar. He isn’t very good, but the ambiance of the place is very relaxing. Getting back to the hostel, goes quickly. After 7 ½ hours of walking the hot tub is a post dinner event. Staying in a room with only one other person is priceless.

I started out late today. Sarah and I are in another double, but it is even a better one than last night because it will be much quieter. Simon is coming with us for wine tasting this afternoon, but he has to finish work first. We start out about 1 or 1:30. I have no idea how many we have been to, but we talk to the growers or staff at each one, get a little more educated and enjoy each other’s company. Upon return, I run an easy 8km and contemplate dinner and the hot tub. I do another massage for which I am actually paid my worth and pays for my last two nights. This is a very nice end to the day.

It is the day before my race, one week before I return home. Sarah took a bunk and let me have the double bed in our room because of my race.There are such defining moments in this journey and this is one of them. I have had such a great time just staying here in Motueka and “hanging out” with this odd grouping of people. I do a total repacking of my suitcase. Simon is feeling no better, so I drive him downtown to see the doctor. Lars has decided he has to take today off. Sarah and I take off to town on foot to run some errands. I get hold of some petroleum jelly which I know my teacher from Masterton likes, so I mail it off to her.

I’m sitting in the common room when Sarah comes in to tell me “the boys” as we call them, are going fishing. I’m in transition because I needed to check out by 10am, but can’t check into the B&B until after 2pm. So Lars, Stefan, Simon and I set out to “the bridge,” wherever that is and Sarah is going to join us after she bakes her cake. Simon is not feeling well and wants to know how much farther to the bridge. Lars teases him about not being strong and mentions something about the military which gets us into that as conversation rather than picking on Simon. Lars tells me he used to cook for the top brass. Simon and I talk about motorcycles and how expensive it is to get a license in Germany; about $1500. We finally get to the river. Stefan says he has never gone fishing in his life. We tease him about being a virgin. Everyone tries, but no one catches. Sarah comes along after awhile and Simon leaves to take his antibiotics and lie down. I mostly work on Sudokus and listen to the river and banter of “the boys.” I’m putting off the inevitable. I have really had a good time here. I also know that this starts the last leg of my journey. Everything will change now, and once again, after the race, I have no definite plan. I say “Goodbye” at the river and walk back to the hostel. Lars makes sure I have a picture of himself and his email. For everything he is and is not, he has been thoughtful and respectful and an important part of my experience here. Stefan is quieter, but funny and kind. Sarah is going to hitch hike to my race tomorrow so I have a finish line picture. This was her idea and I am so grateful she can’t even know. I see Simon to say a farewell and off I go to Kaiteriteri, a half marathon in New Zealand and a B&B for which I have no directions save for “turn right at the Little Kaiteriteri sign.”

While driving, I contemplate the best and worst ways to travel through NZ.  Of course this is only my opinion based on what I’ve observed and done myself. I think by far the worst is recumbent bike. I have been told twice that recumbent bike is harder with this terrain and every cyclist I see looks in pain with sweat pouring off. Now the cyclists can disagree and that’s fine, but it takes a long time to go places, you can’t just change your mind and decide to hitch or take a bus (though you can take a bus, it’s harder) and they are easy to steal. Some trails allow them while others do not, so after pumping for hours, you get to walk for a whole bunch more. Walking and hitching aren’t bad ways to travel here. Itai says there are many Israelis in the country and they all see each other as they crisscross the passes and travel along the coasts. And of course, it always offers you the freedom to take a bus or other transport. It is certainly cheap, but there are definite limitations and there can be long hours of just waiting. Cars are expensive because fuel is expensive. They can go almost anywhere and you can sleep in it should the need arise. You can give people lifts from one hostel to the next and have both company and if you choose, charge a little for the gas. They also have programs where a rental vehicle is taken to one city and needs to be returned. You get the car for 24 hours at a substantially reduced rate, but again, it’s 24 hours with a definite destination. The travel vans are interesting because you sleep in them so you save money that way. It seems it would be good if you have several people, but it is also isolating and you can’t go everywhere with these large vehicles. And, since it takes around $65 to fill a car, I can’t even guess what it is to fill one of those vans. I really think the best way to travel NZ is by motorcycle. They are great on fuel, you can get places quickly, you can use the car parks and go on excursions using other transportation, you can add side pouches to hold things, but you have to stay light, which is good when it’s time to go home. They can go nearly everywhere and you can get a hotel, hostel or tent it if you want. Depending on the intention of your trip; this is the way to travel.

The sign says Little Kaiteriteri, so I go right. It says little so how big can it be? Four short streets as a matter of fact and I just found the mother load. Diane and her husband own the Everton B&B which sits on a hill overlooking Little Kaiteriteri Beach and the sunset. This means, as it has worked out, that so does my room. Diane goes out of her way to get me settled. She even calls a few places to see who serves pasta and for how much. AND FREE INTERNET! The place is immaculate, Diane and I get our house rules set up, she is out the door and I am on my way across the beach with camera in hand, to Kaiteriteri Beach to procure dinner and look at my start line. Since the local restaurant serves pasta for $27, I check out the local market. I get Rotini and a can of sauce for $3.60. I already have salad with me and bread as well. Diane has left me fresh Basil and the run of the kitchen. I eat on my balcony, while going through the over 1200 emails which are waiting for me.

I have not slept super well on this trip at all and even though the bed is super comfortable, I have a race and never sleep well before those either. I manage four hours and am up shortly after six. I had told my hostess to not make a fuss because I would be up so early, but she is up at 6:30am to give me breakfast. A banana, orange juice and yogurt are about all I can manage; I am not an early riser or an early breakfast eater. It is low tide so I can cut over from Little Kaiteriteri Beach to Kaiteriteri Beach from where the race is starting. I had forgotten about the stream that runs between them even at low tide so I end up climbing an embankment to get to the bridge and then crossing over and walking into town. There are only about a hundred runners here and many of them are in relay teams. They start us off in 15 minute intervals so every ends around the same time. I find I’m not the only American, but I’m pretty sure the only female from the States who is running. Averil explains the course. The first group goes. These are the walkers. I’m in the second group because I have no idea how I’ll do. My turn.

Let me make clear a few Kiwi definitions. Mountains have snow on them. Everything else falls under the realm of hill and or undulations and or bits and pieces. For anyone who has done the Covered Bridges Race, what we call a hill at mile 8 is a bit without a piece to go with it. If you’ve run the Lake Placid Half; that zigzag that seems to go on at the very end before entering the oval? That would be bits and pieces. Undulations are a continuous climb that gives scattered momentary relief and can go on for several km (1-3 miles). But hills….well let’s see….hills…. Remember all the twisty, windy, switchback, hairpin, up and up and up then down and down and down for 10-20km I’ve mentioned? That’s a hill. I knew about the “hill” just before the race. I run the whole first hill which starts around mile 4-5 after running their bits and pieces and some flats. It goes on for about three miles before starting to descend. Now comes my definition (not Kiwi) of rolling hills. We Americans are very spoiled. There have been two water stops so far and no electrolytes. What I am not prepared for is the series of undulations at the end which seems like another “hill” (their definition, Oh My God!) to me. I have to walk part of it and there is no water. I pass a car parked and ask for fluid or electrolytes. They are waiting for one of the relays. Not only do they have electrolytes, but they drive down and hand it to me while I’m running! I love these people! I start feeling better again and I’m headed down hill. I can glimpse the ocean and hear it which is a good sign for the finish. As I turn into the finish I hear my name. I look up and there is Diane with camera in hand. Next to her is Sarah with her camera. What time is it? As best I can figure, because they don’t have chips and time boards, I have completed the hardest race (including marathons) of my life in 2 hours and 10-20 minutes. Official results will be available on Tuesday. If this had been the “Covered,” I would have broken 2 hours without any doubt. I tell them how my runner friends back home always “bring back our dead.” This is when the lead runners finish, but turn around and go back to encourage the other runners in our group for their finish whether it means more running or even walking and running. I tell Sarah and Diane that I am so grateful I have no runners to go get and that they are here. Diane gives Sarah and me a ride back. Checkout should be at 10am, but Diane had agreed to let me shower and recover. She has toast waiting for me when I come downstairs. Sarah and Diane have already sent me my finish line pictures. I pack up the car and Sarah and I take off to try to catch the awards and to find my warm up pants and shirt. We’re early which is great. I don’t find my things but I’m not worried. We grab great seats on the lawn with everyone else. There is a commemorative plate given to the first male and female runners and walkers. The first male came in at just over an hour and the female wasn’t far behind. Then they unloaded beer, wine candy and all sorts of goodies onto the table. They took our entry numbers and just like door prizes, handed everything out. Plates break, chocolate melts and I can’t drink wine by myself. I am one of the people who wins a door prize and when they mention I’m from the States, people clap. I grab the last six pack of Monteith’s Original Ale, a beer I haven’t tried yet. Sarah and I have one right there on the lawn. When we leave, I return to the B&B and give one to Diane. Sarah and I take off back to Motueka where they are having their Sunday Market. This is a nice one, but it’s almost over when we get there. I talk a vendor into giving us Smoothies for $3 apiece instead of $5 apiece. I drop Sarah at Laughing Kiwi and head for Picton.

I’ve been on most of this route at least once, with the exception of the Queen Charlotte Highway. This is the scenic route to Picton. I need to drop the car off by 4pm and it’s after 1pm now. With the exception of a few slow drivers and my having to stop to take yet more pictures of incredible scenery, the drive goes quickly and I arrive just before 4pm. No one is at the office which works out great for me because it takes me nearly an hour to get my stuff arranged and out of the car. Now comes the wait time. Wait for the shuttle bus, wait to check in, wait for departure. It is very windy, but I go out to take one last picture of Charlotte Sound and the South Island I will miss. It starts to rain. Wind and rain are not a good mixture on a boat; not even a really big one. I ate after first boarding because I’ve barely eaten all day. I’m writing notes when it first hits me. I’m nauseated. I try to move but I can’t. I shut down my computer. It is taking too long but that turns out to be a good thing because I would never have made it to a rest room. There are bags all over for this event and I need two. It happens so quickly most people didn’t even notice. I am mortified, especially when the guy not far away asks if he can get me some water or anything. I just apologize about ten times. I can’t even get up to dispose of the bag. Within ten minutes, it happens again. And I have an hour more to go. I try to get comfortable sitting up and actually fall asleep until the announcement for disembarkation. People help me with my excessive luggage and I’m grateful for that. There is a backpacker place across the street from the pier. It is no longer raining but still quite windy and it feels good on my face. I haven’t needed cash in awhile and come up one dollar and change short when the $20 room key deposit is added in. Beside me, two fellows are being told by the guy at the desk they can pay the rest tomorrow. I don’t rate and get an offer for a 20 bunk dorm for $2 less so my money will cover the total cost. Call me stubborn but I walked out. I try a hotel; too expensive. I am supposed to be walking toward another hostel. I am tired, dehydrated and can’t find this other place. I ask directions and get a smart aleck answer from one of a pair of young guys sitting smoking on the stoop of one of the better hotels. I’m so tired and the luggage so burdensome, I stop to rest several times. Yes, I have a lot of luggage. Remember, I have to carry food, detergent, extra towels and maps for one more week. A taxi stops. I tell him no, I can’t afford it. He asks me where I’m going. I tell him I’m looking for a place to stay. We get into a conversation about what happened at the hostel. He says he’ll take me for free. I’m not naïve and I did live in NYC. This guy is Maori and I know, know I don’t have to worry. We talk as he’s driving. I tell him I’ll sleep at the station. He tells me he lives with his wife and three grandsons in an apartment in Lower Hutt. I tell him I’ve been there and it’s nice. He offers me a couch for the night and I take it. When we get there, he gives me water, a pillow and blankets. I am asleep within 10 minutes. Someone gets up during the night and pokes me, trying to find out what I am. In the morning, I meet his wife and two of the boys. He drops me back at the station and is reluctant to accept the money I slip into his hand as I shake it, thanking him for his kindness. I get a breakfast deal and call one of the rental car places to see if it needs a car returned to Auckland. It doesn’t. I’m at the library making the call, so this is a good time to catch up on my notes. I try again in the afternoon; still nothing. I don’t want to take the bus or train.

I start driving east. Even the beautiful scenery isn’t lifting my spirits. I stop at a fruit stand. Maybe I’m back in friendly territory. Apples are $4 for a small bag. The lady says she’ll bag them up for me fresh. She keeps stuffing them in telling me they will keep me healthy. I had the largest small bag of apples at the stand and I needed them and her. I also picked up a bag of 12 Kiwi fruits for $2. I’m leaving the Golden Bay area. I do stop at Marahau and Kaiteriteri. Sandy Bay is enough to lift my mood a bit, it is just so beautiful! I’m fighting going on to Nelson; I can feel it. It might be because Nelson represents the beginning of the end of my journey, or because I can get work there or maybe because there is a plan to my going, while I feel clueless here. Where’s my faith? Haven’t I learned anything here?! I am completely at a loss as to what to do. I am driving aimlessly and almost book a backpacker stay then change my mind. I don’t want to stay in another backpacker place; not like the ones I’ve been in.

I drive into the Abel Tasman Park. I didn’t even know I could access it from here. I have that disoriented feeling I get when I’m out of sync with my surroundings. I walk right into the information center and tell the lady I have no idea what I can see here. She explains where the track begins and my various options. I start walking, but my heart is not in it today. I’ve been steadily feeling more and more out of synch since Barrytown. The places I’ve been staying are depressing and run down. I’m not doing any work and my energy is low. I need to rid myself of the bad energy; I need rest. There is a plan; I just don’t know what it is yet. I get as far as Coquille Beach. This might be an hour in, but certainly not my usual trek. I have lunch here and pray for an answer. Since I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, I start to head back. I stop at Tinline Beach, which I passed on the way up. This beach has a cave, but you can see light at all times. It also has a shallow beach and rock jetties. It is nearly three thirty and I know I should go but I sit down again. I am sitting for about five minutes, when a fellow steps out from the trail. I remember him from earlier. He works here for the Department of Conservation. We start talking and I tell him about the places I’ve been staying. He is very sympathetic, but I still don’t know why I’m telling him this. He is getting picked up from work and asks me if I’d like a ride. This means I get to ride in a DOC boat back to the car park; cool! I tell him that I think that would be fun and just the ticket to get out of the mood I’m in. The boat comes and the three of us ride back together. The driver has run the Intracoastal Run. This race is across the whole South Island and is done in one or two days. This fellow did it in one. We also talk about my predicament. The two of them discuss possible places I should go. We don’t dock. Instead, we are put on a trailer and driven to a car park. We leave the boat and Ian drives me to my car in a DOC truck. I feel better already. He tells me to follow him. We’re going to Motueka which is on his way home and try a couple of places for me to stay.

Ian pulls over and I pull up in front of him. I run back and he points out The Laughing Kiwi backpacker lodging across the street. He then describes the location of a few other places in case this one is full. I thank him several times during which he mostly blushes and says it’s nothing but Kiwi hospitality, then he is on his way. I run across the street feeling a bit more positive than I have in days. The couple running the place is very nice and the place is spotless with some nice extras. The price is definitely right and I have the last bed available. I move my stuff in and take off on foot to New World, one of those NZ institutions that make you feel at home anywhere you travel in NZ because there is one in almost every town. I don’t even get one block, when a woman with a day pack stops me and asks if there’s a backpacker place up the street and if it’s far. I tell her where it is, but that I was told I had just taken the last bed. She had been hitching when a tour bus picked her up and she needs to pick up her stuff by 5pm when the bus will be leaving from the New World parking lot. The two of us head to New World together. Sarah’s backpack is ½ the size of her and extremely heavy. She also has the day pack and that is also quite heavy. She heads off to the Laughing Kiwi and I go grocery shopping with what little money I have left. When I get back, Sarah does not have a place for the night, but has been calling around from the Laughing Kiwi. She is about to walk to a place to check it out and I suggest she lock her stuff in my car for safe keeping, enabling her to travel lighter. Off she goes after we’ve secured her things. While I make my dinner, I stand across from the only other person in the entire kitchen who is also making his dinner. We start talking and sit together to eat our meals. By the time Sarah returns without good news, I know that this fellow is looking for work, probably fruit picking, but by trade, he is a butcher. I offer to take Sarah to a place a bit out of town after I finish eating and Stefan will go with us to see if there are any postings at the places we go for work. Apparently, employers will post at the backpacker places to pick up transient workers for a variety of undertakings. We all pile into my car and head out. The first two places are a bit dodgy. We go to the Top 10 Holiday Park. This time I go in with Sarah to enquire. They don’t have anything, but when Sarah turns to go, I ask for any suggestions for other places. We get two more leads. Sarah wants to call, but I’ve learned you have to be face to face. I drive. The first place is full, but the second place has a possibility. He has given a double to a lady who wanted a backpacker space because it’s so much cheaper. He figures they might work something out, but she has just gone to dinner. This man is really nice and makes several calls looking for something for Sarah without any luck. There just isn’t anything. We are deciding what to do when in comes Wendy, the lady with the room. She decided not to eat at that restaurant and came back early. They did indeed work something out, Stefan got some leads on jobs and I found a number to call in Nelson, which is my next destination. Stefan and I return to the Laughing Kiwi, where Sarah and Wendy are going to join us later for a bottle of wine and conversation. Wendy doesn’t stay long because she has an early tour in the morning, but Sarah, Stefan and I all jump in the hot tub for awhile. I like this place. We plan to pool our funds and have dinner together tomorrow, hoping to include Wendy. I have wanted this kind of camaraderie I’ve witnessed but not really shared for a long time. I am really looking forward to this.

I decide that instead of walking all day at Abel Tasman, I am going to relax and take care of some business. First order of business for the day is a 7 mile run. My laundry gets washed while I’m eating breakfast and dried while I take a shower. I spend most of the day transferring my notes to “word” and finally take off downtown. I find out that my bank has an ATM only, but that’s all I need anyway. The local video store has internet access for the cheapest I’ve seen it in the past month, so it’s time to bite the bullet and get as much done in 30 minutes as I can. Only so many pages can be posted at a time, so I try to be very prepared in all I have to do. I post, pay the mortgage, post again, receive and send an email, post again, eliminate 699 bulk messages, send another email and just as I’m about to read an email from my daughter, my time runs out. I want to cry. I walk back to the lodging and remember they have a phone set up for phone card users. My daughter’s phone plays music. I already know when to cut it off. One son’s phone is ringing; I hang up. I hear my other son’s voice and almost try to squeeze through the line.

I have a great phone card this time so we really get to talk. Most of the afternoon, I spend sitting with Stefan, who is sitting with Lars and Tsatsu. Lars is a real character but there is a sweetness to Tsatsu that he is trying to hide while he and Lars chain smoke and “act cool.” Sarah shows up to join us at this hostel where she will now stay for about a week. I invite Lars and Tsatsu to join us for dinner and the five of us take off to purchase our dinner. Stefan is a butcher so he picks out the meat. We both get veggies and we all split the cost. Stefan fixes the meat on the barbeque while I work on the veggies. I keep giving Lars and Tsatsu little tasks to do. They take it in good humor though I think Lars would rather just keep sitting, smoking and drinking beer. Sarah baked a banana cake earlier and she stays busy too. We sit down to Steak, pork and lamb, mashed Kumara (sweet potato) and potatoes with sour cream, corn on the cob, cauliflower and broccoli. This is by far the largest meal I have had here. It cost me $10. I do the dishes because I’d done most of them earlier anyway while watching the veggies. I go get Lars and Tsatsu to dry and put away since Stefan did most of the cooking and Sarah baked the cake. Lars and Stefan sit around drinking while Tsatsu goes to study for an exam tomorrow. I give Sarah a massage which covers my dinner and some of my lodging. I head for the hot tub after this and just enjoy the night sky.

I run again this morning. I’m so much stronger than when I arrived in NZ in so many ways. Part of me wants to stay at least another day or two, but Nelson awaits. I see Sarah as I’m about to leave. I tell her that the dinner last night is one of the highlights of my trip. I’ve wanted to have that kind of camaraderie I’ve only watched at the hostels. She tells me I’m the one who made our dinner happen last night. I think she is right. I think I’ve been wishing for it since I left Kaikohe. She has made me a little crocheted book mark. We exchange emails. I have several very special Sarah’s in my life and now I have another.

As I leave Motueka, I remember Stefan suggesting I see the beach here. Oh well, it’s back the other way. Then I see the sign that says beach access. That’s one of the many good things about the beaches around here; there is usually more than one way to get on because they can be so long before they are cut off by rocks or cliffs. It is low tide and probably not the beach at its best, but still lovely. There is actually a salt water swimming pool built beside the sea. I walk for awhile, but know I’m just prolonging my reluctance to leave. Walking this beach is a good way to say “goodbye” to the area. I have no intention of stopping now until I’m in Nelson, but somehow I’ve ended up at the end of a pier in Mapua with an ice cream parlour in front of me.  Destiny, thy name is banana chip at this moment.

I pass the bridge to an island on the way in to Nelson centre. I may have to check that out while I’m here. I find the only hostel I reserved ahead during this whole trip. I’m disappointed. The people running it, who may also be the owners are very nice, but it’s a bit run down and definitely inadequate for bathrooms and kitchen supplies. I put my things in my room and take off on foot. I’m on the main street and it takes just a few minutes before I’m in the heart of downtown. I wander in and out of shops and talk to locals about massage. In one store, I overhear a conversation between the clerk and a fellow she obviously knows well. I apologize for listening in and ask if there is a consortium of practitioners in the area. They have no idea what I just asked and I think the word consortium is what is stumping them. Another woman tells me in a breathy voice that people come to Nelson to be healed and that I should try a place several streets down. The other two still look confused as I thank them all and depart. I find the place, but decide I’m not in a frame of mind to enter yet. I end up at the church just sitting for awhile. It has taken me all this time to realize that if I don’t have some notion of a plan, I feel uneasy and disoriented. This has been a pattern that I knew existed, but until now, have been unable to make a conscious thought and articulate. I leave the church knowing that my next stop will be the i-site.

I leave the i-site armed with brochures on other hostels and things to do in Nelson. Not quite three blocks from where I am staying is another hostel. I walk in and ask to look around. I love it and book it for tomorrow. I go back to where I am staying and run into the Canadian couple from Motueka. Laurel and Evan are also disappointed in this place, but they are leaving tomorrow. We are in the same room tonight. Laurel and I make plans to visit the weekend market tomorrow and she tells me about this great bead store she went to yesterday. She and Evan go for dinner and I am going for a run. This time, I head in the other direction where I am hoping to find water. I run through the wharf area, but eventually run along Route 6 the major road in and out of town. The sidewalk is in great condition, but much better is that I am running by the water. There is a beach. Then I run past a fish and chips place where people are lined up into the parking lot. There is also a microbrewery and a tavern accommodation. I run to the adjacent town. On my way back, I spot a lighthouse and I have tomorrow planned. I will also go to the sports stores in town until I get the information I need about my race next weekend. I stop at the tavern to look at a room. For about half the in-town price, I can get a room by myself with free internet. I know where I’m staying the night before my race.

When I return to the hostel, there are two more people in the room; one is a girl from Germany, in the 18-20 range and the other a very petite young woman from Japan who speaks almost no English. Nearly all the travelers I’ve met from all countries speak at least fair English and I admire them for the bilingualism. I speak the tiniest bit of French and Spanish, but I’ve lost nearly everything I’ve ever learned from disuse. I talk to the German girl for awhile and invite her to join Laurel and I tomorrow morning.

Something bangs right by my head. The little Japanese girl has come down from above me, hit the lamp and sent it to the floor. She apologizes profusely and I ask if she is alright. She is, and I am right back to sleep as the German girl and Evan traipse off to the toilet. Everybody wakes up at the same moment, around 7:30. The Japanese girl is gone, but I remember her coming back. Laurel says she left about 6:30. Evan rolls over and has no intention of getting up, but the three of us get dressed and we’re out the door together. Laurel and I go to find the market. It is supposed to rain today and Laurel and Evan are leaving at 10am, so I offer to take the car. Our German friend is off to call her family. She will try to join us. The market is in full swing at just after 8am. There are fruits, pastries, jewelry, crafts, clothes and all sorts of things. This is a really good market. I bargain a discount for some things both Laurel and I want. Just as we finish, it starts to mist, but by the time we get back to the hostel, it is raining. Evan and Laurel leave, I have a leisure breakfast and Germany comes back wet from rain. She changes and I ask if she would like to come to the bead store Laurel told me about. I tell her she gets to be navigator.

Again I take the car. This place is not close and now it is pouring. I can’t find a close parking spot so I am drenched when I get into the store. This place is without doubt, the most comprehensive bead store I have ever seen, been in or dreamed of ever! I have to take pictures because I am so blown away. We spend almost two hours looking at individual beads and finished pieces while the rain hammers the ground outside. I drop her off, wish her a safe journey and drive over to my new hostel several blocks away. I just walk in when I hear my name. I look up and there is Itai and Sasha. I get and give a big hug to my young friend and we quickly catch up on the past week. They will be staying here for the next four or five days, while I’ll be here tonight and tomorrow. We go off to our rooms to settle in. The rain continues hard and at lunchtime I sit talking to girls from Japan, Korea, Germany and, I think, Holland. We start talking about the bead store when they are trying to figure out what to do. One has a car and they take off very excited. As for me, most of the day is spent catching up on notes and tracking down a few leads for work in the area. The rain never lets up. They serve free chocolate pudding and ice cream every night here and Atai brings me some. We get a chance to talk more. I really like this young man; he reminds me a bit of my sons. I show him some of my pictures from Farewell Spit, knowing that he would love it there.

It is very late and I need to get to bed. The room is stifling because both windows are shut and the glass is fogged. I lean over and open one of the windows. Everyone else is sleeping. At least no one snores.

I am the first person awake. I have my running clothes ready from the night before. When I get back from a 5mile run, some of them are still sleeping. After a shower and breakfast, I’m off into town to find out about my race, like where the starting line is and useful things like that. The best I can get is a registration form with a telephone number. I return to the hostel and call. The lady is very nice and explains that the Nelson Half isn’t actually in Nelson; it’s in Kaiteriteri near Motueka, the place I like so much. I forget to ask her about packet pick up, but I have enough information to know I’m not staying at the tavern I was going to stay at and I will be heading back to Motueka within a few days. I drive to Rabbit Island and do very little except walk the beach, do Sudokus and nap in the shade. I’m getting lazy and that’s not good. When I return, I decide to go for another run when it gets a little cooler. I unexpectedly get to do a massage, which leads me to doing another massage. Good on me. Now I’m ready to run. I checked the mileage (kilage?!) so I know the distance for the run the other day. I didn’t complete it by running the whole time, but today it is a must, and I do. Fifteen kilometers! I almost miss pudding time by the time I cool down and shower. Itai has made bread and I get my own little bread shaped like a flower. I join Itai and Sasha for dinner. It feels good to laugh amongst friends. Some of our conversation includes life in Israel. We talk about security and mine fields and making sure you never get lost because the consequences could be your life. I tease Atai when he starts a sentence, “And another funny thing about Israel…” We have also exchanged emails and I have invited Atai to stay at my house should he come to the States. The invitation goes to Sasha, too, but she is doing the dishes at the time we are talking. I believe I will be seeing him within two years. We carry the conversation into the lounge, but not for long. I need to try to sleep, and Atai didn’t feel well earlier from a bus ride back to the hostel, so we make it an early night. The windows are all closed up again, but at least it isn’t a hundred degrees in here.

I don’t know why I didn’t set the alarm, but it is morning, I’ve slept well and whatever time it is, it’s time to get up and get on to Blenheim. I find out it is 7:20am and I have time for a quick breakfast of Wheetbix and milk and now I am on my way. I find the winery without problem, and in fact, see Se_ on his way out a drive. He has explained where to go and suggested a tea or coffee and he’ll be back within thirty. I park and decide not to be shy and walk up to the structure at the end of the drive. I introduce myself and find that the head man is aware of my coming. A Milo and several introductions later, Se_ arrives back. After his tucker, we start.

Organic farming is not new or unique to NZ. Purely organic viticulture is rare, but this particular winery has gone beyond this with Rudolph Steiner’s Biodynamic approach. I can not say I know a lot about Biodynamic, though I intend to do some research upon my return. In general, it is a more cosmic approach to farming. There is, of course, no pesticide use whatsoever; land not being used for wine is not cleared. Some native bush has been restored. Plantings, cuttings, trimmings and care are all done with regard to moon and earth cycles. Elements, such as silica and calcium, are given special attention in order to replace and replenish them back into the soil. Composting is done in a ritualistic way involving the grinding up of animal bones and the hanging of stag’s bladders. I don’t know if Steiner has a place for music, but there is a natural amphitheatre on the property where Se_ says they are hoping to have concerts in the future. When I ask him what kind of music, he grins and tells me he thinks the owner will probably want classical, but he would like a “wine $5 a bottle” Kiwi blues experience. We figure both would be good for the plants. The bottom line of all this is that they are running a successful winery less expensively, organically, while enhancing the soil they are using to produce a fine product. They also have olive oil which is sold and vegetables which are part of the research and a perk for the researchers/workers. I ask so many questions and I have so many more. One question that really has nothing to do specifically with Biodynamics, but I mentioned before to do with wineries, also has to do with roses. Why are roses planted at the end of rows of grape vines? The answer, along with the fact they are aesthetically pleasing is that they will show mildew sooner than grapes so there is a practical reason as well.

After my tour, I drive up to the cellar for a tasting. I also get a chance to try the olive oil. There are so many wineries in this area, there are bus tours to take you so you aren’t driving. Well I am, so I get into a lengthy chat with the next cellar host to narrow down my options. There are 49 vineyards listed on my map. There are others that aren’t listed and this is just in this immediate area. Since I’ve decided to check a few wineries, I have also decided I should get an accommodation so I’m not on the road tonight. The first place I stop in the little town of Renwick is a hotel; $130 for a room and no internet. The second place is a tavern accommodation for $90. This is for a shared bath and no internet. The third place is Watson’s Backpackers. I can not believe how badly I do not want to sleep with 6 or 7 other people. It says “No Vacancy” as I approach and part of me is glad. I always start the same way. “I know you don’t have a vacancy, but can you recommend a place?” The lady tells me they actually do have a room, but it is right off the common room. I might end up sharing it because there are two twin beds. The kitchen is immaculate, the toilets and showers are spotless and plentiful and the grounds and gardens are cheerful along with the hosts. I just died and went to Heaven for $26. I’m registered, settled and out the door within 15 minutes.

There is a place for some of the wineries that don’t have cellars called “The Wine Cellar.” Here, you can taste wine, olive oils and infused rice oils. There is also a quilter’s store, restaurant and gift store. Another shop features liquors, Schnapps and Creams in addition to olive oils, vinegars and candy. Tasting is free and when I walk in there are about eight 20 year olds trying every liquor combo possible. I try the other things. In the interim, a friend of the lady at the counter walks in with several other women. After the inebriated bus group leaves, we ladies belly up to the bar. We start off with a double shot Butterscotch liquor topped with Butterscotch Cream called a Rigid Richard. This goes down much too easily and is not as extremely sweet as it sounds. This is followed by an Espresso, followed by Mint Chocolate. I like the first one the best, but I also know I can only bring so much alcohol back. I make a nonalcoholic purchase and depart. The next winery I have marked is closed today, but I make a stop at the one across the street. The wines are all good, but I am developing a real sense of what I personally like. I stop at another. This place doesn’t have Rieslings, but it does have an incredible Sauvignon Blanc.  I mark it down as a return possibility and walk out to my car.

I am schnockered.  I’m not sure of the spelling, but I am sure of the state and I am it. Whether the intensely clean diet or the fact that I am simply not much of a drinker, I drive back (less than 10 minutes) to my perfect accommodation, grab something to eat and I am in for the next few hours. I am alone and I think it is time to catch up on some much needed rest I have not gotten amongst strangers.

I discover some beach caves during the return. I am not the first, nor will I be the last, but I am here right at this moment and these things are very cool. I step into one. I have no torch but I go as far as I can while still being able to see. There is a tiny rivulet entering with me. Then I hear it. I turn and run as fast as I can back out the entrance. This cave is contiguous with the ocean and as I come out, ocean water blasts out from behind me. No, I wouldn’t have been injured or anything like that, but I would have gotten soaked, along with my pack which contains my camera. Two more waves blast more water out the entrance, then the whole process continues with the rivulet reversing water into the cave. I think I’ll move on to cave number two. This cave has a dry entrance, but I can already hear the ocean. The girl just doesn’t learn and in I go again. Now, I am not a big cave person, and as I’ve said, I don’t have anything to light the way, so this will be short and shallow. As long as I have the entrance in sight, I’m happy. The sand becomes damp. Now I’m in water. The water level is up to my knees and only a sliver of light is left. I hear a wave hit in the distance. The water level rises. Another hit and another rise tells me it’s time to get out of here. The third hit is loud and hard. I bolt out of the entrance like a shot. Everything that was dry is now covered in water. I think this is enough caving for one day. I walk the beach awhile longer. I go to investigate what might be another beach cave entrance that I have no intention of entering. It turns out to be a shallow expanse, but I find a solitary fur seal lying on his back. He sees me, gives me a bored look and continues to snooze. I sit down beside him and write this passage.

I’ve asked a couple, the only other people on the beach, how to get back on the track.  I think this will come in handy, especially since I plan to stay through sunset. I wander more. There are two gigantic rock formations rising from the water covered, shallow sand. This place must be pillar point as these structures form two enormous arches. Now comes sunset. Cape Reinga, 90 Mile Beach, New Plymouth, Taranga Bay and Cape Farewell; all these sunsets amongst the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced and not just because of the set, but the setting. I have to break away and return to the car. I pass the couple, definitely not backpackers, who almost seem to be waiting for me. I look back a few times, but don’t see them. It’s getting very dark. When I get to the car park, mine is the only vehicle.

The drive back is going quickly. I’m spending the whole time avoiding critters. Let’s see; ten hares, and by the way, they are huge, like small dogs about 20 pounds; two birds that looked like Kakepos, but had to be large Pukekos because Kakepos are very rare and I doubt I’d be seeing two; one weka and about six other things that are diving into the grass into the grass before I can figure out what they are. Good, I’m at the hostel.

Okay. Maybe this isn’t such a good thing. At the place I tried before this one, I asked about things like towels and pillows and sheets and blankets. He laughed at me and told me all the hostels have those things now. Not so I had said and he laughed like I was an idiot. Silly me. This place has none of those things, it’s 10:30 at night, I haven’t eaten and I’m waiting for the owner to cook his fancy fish while his mate keeps calling him outside. I wait to cook my eggs, but mention what his friend had said, since his friend called this place and sent me here. I get a blanket after asking twice (he forgot) and he tells me he usually charges for this, but won’t this time. I am also in a mixed dorm which he also forgot to tell me, since I asked him to please tell me just so I could prepare better. I end up having to breathe in their smoke from the patio as the guys and owner discuss disgusting things with women. I can’t sleep and the owner asks me about what I do. He offers me a free night if I’ll work on his wife in the morning. Every inch of my body wants out of this place, but I agree because of the work.

It is morning and I wish I wasn’t here. The guy is gone, but his mate is here. She is very brusque. She calls my name and announces in front of everyone she has no idea what her husband was thinking, she is much to busy to get a massage. Then she goes on for another few minutes making me feel like I should change occupations. If she had said something to me earlier, I could have been ready and left earlier; gladly. Now, I have about 20 minutes until check out. I walk up to my bunk and my things are on the floor with the sheets removed and the blanket gone. When I got in the car I breathed a giant sigh of relief; I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to leave a place.

I drive into Greymouth, but find no reason to stay. I once again fill up the tank and once again I pay cash, nearly $70, because my second credit card is rejected. I need to call home. I now have about three weeks to go and only what I have in my bank account to use. I think the NZ purchases were the trigger, but I have to get it straightened out. North of the city, the Tasman Sea is pounding away at the cliffs. As I stand listening to the windy screaming and the surf pummeling, I hear the sound of popping corn. I turn around and there is the roadside cliff slowly disintegrating before my eyes. Now I’m not saying I am in any danger. But just like on some of the beaches, there is a steady stream of gravel piling up at the bottom of the cliff next to the road where the cliff is slowly collapsing. I think this is a good time to move on. My goal is Barrytown which has nothing as far as I know, but is close to Punakaiki which has the “pancake rocks” David recommended. I’m hoping it will be cheaper out of a city like it was in Omarama. As I enter Barrytown, I spot a bar/hotel just like Omarama. I can tell you right now, this place is nothing like Omarama, but I decide to stay anyway. It is very inexpensive, clean and everyone here is a character. The bartender sports a Mohawk and I can hardly understand his accent. He says there is going to be a party at the bar tonight and that the guys can not dress up as men. This I’ve got to see. He gives me a free pint of Baz Vegas beer that I took on his suggestion and it’s very good. His description is that it” isn’t bad for Kiwi piss.”

I have an “en suite” which means multiple beds. In this case, it means four bunk beds. The bus with the backpackers arrives. Mohawk is looking for one more room for a single female. He hesitantly looks my way and I call out “no worries.” Her name is Michelle and we get on well. She ends up dressing as Santa. Whether it is because they are tired or that nearly the entire bus load is females, the party stays rather sedate even with the dress up. I retire a little after eleven.

It rained last night and it is raining still. Regardless, I go to the beach just down the road after a shower and breakfast. The sun is just starting to come out. My first destination is the Paparoa Range and specifically Punakaiki or “Pancake Rocks.” These have been and are still forming from the action of the sea and rain. Layers of rock sandwiched with layers of dissolving limestone have formed a stacked pancake looking series of rock formations that the ocean is still pounding away. This place is worth about a hundred pictures between the beauty and uniqueness.

I attempt a side trip on an inland track into Parora Range, Mt Bovis until I come to where the road is flooded. Not being anxious to be up here alone and stuck, I retreat. It must be all that beach practice. On the way back to the road, I come upon my first Weka. This is also called a “bush hen.”  It has really big feet with three toes. The body is like that of a brown wingless chicken with the head of a bird (which it is), but big for its body. The next stop, the Truman Track, also has Wekas. These birds are very curious and will walk right up to you if you don’t move a lot. The track itself makes for a great bush walk with Kawa Kawa, black pines (used for beer), Kumarahou and others. The beach at the end of this track is spectacular, but like many beaches along the west coast, riptides and undertows make it very dangerous and signs are up confirming that.

I’ll be staying with the Paparoa Range for the rest of the day. At the Irimahuwhero (try saying that three times fast; or once even) Viewpoint, there is information on Te Ana O Matuku Cave and the Fox Recreation area. This rec area is next to what used to be a town back in the gold rush days. Apparently it’s a ghost town now. They sound interesting so I’ll include them for today.

I pass an accident. Everyone is stopped and told what to do. I let the man know I’m an R.N., but the ambulance is at the scene and there is a helicopter on the way. I stop shortly after to get directions to Fox and the cave. I find out that the cave has to have a guide and Fox is under water. I think I can move on then.

            It is definitely worth it. I reach Tauranga Bay, where I can turn one way for the seal colony or head for the bay. There is a telephone sign toward the bay so this is a no brainer. I have a call to make. Today is the 24^th, but in the States it is the 23^rd and my son’s 20^th birthday. This is the third important birthday I am missing and the last. The next one is in March and I’ll be home. Tauranga Bay is the Tasman Sea at the calmest I’ve ever seen it. AND NO SAND FLIES! The water isn’t “walk-in,” but I get used to it pretty quickly. I stay about an hour and the tide recedes so much, it looks like a different beach. Now I go in the opposite direction to Cape Foulwind (yep, that’s the name) walkway. This was the Tangata Whenua; a Maori settlement. Here, almost 80% of Maori food energy was derived from the seal based on a delicate balance. Between 1805-1835, commercial European sealers destroyed this balance and the Maori were forced to move inland and integrate into the “new economy” of gold mining. The seal colony is distant and once again I think of Cape Palliser. As I continue along the track I realize there is a very good reason for this area’s name. The track leads to the ugliest lighthouse I’ve ever seen. It’s actually the only ugly lighthouse I’ve ever seen. Beyond this is Carter Beach which is yet another magnificent beach with cliffs and broad stretches of pristine sand. I want to stay here. The Tauranga Bay area is so…so…indescribable; I could spend serious time here. I stop at several places and realize everyone else feels the same way. I end up stopping at a Holiday Park. These are all over NZ. The woman at reception is Sue and we hit it off instantly. This woman could get along with anyone; she is happy and helpful and effortless at both. She gets on the phone explaining that there is nothing here, but she’ll find me something. Several phone calls later, she is sending me into Westport to a tavern accommodation. I love these. I have a little bit of trouble finding it and when I do, it is not in a good part of town. The lady bartender is nice enough, but the boy she has show me to my room is just plain creepy. He mouths off to the lady, but doesn’t say a word to me including where to find the bathroom or anything about the kitchen facilities. I don’t like it here. And my room has several beds so I’m not sure if I’m going to end up sharing which I am not about to do for the money even though the price is ok if I’m alone. I’ve brought my stuff in, but I don’t want to stay here. I was so enthralled with Tauranga Bay, but this isn’t it and I don’t have a good feeling here. I leave to see if I can find another place. I stop at three places; a backpackers’ and two motels. The motels are ridiculously expensive and the backpacker place is worse than where I am staying already. I watch the sunset and wander around town for awhile. When I return to the tavern, I discover the kitchen I can use. There is a man here who offers me tea and explains where everything is. I start making something to eat and a woman comes in. She is the sister of the bartender and tells me the place will quiet down pretty soon. I am beginning to think that kid freaked me out a bit, Bates Motel style, and I’m beginning to relax a little with the others. The place is still shabby, but it’s clean and the lock on the door works. I guess I’ll save a shower until daylight.

It rains so hard, it wakes me up several times during the night, but the morning is clearing. I spend the entire morning talking to locals. People even stop me on the street and start talking to me. But by far, the nearly two hour conversation I have with the cleaning lady at the tavern, is the longest and most healing of late because it resolves a lot of the ill feeling I have about this very run down place I’ve just stayed. I try to reach my daughter and finally leave a message. My original plan was to head toward the Farewell Spit on the far north end of South Island. I have decided to change that plan and continue up the west coast past Karamea and into the Tasman Mountains. This place is so green and lush, but there is a cloud cover and chill in the air. Along the way, I pass a single car accident. No one is around including a driver, and the whole front end is bashed in. I stop at one of the thousands of signs for a trek; Hanlin Lake. There is absolutely no one around with the exception of two wekas. I’m hungry, so while I’m snacking, I decide to share. One of the wekas has a burr in its wing, so I toss it a piece of bread. As it picks it up, the other comes out of nowhere and takes it away. I toss another piece and the same thing happens. This goes on for a bit, until I step between the two, determined not to allow the one to usurp the other’s food. As the weka with the burr now waits for the other to get around me, I finally figure it out; these are not mates, they are mother and child. The one with the burr is making sure her baby has a good meal. I think of my own children and toss more bread to them. The track is very easy, the lake quiet and serene and once again, the name has meaning for me. On the way back, I hear voices and a big metallic sound. The first thought in my head is that someone is breaking into my car. I start running; then hear male voices. I stay on the track in the trees trying to see what’s going on. Below in the car park, are a truck and the car from the accident. There are four guys and one is in the car. My car is fine and I am on my way quickly. I get as far as Little Wanganui and realize there is nothing for me here. The road to the beach is flooded, my energy is drained, I may be living on cash for awhile, I haven’t liked the places I’ve been staying and depression seems to loom in the air with the rain now threatening. The plan changes again; now the direction is south back to Westport, then northeast toward Murchison. After the usual twisty, windy, switchback, hairpin, up and down, over the mountains road of these “scenic drives,” my jaw drops when I see the car from the accident a third time with its bonnet (hood) smashed in and slightly raised into the eye line of the driver. No worries; it is headed in the opposite direction from where I’ve just come.

I had passed a place called Gentle Annie’s Beach on the way up. Seeing the sign now, I turn in hoping for an energy lift. The road becomes a long one track dirt path. A car comes up and as we squeeze by each other, she asks that I stay put because cows are coming. This is fun. I pull myself onto the open car window with my camera ready. Here comes a tractor and for the next twenty minutes, I’m stopped to watch cows and cows stop and watch me. When I arrive at Gentle Annie’s, I find that it is anything but gentle. Foaming current, driftwood, drift trees and rocks cover the pale sand. And it wouldn’t be the west coast if it didn’t have sand flies. They really like it here. The legend goes that Tane created sand flies so that people wouldn’t populate everywhere and some places would always be left to nature. I do take one bush walk after leaving Annie’s, taking my Te Rhongoa book with me. Review is a very good thing.

I pass through Westport and head east along the Buller River. This is one of the most picturesque inland drives I’ve taken, complete with a wide, winding, tree lined river, waterfalls and even overhanging, and I do mean overhanging just above the road, cliffs. It does strike me that a good deal of this scenery is similar to upstate New York, with the exception of the cliffs looming above and very close over my car. The name Buller rings a bell in my head. Each day, I place brochures, maps and general information about an area beside me on the passenger seat so I can reference it as I go along. I see a sign for Buller Gorge and reach for a brochure. This is one of the fun things I was hoping to do while traveling through this area. Buller Gorge advertises the longest swing bridge in NZ. It also includes a loop trail, several tangent trails and for an extra charge, you can be sent across in a chair, tandem or “flying.” The price is right for the chair, even though I may run out of money in the next 48 hours. This is what faith does to you. I love crossing these bridges and this one, because of the length, has plenty of swing to it. A great trail, waterfalls, an interesting shoreline and mine shaft later, I am ready to proceed back across the Buller Gorge by chair. The young female attendant and I get to chatting about the sand flies, the area and photos. I tell her I am a little short right now and a picture is out of the question. She tells me I should tell the other two attendants that she is being eaten by the sand flies and that they should just give me the DVD. I do exactly that when I get to the other side. They burst out laughing and give me the DVD.

It is dark, I’m hungry and nearly out of gas. I stop at a tavern accommodation and ask about a room and gas. The man is civil, not actually friendly, and I have to tell him what I can manage in cash. We make a deal. He wants to charge me extra to cook my food that I have bought, and I can’t use their kitchen, so I’m ready to move on. He changes his mind, still cooks my food, but doesn’t charge me. I have enough of everything but fuel, so the last of my cash will go to that until I can get to the bank.

This morning I have a good run, good shower, good cold breakfast and gorgeous drive. I’m off to Golden Bay. It is very green with orchards and vineyards everywhere. Right down the road from where I stayed, there is a farm called “La-Half-A-Bull.” A short distance from the sign is a carved wooden front half of a bull. The carving is awesome; the whole thing puts me in hysterics. I start getting excited again when I see water. I am assuming that I will spend the day, the entire day, at Cape Farewell so a place to stay is the top priority. I decide on Takaka. Three places later and a warning not to stay at the place in town, I am putting my things in a six bunk room in the place in town. I think I need to trust my instincts more and not just settle or panic as to where I’m going to stay. This place feels OK and the male owner seems really laid back, but the lady’s warning three places back is sitting with me. I won’t be doing anything but sleeping there so it really shouldn’t bother me. On to Cape Farewell.

As I enter the Kahurangi National Park, the lushness of the area is striking. The farthest town is a little place called Puponga. As I’m rounding a corner with the bay to my right, I have to look twice and finally pull over. I have never seen black swans, and here, there are hundreds of them. I feel like a child. A stop at the visitor’s centre is a must because I have no idea what is available. This is the farthest northern end of the South Island and the longest sand spit in NZ. The clockwise currents continuously deposit sand, so this spit is still growing. The Spit is 27km long but because it is an important nesting site, only about 15km (a little over 10 miles) of it available to the public. Approximately half is bay side and half is ocean side with dunes in the middle. I start on the bay side. I’m not a big water fowl person, but I love watching the black swans. The water is the color of the sky against gray/white sand. Round, disk like shells litter the beach along with driftwood and beach grasses. I reach the sign telling me it is time to cross the dunes with handfuls of these shells. Even though gorse is a menace, it is in bloom here and the scattered yellow with the shades of green beach grasses and crystal sky provide heady scenery. The farther into the dunes, the more barren it becomes until there is only the palest of fine sand devoid of seashells, rocks, drift and best of all, sand flies. There is not one human other than me on this expansive piece of perfection so I play in and out of the wates what was covered with water earlier for a small short cut. Once back at the car park, I take off in the opposite direction to the cape itself and more trails. All of these are interconnected, but I can see more, faster, if I do this 5 minute drive. There is a hilltop walk with cliffs and a beach walk as well, but I haven’t done cliffs for awhile, so I start there. There is a term they use here pronounced “Krikeys,” and chrikies, it’s windy!! There are times I have to crouch low because I’m being blown over. In fact, it isn’t just the view that is taking my breath away; it’s the wind. I am finally at one cliff top and find myself holding on to one of the trail markers to stay standing. I think it is time to return.

I find Te Anau small with expensive shops geared toward tourism. However, there are some great looking restaurants with very reasonably priced menus. I can move on to Queenstown or stay for the Te Anau Lake and Aurora Cave tour complete with glow worms. Queenstown is where I would have been almost this entire time if I had opted to work for a mobile massage company catering to tourists. Despite the fact that if I leave now, there is a chance I can get a room for the night, I choose the latter. I’ve already been to caves and on boats and I even have to wait to go on this tour. And it is a tour!!! But still I purchase a ticket and stay around for this.

We enter the South Fiord which we are told is twice the size of Milford Sound. At the dock, they divide us into groups and I happen to be in the first one. The Te Anau cave is part of the Aurora cave system, and has a very low entrance. This is the first time I’ve felt claustrophobic on this trip to NZ. The cave opens up and I’m fine. Somehow, I end up behind the guide and I’m sure I am the only one who can hear him. There are no stalagmites or stalactites in this cave. This cave was carved from rushing water. Gee, there’s a surprise as the water blasts past us deafeningly. It quiets down the farther into the cave we go and the whole place is beautiful. No sooner do we enter the small boats when the guide puts his finger to his lips and the lights go out.  For the next twenty minutes we are treated to a display of tiny blue lights and the distant sound of rushing water. Upon our return from the cave and while waiting for the others, I do a nature walk. No sooner do I come in from this to the visitor’s centre, when another guide starts a DVD on glow worms. I find out that they are very territorial and eat each other if one gets too close to the other’s territory. I even get to watch this in living color. The rest of the group comes in and we start to leave shortly afterward. I enjoyed this, but I’m still wondering why I didn’t go on to Queenstown.

I enter Queenstown at night and I’ve probably made the single greatest mistake of my journey by not coming sooner. I am freezing. There isn’t enough clothing in my suitcase to keep me warm. For the first time on this trip, my neck and back hurt. I decide that if I am not going to drive on beaches anymore, I am also not sleeping in freezing cars anymore either. This may be summer, but nights are like October. I am wearing five layers including my fleece and I am still cold…and crabby…and cranky…and sore. This morning I check the downtown hostel which is booked. Down the street, I check the other hostel which is larger and get a room for the night with seven other people. Notice, I say people, not females. The young woman at the desk is brusque. I am extremely tired so I figure it is probably me being tired that perceives her as being brusque. The first thing I do is run. I take a shower and walk around town. The Botanical gardens I find during my run are so-so. This is such a tourist town, but it sure is pretty. The shore of the lake is lined with beaches, walkways and parks. The day is warm and perfect. There are two ways to enjoy Queenstown. If you are made of money, you go bungee jumping, sky diving, jet boating, etc. If you are frugal and/or budget minded, you find a nice place on the grass with some expensive fish and chips (more than twice the price of anywhere else) and you sit with all the other impoverished cool people. One day of this is about all I can take and I will be gone tomorrow if I’m not going to work. I ask the same person at reception to contact my work lead. She calls him, then doesn’t let me speak to him, gets the whole conversation screwed up, then stares at me as blankly as I stare at her. I am so not meant to be here. All the same, I work on two people in the evening. Later, I meet a young man from Japan named Tomo. We talk till quite late and I sense sadness in him though he doesn’t discuss anything besides travel with me.

I pass Arthur’s Point. Again, one of those names that has meaning for me, but this place turns out to have a tavern and some houses. Farther down the road, however, is Shotover Gorge. I don’t realize this until a power boat comes flying past where I’m sitting on the rocks. People pay to go fast down a narrow river as part of the Queenstown scene. I am looking forward to Arrowtown on my way to Mt. Aoraki/Cook. Before walking the main street, I want to see the Chinese Settlement. During the gold rush in NZ, Chinese came just like everyone else. And just like everywhere else, discrimination and suspicion pushed these settlers into small communities where numbers meant safety and companionship. This is just one of many settlements, but it allows a very graphic presentation of the hardships these people endured for kin and country. Most of the Chinese here came from the Guangdong Province. What they left was an area of overpopulation, unemployment, disease and political turmoil in which there was a 1 in 7 chance of dieing young. The term Li Shung, “to give life” was the financing of an individual to leave this area. Families sacrificed anything they could to enable at least one male member of the family to leave the area, hopefully making his and the family’s fortune. Some of the shacks here are 7x8 feet, made of stone, mud and corrugated metal or thatch. They aren’t insulated and I couldn’t stand up straight in a few of them. They worked at mines that were usually already abandoned by the Europeans and there are stories of how they worked 17 and 18 hour days for years. Many of them never returned home because they never earned enough to do so. They grew their own vegetables and fruits, had their own store and generally kept to their own, socializing very little with the Europeans. The store was the social hub, not only supplying trade goods, but the Chinese owner acted as translator for legal transactions. There was also a loft inside that acted as “hotel accommodation.” If I knew that some of my relations had endured this; that where they came from was even harder; I just don’t know how I would be feeling right now. I feel a heaviness as it is. I walk around awhile longer and notice fruit trees, but I’m not sure the fruit is edible. On my way back to the entrance, I see a lady gathering it. I ask and she tells me these are plums. They are small; some are yellow and others red. Both are really good. I gather a bunch for myself for the next few days. Arrowtown is more of a tourist place than I thought it was going to be, so I don’t stay long. The Chinese settlement definitely made the stop worthwhile, however.  

This is just not a country where I can go from one place to another without stopping continuously to see things. Roaring Meg Overlook reminds me of a quiet lovely client of mine, so here I am. And of course, I need to get closer to take the kind of pictures I want. There was no one here when I descended, but as I make my final climb back up to the car park, I am greeted by applause. A small band of tourists had been watching me take pictures and wondered how I got down there, for starts, and then, how I was going to get back up, especially in flipflops.

I will spend the night in Twizel. I love the name and it is the closest town, as far as I know, to the entrance of the National Reserve surrounding Mt Aoraki. My roommate is a young Portuguese woman and she is delightful. I go for a second run after settling in this evening because tomorrow is dedicated completely to Mt Aoraki/Cook.

Even a place as wondrous as Mt Aoraki, the tallest mountain in NZ, can’t keep me on the road without stopping. This time, I get my first view of Mt Aoraki at Peter’s Lookout, yet another name with significance. I meet a lovely couple from Australia when we both stop again at Peter’s Point. She has a sister who lives in Connecticut and since I used to live and work there, we chat for a bit. I still arrive at the Sir Edmund Hillary Alpine Centre before 9am.

This place is impressive. There is a hotel and restaurants, a theatre, gift shops (of course), a museum of sorts and a booking and information desk. As I wander around trying to get oriented, I come across a statue of Sir Edmund. I knew that he was responsible for a school and some health facility, but I find out that this was to help the people in the village of the sherpa who helped him climb Everest. For years, he traveled   delivering the funds in person which he had raised to improve their way of life.

I pass a sculpture that takes up one entire wall. It is technically a fountain with water streaming down a rippling metal stream while attached metal fish appear to be swimming up the wall of water. I know it may seem like I’m fixated on toilets, but the ones here are very cool. There is a chrome panel against the wall and a granite panel perpendicular to the wall. Chrome spigots protrude from the chrome wall panel. When you put your hands under the spigots, the water gently flows onto the granite and back toward the wall where it drops between the granite and the chrome like a little brook bubbling over rocks then continuing on its way.

After I finish playing in the restroom, I seek out the info desk. The clerk tells me there are two trails. He describes one, one hour easy walk. I ask for something longer. He tells me it’s hard. Inside, I’m annoyed by his presumption and I nicely ask if I need climbing equipment. He looks a bit sheepish then and says “no” where upon I request a map and head back to my car to prepare. I repack my daypack with water, food, batteries for the camera and anything that might come in handy like my duct tape and knife. I also pack my Sudoku book and pencils in case I stop to rest and get bored. I reapply sunscreen and I’m ready. The pack is heavy, but I know it will be much lighter on the way down.

Now that I am walking toward Aoraki, I’m getting more excited with every step. I stopped to look at some foxglove along the trail when I heard the sound of thunder. The day is a perfect blue sky day so this can only be one thing; avalanche! There are warning signs along the trail for this, but there is no snow down where I am, not even the tiniest hint and I know I won’t be covered in snow anytime today. The trail turns from a wooden walkway to a dirt path to a narrow rocky path to piles of rocks called scrambles that have a metal rod painted red at one end sticking out to mark which way to go. I have to take a picture of each phase of this as well as closer and closer views of everything from the Tasman Glacier to Aoraki to the next peak I cross. I meet Bastion from Germany while resting. We exchange travel tips. I play leap frog with a couple from Japan. They are severely overdressed and have to keep stopping. I just keep stopping to take pictures. I would like to say I can laugh at the desk clerk, but he’s right; this is a hard trail; doable, but hard. I meet a couple from California. They are sitting on the path rocks. He asked if they should move to allow me greater passage, but she interjects that she can’t move just yet and we all start laughing. As I continue my ascent I wonder occasionally what the descent is going to be like. Descending is always harder in flipflops. I progress to Sealy Tarns where I meet a family of four having lunch. All are adults; in fact I haven’t seen any children at all today. The air is thinner and has a sweet scent. There must be pressure changes as well because my plastic baggy of nuts looks like it has been vacuum sealed. There are no trees, nor have there been for some time. I bathed in sunscreen this morning, but I don’t think it’s going to make a lick of difference. I also know that if I had not been training for this half marathon, there is no way I could have done this. I’m proud of myself.

Well, I have just been told that Mueller Hut is another two hours away. I guess I better get started. As I approach the summit, a fellow coming down says, “Well, I guess you’ve made me quite the whoosie.” His whole party of about eight people stops to congratulate me on hiking this successfully in flipflops. As I continue, more and more people notice but it’s all good comments now. I finally arrive at Mueller Hut after passing eight people in the final ascent. This is a resting station with overnight accommodation. A very cheerful female volunteer comes around to us all and asks who is staying for the night. Some people here are just day travelers like myself, others will go on further tomorrow. I think I might like to do a trek like that someday. The immediate surrounding landscape is all very large rocks and boulders. The views are spectacular all the way around of snow fields and mountain tops. The hut itself is a marvel when you consider that most of it was trekked in. Water is, of course, a premium and there is both potable and non potable clearly marked. I plan to rest about ½ an hour before starting back down, so in the mean time, I start reading. The Alpine village is 762 meters, Kea Point is 840, Sealy Tarns is 1250, Mueller Hut is 1800 meters and Aoraki/Mt Cook is 3754 meters. What I have done today, was Sir Edmond’s first training ascent when he was preparing for Everest.

As I start down, I consider that I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, never mind run. Oh well. I’m here today and this is Mt Cook/Aoraki and I’ve just climbed part of it. On the way down, I meet a young woman from the Czech Republic wearing Tevas and a knee brace. We are joined by a young Israeli. We talk trails for awhile, then they continue their ascent and I, my descent. Some kind of hawks cry out from the mountainside. The sun is still quite hot and there is continuous avalanche activity in the distance. The setting is surreal. I lose the trail for nearly an hour and end up holding on to the side of the mountain as I lower myself down through scrub and rock to where I think I want to be. And I thought the trail was difficult! This certainly contains a few moments I’ll remember; especially when I lose my footing and slide about 20 feet down part of a cliff. I end up with a few scrapes, but exceptionally lucky. When I return to my car, my whole body is pulsing and it’s after 7pm. I began my ascent around 10:30 this morning. My new order of business is to get to Omarama at a decent hour so I have somewhere to stay tonight.

I see a sign for the Tasman Glacier. How did I miss that this morning?! Even so, I can not believe I am turning in here. Like a woman possessed, I drive up the Tasman Valley. I arrive at a car park telling me that the Blue Lakes, Tasman Glacier lookout and Tasman River are all within 25 minutes walk. It is getting dark. I am sore throughout my whole body. I am trying to explain to whatever force is dragging my body along that I am tired and perhaps I should just spend the night near here. But no, I proceed with haste up more rocks as the sun sinks and my body gives in to the momentum. The Blue lakes are the closest. Am I there?! This pond is greenish with pinkish scum on it. There is a second one looking pretty much as the first, so this must be the place. Besides, the path ends. Okay, on to the main attraction; the glacier. Holy Christchurch are my legs ever going to pay for this! Now this is different, amazing, cool, wonderous…. Here is a lake with ice floes in it. I have never seen anything like this, ever! This is NZ’s biggest glacier. There are about 200 metres of ice below the surface water where it meets the river and nearly 600 metres farther north at one of the hut sites. It is losing about 0.5% of its total volume each year. There is a lot of dirt all around the edge of the lake. A placard telling about the lake explains that this is surface moraine, basically dirt that accumulates from the melt. More interesting is the fact that 20 years ago, this lake was no more than a few small sink holes, and 100 years ago, you would have had to climb above the overlook I’m standing on to get up onto the glacier surface. I am so taken with all this, I neglect to see the three keas sitting on rocks to my left. Not only are they co operative in letting me photograph them, but one actually moves closer for a really good shot. The Tasman River isn’t huge or wide, but it is the color of milk. Some of its tributaries are also the color of milk and therefore beg to be photographed; and of course, I oblige. I am actually very happy that I came here and happier that Ball Hut is 17km of horrific terrain which I can’t possibly be tempted to do in this car. No, really.

My original intent was to head for Omarama, but it is getting late. My head is trying to jump at every offering of lodging I see, but my instinct (or whatever) is pushing me to try in Omarama anyway. I still manage to stop several times while the sun sets and the moon is rising. Please may I not have to sleep in my car tonight. I pass Twizel. I can go there. Sidewalks are usually all rolled up by 9pm and it has to be later than that. Omarama is still another 30km. I haven’t eaten. There is a B&B. No. A backpacker place comes up. Still no. I finally reach Omarama.  There is a bar open. It has a hotel. I don’t want to pay an arm and a leg.  I don’t bring anything in with me. I’m not expecting good news.

This hotel is less than what I would have been willing to pay and it includes a cooked breakfast in the morning. The young women in the kitchen give me the prettiest room and tell me to help myself to coffee and/or tea during the night from the restaurant. I can pay in the morning. This has been a perfect day!

I can not believe I’m not sore! Life is good! The Omarama Hotel is one of my favorites now. The included breakfast is two eggs, a large portion of bacon, tomato and baked beans and it is superb. I spend my entire breakfast chatting with a couple from the Invercargill area on their way to Akaroa, near Christchurch. This is the very same place I almost gave up trying to find. We finally exchange email addresses and I am about an hour later starting than I’d intended. On what I’ve come to call “traveling days,” I already know that most of the day will include a multitude of stops in order to take pictures. I try very hard to know where I am at the time or why I took a particular picture. For example, I’ve passed close to a thousand streams and creeks, but there is always a reason I stopped to photograph one particular stream or creek. Today seems to be lake, bridge and waterfall day. Landis Pass gets an honorable mention because the landscape is interesting, but Lakes Wanaka and Hawea just steal your breath away. It’s the color and the clarity. I’ve never seen water this shade of green blue from a distance. Up close, you can see the entire body of someone swimming! It’s that clean and clear! You can see rocks on the bottom even when the water comes up to your shoulders. And it is back dropped by the Southern Alps and surrounded by hundreds of different species of foliage and flowers. And these lakes are gigantic even though they aren’t the biggest. The town of Wanaka is a lovely touristy town. Shops and cafes abound. They do have tiles running along side the sidewalk by the lake that are labeled with consecutive years and local, national and international historical information that is interesting. Other than Auckland, they have the first bead store I’ve seen in NZ. Wanaka also has “Puzzling World” a place dedicated to all kinds of puzzles including a walk through maze, a hologram hall and a “Tumbling Towers/Tilted House.”  I made a purchase, but to my surprise, my credit card got rejected; twice. The clerk and I figured it was the machine since this does happen apparently. I paid in cash. Moving on, I must have taken over twenty pictures of Lake Hawea alone, even though there really isn’t much there besides the lake and some houses. I stop for the Blue Pools, as opposed to the Blue Lakes of yesterday which weren’t really blue or pretty. These are intense in color and beauty. Unfortunately, the sand flies, similar to our black flies, are also intense and hungry. It also has a suspension bridge with a sign that warns not to allow more than 5 people at a time. Some of the people crossing look so frightened, no one else goes on just to let them cross unobstructed. Passing each other is an experience. I notice as I go up and down steps that I do have some residual soreness from yesterday. The “Gates of Haast” is a bridge overlooking the Haast River as it explodes across boulders within a gorge. Just down the road from there are several water falls, including a double called “Thunder Creek Falls.” It gets to be kind of fun seeing the same cars and people pulling up over and over to see these different sites. Sometimes we don’t make it one full kilometer (about .6 miles) without stopping two or three times. I finally reach the town of Haast which is on the west coast. My priority is always going to the beach. This is a brown sand beach with lots of little stones and shells….and lots of sand flies, too. When six land on me at the same time, I’ve had enough. At the visitor’s center, I ask about the Keas I saw last night. I want to be sure I have the right bird. The lady points to a picture without speaking to me, but the radio goes off and she is busy anyway. When she is freed up, I ask her about the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers. She asks me if I have a room because they will all be booked up for tonight, then smirks when I say I think something will turn up. Next order of business is fuel. My credit card gets rejected again, but now I’m concerned; this could be bad with about a month left. I stop again along the way to get shots of the Tasman Sea. Just before I enter Fox Glacier the town, there is a sign for viewing the glacier. It’s getting dark, and I don’t have a place to stay. On the other hand, if there is no place to stay, this may be my only chance to see it. Fox Glacier is the largest in the park; about 13km (8 miles) long. I would love to take one of the tours that brings you up on the glacier for the day. I’ve skied on a glacier in Canada, but I don’t remember it being distinct from everything else like the Tasman glacier was yesterday. I take the dirt road to the viewing area. It astounds how a massive amount of really dirty snow and ice can rivet your attention. I follow the sign to the river which states a 40 minute turn around time. It is after 7pm, but it doesn’t get really dark until after 9pm. This has another suspension bridge. It makes not so funny noises as I walk on it. I don’t weigh that much and it, too, warns about more than 5 people. Did I mention that I don’t weigh that much? I hustle back after seeing the milky colored river created by the melting ice and debris. The overlook states a 1 hour 20 minute turn around time. I figure, not if I run a little and don’t stop on the way. This is a great path after yesterday; filled with loose rocks, hills and flowing streams that you have to ford. There are even uneven steps to deal with just for good measure. As I emerge from the trees to a wide active crossing, standing before me is a tall long haired blond fellow. I tell him I hope I didn’t spoil the picture he was taking. We start talking. We’re headed for the overlook so we go together. He is from Holland, biking through NZ for the past two months with four other guys. He saw both glaciers from a helicopter yesterday. Tomorrow, he will take one of the eight hour tours on the glacier. This is the same one I am hoping to take. We reach the overlook. After photos (he has one of those really big ones), I share my binoculars to get a better look. Both of us are silent for a time just looking at it. I remember from yesterday that this, like most of the glaciers, is receding at about .5% per year and it is eight miles long now. I wonder how big it was 100 years ago. We turn back. He is a little surprised that I keep up with him in flip flops. He says that chances are if I went somewhere in Holland in my “jandles” as they call them here, I wouldn’t get served. People from Holland really look down on them. He doesn’t care. We talk about marathons (he plans to do his first in 2009) and half marathons (I’m ready for my March 9^th one if I survive today). By the time we get back, the sun has set and I can just see the way back to my car. He is on a bicycle! He has a torch (flashlight) and I would offer to follow him with my lights, but I’m almost out of fuel (haven’t seen anything open since before ¼ of a tank). We exchange email addresses and I walk down to my car.
 

The town is 2 km down the road and of course, the gas station is closed now. I’m spending the night no matter what. I pull into a parking lot and set out on foot to get a feel for the place. This is strictly an area set up to access the Fox Glacier. I can pick out at least three pricey looking hotels and six restaurants. I choose a very comfortable elegant looking hotel with a big “Sorry, no vacancy” sign on the door. At the desk I ask if there is anywhere else she might recommend. As a matter of fact, someone called her earlier with space. She calls the number and they have an extremely reasonable room left. When I arrive, we discuss the glacier tours. She’ll try to make arrangements for me tomorrow morning. I try my credit card and find it’s official; I can no longer use this credit card. Fortunately, I brought another just in case. This one works and I can feel the tension disappearing. Since I have no cooking utensils, she loans me a pot and knife and before 10:30pm, I am fed, showered, jammied and ready for an 8 hour tour on a glacier tomorrow morning.

I am standing with the clean pot and knife at the registration door at 7:50am. At 8am when the door is unlocked, I inquire about the glacier tour. The one I want starts at 9:30 this morning. The desk fellow calls and yes, there is room. I make arrangements to stay another night because I assume I will be tired after my 8 hour walk on the glacier. And in case you’re wondering; they provide the boots, socks, crampons and anything else that might be needed. I’m not doing this in my flipflops. We are assembled, and start to “boot up” while one of our guides, Amanda, tells us what is going to take place. Several people back out right then. They give us one more briefing on the bus on the way over. We are divided into two groups; Eric, the fellow from Holland and his three friends are in the same group as me. Luke is our guide and I start talking to a woman from Ireland. We will be ascending Mount Tasman, the second highest peak in NZ which sits next to Aoraki/Mount Cook, the highest peak. This is Fox Glacier, renamed by an egocentric politico named Fox. We have people from Holland, Germany, England, Ireland, Israel, Poland and me, the USA. We start off trekking along the moraine. Luke explains that Fox Glacier advances through the valley at approximately one meter per day in the front and about three meters per day in the back. The terminal wall (lowest up front wall of ice) has receded at least 3km since 1750, but there are times of heavy snow on top in the basin that extend the size of the glacier, at least in the back. There is water running through it at all times and there is a river of milky colored water coming straight out the front and going down to the ocean about 25 km away. The ice ranges from brilliant blue to white and dirty white. Rocks and debris picked up by the ice higher up and carried down reaches the surface at different places throughout the day giving it its dirty appearance. We put on crampons before advancing onto the ice. It is cool here, but I’m comfortable in a sleeveless shirt, under cammy and loose shorts. Luke cuts stairs with a pick axe to make it easier. Our group is young overall and fit, and form an instant camaraderie. The woman from Ireland and another woman from Germany and I are having a great time together. The higher we go, the bluer the ice. In some places, it forms layers of white and blue. I can not take enough pictures because I can not capture the beauty. I already know this, but I’m going to keep trying anyway. We stop for lunch at a group of gigantic flat rocks and Luke and I get into a conversation on Maori medicine.  He also explains to us that last week these rocks were lying perfectly flat on the ice. Now they are lying at angles as the ice melts beneath the heat they generate. He also points out moulins which are crevices with water running down into them. If you fall into one you will probably drown before you freeze to death because you become the plug to its drain. These are not things people can get rescued from. We all decide to stick close to Luke and not test moulins. We play the “stick game.” That when you place a stick in a pool of water on the glacier and push it down as hard as you can. It will disappear, sometimes for nearly 30 seconds, then pop up out of the water. Allison from Ireland loves this, but when she tries it her stick disappears all together. Luke fishes around with someone else’s stick, finally finds it and up it pops. Not everyone has chosen to bring a walking stick, myself included, but it’s fun to watch others play the “game” and lose their sticks. There are two kinds of rock found. Schist, made of layered mica and quartz, comes from the Australian plate (tectonic), the other is like slate and comes from the Pacific plate. The two meet under a part of the Fox Glacier which experiences multiple earthquakes each day. We pass over this area, and Luke asks us if we feel the quake. Good thing all of us were honest enough to say no. The quakes are usually not felt at all. I find out the overlook as was on yesterday used to be the entry to the glacial ice back in the early 1900’s. There has been that much top melt. In the 1780’s, this glacier covered most of the moraine we trekked to get on the ice, and even some of the bus trip over. We get bussed back to the Centre, return the boots and I now have a full tank of gas. I need to rest a few minutes before I drive over to Lake Matheson and Gillespie Beach. I wake up long enough to pull a blanket over me and set my alarm for 5am sometime after dark.

I have to wake up; but I can’t. I don’t want to move. I’m not sore, I am beyond exhausted. I finally haul my body out of bed throw on some different clothes and start the car. Both Gillespie Beach and Lake Matheson are along the road my Holiday Park is on so I can’t get lost even in the delirium I’m in right now. When I reach Gillespie Beach, there are campers parked everywhere and it is still too dark. I curl up and drop off to sleep without effort. I awaken to the sound of a car door. It is just getting light, so I push myself out the car and start walking to the beach. I had no idea there was a trail! Now I’ve got to hurry or I’ll miss the sunrise. I get to the beach at a perfect moment. The beach itself isn’t one of outstanding beauty, but the sunrise is filled with pinks, blues, grays and lavenders and I have no complaints, save for the latest addition to the beaches; sand flies.  These really are like our black flies in size and damage. And they swarm all over me. I can’t stay on the beach because of them; I’m tired, crabby and wish I didn’t feel like this. On the way back to the car there are a couple of side trails. One leads to abandoned miners’ equipment, the other leads to a cemetery. It is called the Miners’ Cemetery, though nearly half the graves are women’s. One grave is of a boy 17 years old who drown. Most of these mining families were Irish or Scottish searching for gold. There are under 20 people buried here.

I make the turn off to Lake Matheson. They are putting new seal on the road and the man in charge comes to each car to apologize for the inconvenience. When was the last time that happened in our area? We wait about 5 minutes before we can go. All the workers greet us as we drive by. When was the last time that happened in our area?

Lake Matheson is known for two things. It is so calm, it is like a mirror and you can get a perfect reflecting image of Mt. Aoraki/ Cook and Mt Tasman. On the way back up the trail to my car, I am entertained by the individuals who pass me. An English couple is discussing whether she has the right shoes on for this extremely level dirt pathway. Two girls are chattering away and giggling continuously. I don’t even have to look up to know that they are Korean girls. A group of 7 or 8 tall blondes taking up the entire path without giving an inch are discussing one of them being drunk last night. Four people speaking in French walk by sounding like they are arguing about something. A fellow in socks, sandals, capris, a hat and binoculars as well as a camera is discussing politics with his portly friend who doesn’t seem to be paying any attention. Two young blonde girls, in the 18-20 range walk by; each has on a 60’s go-go hat, short hoodie jacket of the same color, T-shirt, capris (nearly the same color) and croks. This is a something I see all the time; friends, couples mother/daughter, even entire families all wearing like outfits. I swear I could put them all in a big room together and still match them up correctly. Of course then there’s me who will not wear anything I’ve brought on this trip for months after I return home because I wear the same thing every day and just don’t want to look at it anymore.

The delay both ways sealing the road gets me back to the Holiday Park with exactly 20 minutes before I’m due to check out. I’m not going anywhere without a shower! Even with washing my hair, I turn the key over with two minutes to spare. What I don’t tell them is that not all my stuff is out of the room yet, but I don’t think they really care.

I am returning to the Fox Glacier. I have been above and on it, but not below it at its terminal face, so that is where I am going right now. As I am driving in, signs show how much farther reaching the glacier was years ago. The fact that people were trekking this glacier back in the 1800’s is really pretty amazing.

I have to go back through town and see two young Nordic looking people with huge backpacks hitching. I drive by and instantly feel guilty because here I am by myself in this car. I vow to pick up the next hitch hiker I see if the person doesn’t look like a terrorist or psycho killer or doesn’t have more stuff on his/her back then I have in my entire car. Somewhere around the Franz Josef Glacier just up the road, I see another hitch hiking backpacker. This is only the second hiker I’ve seen on this entire trip which I think is sending me a message considering my vow. He looks harmless enough so I stop. This fellow is from Israel and is headed north to Hokitika to meet a traveling companion. I ask him if he is in a hurry and tell him that I stop a lot to take pictures and see things along the way. With our “rules of engagement” set, we head north. We hit it off instantly. We exchanged travel stories and personal stories, discussed philosophy, relationships and religion. There are several beaches along the way and I decide to hang a left (pronounced leeft) at Harihari. There is only one road and on the map it says “Wanganui River” but leads straight out to the water. What we find is a sign saying Mt Oneone (pronounced O nay O nay, not 1,1) and Poerua River Beach. The trail is 1hr 45 minutes or 2hrs 45 minutes if you do the circuit. Okay. We walk and talk more all the way. We end up on a beach with a shoal. I start to wade out, but it gets to deep to get to the sand bar. Then we both realize we’re not on the beach, but at the mouth of the river. A quick search puts us back on a path and in less than 10 minutes, we’re at the beach. This one is clean and pretty with very few sand flies. Into the water we go. There is a significant drop off so we can’t swim, but it’s fun to splash around and get cooled off. Apparently my new friend spends most of his time hiking mountain trails and hasn’t spent much time by water. He talks about Israel being landlocked and how incredible this beach is. I tell him about some of the other beaches I have been to in NZ and about Chincoteague, Virginia as well. This makes me happy; to share some of my family memories with someone. We dry off and head back to the car. Both of us are famished so with his bread and my Pohutakawa honey we make a little meal and start again for Hokitika. The town of Ross is known for its Gold Fields Walkway so we stop there for a bathroom break and take a look around. We get to Hokitika before dark and I instantly like this town. The place my friend is staying is also nice and very inexpensive, so I accept the last bed they have to offer.

Sasha, a tall lovely blonde haired, blue eyed Israeli, has been there most of the day. They are very happy to see each other and he tells her all about our day. I absolutely love how people can travel together and be just companions. I actually did this same thing years ago and it’s a great way to travel. We are both still hungry and my friend buys me fish and chips for dinner as a thank you. He also offers gas money, but I decline. Sasha joins us and later, I part from them to get settled and go to the market. Everything is closed, but I have my plan for tomorrow now that I’ve walked the streets and know where everything is. Shortly after I return to the hostel, we have a deluge. My friend, Sasha and two other Israeli girls are in the kitchen when I go for a cup of tea. A fellow from England is sitting at the table and he and I start talking. We all converse until some wee hour of the morning and I tottle off to bed knowing that I will probably pay for staying up so late.

Oh am I ever tired! I was tempted yesterday to committing to go with my Israeli friends to Arthur’s Pass to do some trail with them. This morning it is raining and windy and I decide to continue to head north. Before I leave town, I purchase a calling card because today, here, is my son’s birthday. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring when it is his birthday in New York, so I go ahead and call today. Hearing his voice sends a flood of emotion through my body and I want to go home immediately. As we talk, I collect myself, but I love my kids and miss them terribly.

I go slightly out of my way to get to the Hokitika Gorge. It is really a good thing I like swing bridges. This one creaks when you walk on it. This water is crystal clear and green/blue. A couple is bobbing along so I can’t take a picture until the guy decides to take a picture also and realizes the problem. He tells the girl and she gets off the bridge. Up close to the water, it is still just as unusual a color, but the sand flies are voracious so I don’t stay long. Just before Paroa, is Shantytown. The site is original as well as some of the structures. More interesting, they have the stories of the people who worked this area’s gold fields pinned up inside the appropriate building. There is a Chinese settlement here, too, like in Arrowtown. They have a shack set up as a “house of ill repute” and give the story of Rosie, a woman who left her home in Ireland early and made her way through gold settlements along NZ’s west coast. She was once beaten quite badly, but no charges followed even though they caught the fellows right away. She eventually died of malnutrition with only one small coin in her pocket. She was 45. The village includes a bank, tinsmith, tea room, Masonic Hall, carriage house, hospital, claiming office, school, church and many others. I spend a good part of the afternoon here. They have a steam train that takes you into the valley where the mining actually took place. I take a ride on that as well. When I get back from that, only twenty minutes later, there are a lot more people here. Cool! It’s a wedding! Everyone at the site applauds when it is made official, including me. As they start to make merry, I start to head for the exit.

The town is 2 km down the road and of course, the gas station is closed now. I’m spending the night no matter what. I pull into a parking lot and set out on foot to get a feel for the place. This is strictly an area set up to access the Fox Glacier. I can pick out at least three pricey looking hotels and six restaurants. I choose a very comfortable elegant looking hotel with a big “Sorry, no vacancy” sign on the door. At the desk I ask if there is anywhere else she might recommend. As a matter of fact, someone called her earlier with space. She calls the number and they have an extremely reasonable room left. When I arrive, we discuss the glacier tours. She’ll try to make arrangements for me tomorrow morning. I try my credit card and find it’s official; I can no longer use this credit card. Fortunately, I brought another just in case. This one works and I can feel the tension disappearing. Since I have no cooking utensils, she loans me a pot and knife and before 10:30pm, I am fed, showered, jammied and ready for an 8 hour tour on a glacier tomorrow morning.

I am standing with the clean pot and knife at the registration door at 7:50am. At 8am when the door is unlocked, I inquire about the glacier tour. The one I want starts at 9:30 this morning. The desk fellow calls and yes, there is room. I make arrangements to stay another night because I assume I will be tired after my 8 hour walk on the glacier. And in case you’re wondering; they provide the boots, socks, crampons and anything else that might be needed. I’m not doing this in my flipflops. We are assembled, and start to “boot up” while one of our guides, Amanda, tells us what is going to take place. Several people back out right then. They give us one more briefing on the bus on the way over. We are divided into two groups; Eric, the fellow from Holland and his three friends are in the same group as me. Luke is our guide and I start talking to a woman from Ireland. We will be ascending Mount Tasman, the second highest peak in NZ which sits next to Aoraki/Mount Cook, the highest peak. This is Fox Glacier, renamed by an egocentric politico named Fox. We have people from Holland, Germany, England, Ireland, Israel, Poland and me, the USA. We start off trekking along the moraine. Luke explains that Fox Glacier advances through the valley at approximately one meter per day in the front and about three meters per day in the back. The terminal wall (lowest up front wall of ice) has receded at least 3km since 1750, but there are times of heavy snow on top in the basin that extend the size of the glacier, at least in the back. There is water running through it at all times and there is a river of milky colored water coming straight out the front and going down to the ocean about 25 km away. The ice ranges from brilliant blue to white and dirty white. Rocks and debris picked up by the ice higher up and carried down reaches the surface at different places throughout the day giving it its dirty appearance. We put on crampons before advancing onto the ice. It is cool here, but I’m comfortable in a sleeveless shirt, under cammy and loose shorts. Luke cuts stairs with a pick axe to make it easier. Our group is young overall and fit, and form an instant camaraderie. The woman from Ireland and another woman from Germany and I are having a great time together. The higher we go, the bluer the ice. In some places, it forms layers of white and blue. I can not take enough pictures because I can not capture the beauty. I already know this, but I’m going to keep trying anyway. We stop for lunch at a group of gigantic flat rocks and Luke and I get into a conversation on Maori medicine.  He also explains to us that last week these rocks were lying perfectly flat on the ice. Now they are lying at angles as the ice melts beneath the heat they generate. He also points out moulins which are crevices with water running down into them. If you fall into one you will probably drown before you freeze to death because you become the plug to its drain. These are not things people can get rescued from. We all decide to stick close to Luke and not test moulins. We play the “stick game.” That when you place a stick in a pool of water on the glacier and push it down as hard as you can. It will disappear, sometimes for nearly 30 seconds, then pop up out of the water. Allison from Ireland loves this, but when she tries it her stick disappears all together. Luke fishes around with someone else’s stick, finally finds it and up it pops. Not everyone has chosen to bring a walking stick, myself included, but it’s fun to watch others play the “game” and lose their sticks. There are two kinds of rock found. Schist, made of layered mica and quartz, comes from the Australian plate (tectonic), the other is like slate and comes from the Pacific plate. The two meet under a part of the Fox Glacier which experiences multiple earthquakes each day. We pass over this area, and Luke asks us if we feel the quake. Good thing all of us were honest enough to say no. The quakes are usually not felt at all. I find out the overlook as was on yesterday used to be the entry to the glacial ice back in the early 1900’s. There has been that much top melt. In the 1780’s, this glacier covered most of the moraine we trekked to get on the ice, and even some of the bus trip over. We get bussed back to the Centre, return the boots and I now have a full tank of gas. I need to rest a few minutes before I drive over to Lake Matheson and Gillespie Beach. I wake up long enough to pull a blanket over me and set my alarm for 5am sometime after dark.

I have to wake up; but I can’t. I don’t want to move. I’m not sore, I am beyond exhausted. I finally haul my body out of bed throw on some different clothes and start the car. Both Gillespie Beach and Lake Matheson are along the road my Holiday Park is on so I can’t get lost even in the delirium I’m in right now. When I reach Gillespie Beach, there are campers parked everywhere and it is still too dark. I curl up and drop off to sleep without effort. I awaken to the sound of a car door. It is just getting light, so I push myself out the car and start walking to the beach. I had no idea there was a trail! Now I’ve got to hurry or I’ll miss the sunrise. I get to the beach at a perfect moment. The beach itself isn’t one of outstanding beauty, but the sunrise is filled with pinks, blues, grays and lavenders and I have no complaints, save for the latest addition to the beaches; sand flies.  These really are like our black flies in size and damage. And they swarm all over me. I can’t stay on the beach because of them; I’m tired, crabby and wish I didn’t feel like this. On the way back to the car there are a couple of side trails. One leads to abandoned miners’ equipment, the other leads to a cemetery. It is called the Miners’ Cemetery, though nearly half the graves are women’s. One grave is of a boy 17 years old who drown. Most of these mining families were Irish or Scottish searching for gold. There are under 20 people buried here.

I make the turn off to Lake Matheson. They are putting new seal on the road and the man in charge comes to each car to apologize for the inconvenience. When was the last time that happened in our area? We wait about 5 minutes before we can go. All the workers greet us as we drive by. When was the last time that happened in our area?

Lake Matheson is known for two things. It is so calm, it is like a mirror and you can get a perfect reflecting image of Mt. Aoraki/ Cook and Mt Tasman. On the way back up the trail to my car, I am entertained by the individuals who pass me. An English couple is discussing whether she has the right shoes on for this extremely level dirt pathway. Two girls are chattering away and giggling continuously. I don’t even have to look up to know that they are Korean girls. A group of 7 or 8 tall blondes taking up the entire path without giving an inch are discussing one of them being drunk last night. Four people speaking in French walk by sounding like they are arguing about something. A fellow in socks, sandals, capris, a hat and binoculars as well as a camera is discussing politics with his portly friend who doesn’t seem to be paying any attention. Two young blonde girls, in the 18-20 range walk by; each has on a 60’s go-go hat, short hoodie jacket of the same color, T-shirt, capris (nearly the same color) and croks. This is a something I see all the time; friends, couples mother/daughter, even entire families all wearing like outfits. I swear I could put them all in a big room together and still match them up correctly. Of course then there’s me who will not wear anything I’ve brought on this trip for months after I return home because I wear the same thing every day and just don’t want to look at it anymore.

The delay both ways sealing the road gets me back to the Holiday Park with exactly 20 minutes before I’m due to check out. I’m not going anywhere without a shower! Even with washing my hair, I turn the key over with two minutes to spare. What I don’t tell them is that not all my stuff is out of the room yet, but I don’t think they really care.

I am returning to the Fox Glacier. I have been above and on it, but not below it at its terminal face, so that is where I am going right now. As I am driving in, signs show how much farther reaching the glacier was years ago. The fact that people were trekking this glacier back in the 1800’s is really pretty amazing.

I have to go back through town and see two young Nordic looking people with huge backpacks hitching. I drive by and instantly feel guilty because here I am by myself in this car. I vow to pick up the next hitch hiker I see if the person doesn’t look like a terrorist or psycho killer or doesn’t have more stuff on his/her back then I have in my entire car. Somewhere around the Franz Josef Glacier just up the road, I see another hitch hiking backpacker. This is only the second hiker I’ve seen on this entire trip which I think is sending me a message considering my vow. He looks harmless enough so I stop. This fellow is from Israel and is headed north to Hokitika to meet a traveling companion. I ask him if he is in a hurry and tell him that I stop a lot to take pictures and see things along the way. With our “rules of engagement” set, we head north. We hit it off instantly. We exchanged travel stories and personal stories, discussed philosophy, relationships and religion. There are several beaches along the way and I decide to hang a left (pronounced leeft) at Harihari. There is only one road and on the map it says “Wanganui River” but leads straight out to the water. What we find is a sign saying Mt Oneone (pronounced O nay O nay, not 1,1) and Poerua River Beach. The trail is 1hr 45 minutes or 2hrs 45 minutes if you do the circuit. Okay. We walk and talk more all the way. We end up on a beach with a shoal. I start to wade out, but it gets to deep to get to the sand bar. Then we both realize we’re not on the beach, but at the mouth of the river. A quick search puts us back on a path and in less than 10 minutes, we’re at the beach. This one is clean and pretty with very few sand flies. Into the water we go. There is a significant drop off so we can’t swim, but it’s fun to splash around and get cooled off. Apparently my new friend spends most of his time hiking mountain trails and hasn’t spent much time by water. He talks about Israel being landlocked and how incredible this beach is. I tell him about some of the other beaches I have been to in NZ and about Chincoteague, Virginia as well. This makes me happy; to share some of my family memories with someone. We dry off and head back to the car. Both of us are famished so with his bread and my Pohutakawa honey we make a little meal and start again for Hokitika. The town of Ross is known for its Gold Fields Walkway so we stop there for a bathroom break and take a look around. We get to Hokitika before dark and I instantly like this town. The place my friend is staying is also nice and very inexpensive, so I accept the last bed they have to offer.

Sasha, a tall lovely blonde haired, blue eyed Israeli, has been there most of the day. They are very happy to see each other and he tells her all about our day. I absolutely love how people can travel together and be just companions. I actually did this same thing years ago and it’s a great way to travel. We are both still hungry and my friend buys me fish and chips for dinner as a thank you. He also offers gas money, but I decline. Sasha joins us and later, I part from them to get settled and go to the market. Everything is closed, but I have my plan for tomorrow now that I’ve walked the streets and know where everything is. Shortly after I return to the hostel, we have a deluge. My friend, Sasha and two other Israeli girls are in the kitchen when I go for a cup of tea. A fellow from England is sitting at the table and he and I start talking. We all converse until some wee hour of the morning and I tottle off to bed knowing that I will probably pay for staying up so late.

Oh am I ever tired! I was tempted yesterday to committing to go with my Israeli friends to Arthur’s Pass to do some trail with them. This morning it is raining and windy and I decide to continue to head north. Before I leave town, I purchase a calling card because today, here, is my son’s birthday. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring when it is his birthday in New York, so I go ahead and call today. Hearing his voice sends a flood of emotion through my body and I want to go home immediately. As we talk, I collect myself, but I love my kids and miss them terribly.
 

I go slightly out of my way to get to the Hokitika Gorge. It is really a good thing I like swing bridges. This one creaks when you walk on it. This water is crystal clear and green/blue. A couple is bobbing along so I can’t take a picture until the guy decides to take a picture also and realizes the problem. He tells the girl and she gets off the bridge. Up close to the water, it is still just as unusual a color, but the sand flies are voracious so I don’t stay long. Just before Paroa, is Shantytown. The site is original as well as some of the structures. More interesting, they have the stories of the people who worked this area’s gold fields pinned up inside the appropriate building. There is a Chinese settlement here, too, like in Arrowtown. They have a shack set up as a “house of ill repute” and give the story of Rosie, a woman who left her home in Ireland early and made her way through gold settlements along NZ’s west coast. She was once beaten quite badly, but no charges followed even though they caught the fellows right away. She eventually died of malnutrition with only one small coin in her pocket. She was 45. The village includes a bank, tinsmith, tea room, Masonic Hall, carriage house, hospital, claiming office, school, church and many others. I spend a good part of the afternoon here. They have a steam train that takes you into the valley where the mining actually took place. I take a ride on that as well. When I get back from that, only twenty minutes later, there are a lot more people here. Cool! It’s a wedding! Everyone at the site applauds when it is made official, including me. As they start to make merry, I start to head for the exit.

I find Te Anau small with expensive shops geared toward tourism. However, there are some great looking restaurants with very reasonably priced menus. I can move on to Queenstown or stay for the Te Anau Lake and Aurora Cave tour complete with glow worms. Queenstown is where I would have been almost this entire time if I had opted to work for a mobile massage company catering to tourists. Despite the fact that if I leave now, there is a chance I can get a room for the night, I choose the latter. I’ve already been to caves and on boats and I even have to wait to go on this tour. And it is a tour!!! But still I purchase a ticket and stay around for this.

We enter the South Fiord which we are told is twice the size of Milford Sound. At the dock, they divide us into groups and I happen to be in the first one. The Te Anau cave is part of the Aurora cave system, and has a very low entrance. This is the first time I’ve felt claustrophobic on this trip to NZ. The cave opens up and I’m fine. Somehow, I end up behind the guide and I’m sure I am the only one who can hear him. There are no stalagmites or stalactites in this cave. This cave was carved from rushing water. Gee, there’s a surprise as the water blasts past us deafeningly. It quiets down the farther into the cave we go and the whole place is beautiful. No sooner do we enter the small boats when the guide puts his finger to his lips and the lights go out.  For the next twenty minutes we are treated to a display of tiny blue lights and the distant sound of rushing water. Upon our return from the cave and while waiting for the others, I do a nature walk. No sooner do I come in from this to the visitor’s centre, when another guide starts a DVD on glow worms. I find out that they are very territorial and eat each other if one gets too close to the other’s territory. I even get to watch this in living color. The rest of the group comes in and we start to leave shortly afterward. I enjoyed this, but I’m still wondering why I didn’t go on to Queenstown.

I enter Queenstown at night and I’ve probably made the single greatest mistake of my journey by not coming sooner. I am freezing. There isn’t enough clothing in my suitcase to keep me warm. For the first time on this trip, my neck and back hurt. I decide that if I am not going to drive on beaches anymore, I am also not sleeping in freezing cars anymore either. This may be summer, but nights are like October. I am wearing five layers including my fleece and I am still cold…and crabby…and cranky…and sore. This morning I check the downtown hostel which is booked. Down the street, I check the other hostel which is larger and get a room for the night with seven other people. Notice, I say people, not females. The young woman at the desk is brusque. I am extremely tired so I figure it is probably me being tired that perceives her as being brusque. The first thing I do is run. I take a shower and walk around town. The Botanical gardens I find during my run are so-so. This is such a tourist town, but it sure is pretty. The shore of the lake is lined with beaches, walkways and parks. The day is warm and perfect. There are two ways to enjoy Queenstown. If you are made of money, you go bungee jumping, sky diving, jet boating, etc. If you are frugal and/or budget minded, you find a nice place on the grass with some expensive fish and chips (more than twice the price of anywhere else) and you sit with all the other impoverished cool people. One day of this is about all I can take and I will be gone tomorrow if I’m not going to work. I ask the same person at reception to contact my work lead. She calls him, then doesn’t let me speak to him, gets the whole conversation screwed up, then stares at me as blankly as I stare at her. I am so not meant to be here. All the same, I work on two people in the evening. Later, I meet a young man from Japan named Tomo. We talk till quite late and I sense sadness in him though he doesn’t discuss anything besides travel with me.

I pass Arthur’s Point. Again, one of those names that has meaning for me, but this place turns out to have a tavern and some houses. Farther down the road, however, is Shotover Gorge. I don’t realize this until a power boat comes flying past where I’m sitting on the rocks. People pay to go fast down a narrow river as part of the Queenstown scene. I am looking forward to Arrowtown on my way to Mt. Aoraki/Cook. Before walking the main street, I want to see the Chinese Settlement. During the gold rush in NZ, Chinese came just like everyone else. And just like everywhere else, discrimination and suspicion pushed these settlers into small communities where numbers meant safety and companionship. This is just one of many settlements, but it allows a very graphic presentation of the hardships these people endured for kin and country. Most of the Chinese here came from the Guangdong Province. What they left was an area of overpopulation, unemployment, disease and political turmoil in which there was a 1 in 7 chance of dieing young. The term Li Shung, “to give life” was the financing of an individual to leave this area. Families sacrificed anything they could to enable at least one male member of the family to leave the area, hopefully making his and the family’s fortune. Some of the shacks here are 7x8 feet, made of stone, mud and corrugated metal or thatch. They aren’t insulated and I couldn’t stand up straight in a few of them. They worked at mines that were usually already abandoned by the Europeans and there are stories of how they worked 17 and 18 hour days for years. Many of them never returned home because they never earned enough to do so. They grew their own vegetables and fruits, had their own store and generally kept to their own, socializing very little with the Europeans. The store was the social hub, not only supplying trade goods, but the Chinese owner acted as translator for legal transactions. There was also a loft inside that acted as “hotel accommodation.” If I knew that some of my relations had endured this; that where they came from was even harder; I just don’t know how I would be feeling right now. I feel a heaviness as it is. I walk around awhile longer and notice fruit trees, but I’m not sure the fruit is edible. On my way back to the entrance, I see a lady gathering it. I ask and she tells me these are plums. They are small; some are yellow and others red. Both are really good. I gather a bunch for myself for the next few days. Arrowtown is more of a tourist place than I thought it was going to be, so I don’t stay long. The Chinese settlement definitely made the stop worthwhile, however.  

This is just not a country where I can go from one place to another without stopping continuously to see things. Roaring Meg Overlook reminds me of a quiet lovely client of mine, so here I am. And of course, I need to get closer to take the kind of pictures I want. There was no one here when I descended, but as I make my final climb back up to the car park, I am greeted by applause. A small band of tourists had been watching me take pictures and wondered how I got down there, for starts, and then, how I was going to get back up, especially in flipflops.

I will spend the night in Twizel. I love the name and it is the closest town, as far as I know, to the entrance of the National Reserve surrounding Mt Aoraki. My roommate is a young Portuguese woman and she is delightful. I go for a second run after settling in this evening because tomorrow is dedicated completely to Mt Aoraki/Cook.

Even a place as wondrous as Mt Aoraki, the tallest mountain in NZ, can’t keep me on the road without stopping. This time, I get my first view of Mt Aoraki at Peter’s Lookout, yet another name with significance. I meet a lovely couple from Australia when we both stop again at Peter’s Point. She has a sister who lives in Connecticut and since I used to live and work there, we chat for a bit. I still arrive at the Sir Edmund Hillary Alpine Centre before 9am.

This place is impressive. There is a hotel and restaurants, a theatre, gift shops (of course), a museum of sorts and a booking and information desk. As I wander around trying to get oriented, I come across a statue of Sir Edmund. I knew that he was responsible for a school and some health facility, but I find out that this was to help the people in the village of the sherpa who helped him climb Everest. For years, he traveled   delivering the funds in person which he had raised to improve their way of life.

I pass a sculpture that takes up one entire wall. It is technically a fountain with water streaming down a rippling metal stream while attached metal fish appear to be swimming up the wall of water. I know it may seem like I’m fixated on toilets, but the ones here are very cool. There is a chrome panel against the wall and a granite panel perpendicular to the wall. Chrome spigots protrude from the chrome wall panel. When you put your hands under the spigots, the water gently flows onto the granite and back toward the wall where it drops between the granite and the chrome like a little brook bubbling over rocks then continuing on its way.

After I finish playing in the restroom, I seek out the info desk. The clerk tells me there are two trails. He describes one, one hour easy walk. I ask for something longer. He tells me it’s hard. Inside, I’m annoyed by his presumption and I nicely ask if I need climbing equipment. He looks a bit sheepish then and says “no” where upon I request a map and head back to my car to prepare. I repack my daypack with water, food, batteries for the camera and anything that might come in handy like my duct tape and knife. I also pack my Sudoku book and pencils in case I stop to rest and get bored. I reapply sunscreen and I’m ready. The pack is heavy, but I know it will be much lighter on the way down.

Now that I am walking toward Aoraki, I’m getting more excited with every step. I stopped to look at some foxglove along the trail when I heard the sound of thunder. The day is a perfect blue sky day so this can only be one thing; avalanche! There are warning signs along the trail for this, but there is no snow down where I am, not even the tiniest hint and I know I won’t be covered in snow anytime today. The trail turns from a wooden walkway to a dirt path to a narrow rocky path to piles of rocks called scrambles that have a metal rod painted red at one end sticking out to mark which way to go. I have to take a picture of each phase of this as well as closer and closer views of everything from the Tasman Glacier to Aoraki to the next peak I cross. I meet Bastion from Germany while resting. We exchange travel tips. I play leap frog with a couple from Japan. They are severely overdressed and have to keep stopping. I just keep stopping to take pictures. I would like to say I can laugh at the desk clerk, but he’s right; this is a hard trail; doable, but hard. I meet a couple from California. They are sitting on the path rocks. He asked if they should move to allow me greater passage, but she interjects that she can’t move just yet and we all start laughing. As I continue my ascent I wonder occasionally what the descent is going to be like. Descending is always harder in flipflops. I progress to Sealy Tarns where I meet a family of four having lunch. All are adults; in fact I haven’t seen any children at all today. The air is thinner and has a sweet scent. There must be pressure changes as well because my plastic baggy of nuts looks like it has been vacuum sealed. There are no trees, nor have there been for some time. I bathed in sunscreen this morning, but I don’t think it’s going to make a lick of difference. I also know that if I had not been training for this half marathon, there is no way I could have done this. I’m proud of myself.

Well, I have just been told that Mueller Hut is another two hours away. I guess I better get started. As I approach the summit, a fellow coming down says, “Well, I guess you’ve made me quite the whoosie.” His whole party of about eight people stops to congratulate me on hiking this successfully in flipflops. As I continue, more and more people notice but it’s all good comments now. I finally arrive at Mueller Hut after passing eight people in the final ascent. This is a resting station with overnight accommodation. A very cheerful female volunteer comes around to us all and asks who is staying for the night. Some people here are just day travelers like myself, others will go on further tomorrow. I think I might like to do a trek like that someday. The immediate surrounding landscape is all very large rocks and boulders. The views are spectacular all the way around of snow fields and mountain tops. The hut itself is a marvel when you consider that most of it was trekked in. Water is, of course, a premium and there is both potable and non potable clearly marked. I plan to rest about ½ an hour before starting back down, so in the mean time, I start reading. The Alpine village is 762 meters, Kea Point is 840, Sealy Tarns is 1250, Mueller Hut is 1800 meters and Aoraki/Mt Cook is 3754 meters. What I have done today, was Sir Edmond’s first training ascent when he was preparing for Everest.

As I start down, I consider that I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, never mind run. Oh well. I’m here today and this is Mt Cook/Aoraki and I’ve just climbed part of it. On the way down, I meet a young woman from the Czech Republic wearing Tevas and a knee brace. We are joined by a young Israeli. We talk trails for awhile, then they continue their ascent and I, my descent. Some kind of hawks cry out from the mountainside. The sun is still quite hot and there is continuous avalanche activity in the distance. The setting is surreal. I lose the trail for nearly an hour and end up holding on to the side of the mountain as I lower myself down through scrub and rock to where I think I want to be. And I thought the trail was difficult! This certainly contains a few moments I’ll remember; especially when I lose my footing and slide about 20 feet down part of a cliff. I end up with a few scrapes, but exceptionally lucky. When I return to my car, my whole body is pulsing and it’s after 7pm. I began my ascent around 10:30 this morning. My new order of business is to get to Omarama at a decent hour so I have somewhere to stay tonight.

I see a sign for the Tasman Glacier. How did I miss that this morning?! Even so, I can not believe I am turning in here. Like a woman possessed, I drive up the Tasman Valley. I arrive at a car park telling me that the Blue Lakes, Tasman Glacier lookout and Tasman River are all within 25 minutes walk. It is getting dark. I am sore throughout my whole body. I am trying to explain to whatever force is dragging my body along that I am tired and perhaps I should just spend the night near here. But no, I proceed with haste up more rocks as the sun sinks and my body gives in to the momentum. The Blue lakes are the closest. Am I there?! This pond is greenish with pinkish scum on it. There is a second one looking pretty much as the first, so this must be the place. Besides, the path ends. Okay, on to the main attraction; the glacier. Holy Christchurch are my legs ever going to pay for this! Now this is different, amazing, cool, wonderous…. Here is a lake with ice floes in it. I have never seen anything like this, ever! This is NZ’s biggest glacier. There are about 200 metres of ice below the surface water where it meets the river and nearly 600 metres farther north at one of the hut sites. It is losing about 0.5% of its total volume each year. There is a lot of dirt all around the edge of the lake. A placard telling about the lake explains that this is surface moraine, basically dirt that accumulates from the melt. More interesting is the fact that 20 years ago, this lake was no more than a few small sink holes, and 100 years ago, you would have had to climb above the overlook I’m standing on to get up onto the glacier surface. I am so taken with all this, I neglect to see the three keas sitting on rocks to my left. Not only are they co operative in letting me photograph them, but one actually moves closer for a really good shot. The Tasman River isn’t huge or wide, but it is the color of milk. Some of its tributaries are also the color of milk and therefore beg to be photographed; and of course, I oblige. I am actually very happy that I came here and happier that Ball Hut is 17km of horrific terrain which I can’t possibly be tempted to do in this car. No, really.

My original intent was to head for Omarama, but it is getting late. My head is trying to jump at every offering of lodging I see, but my instinct (or whatever) is pushing me to try in Omarama anyway. I still manage to stop several times while the sun sets and the moon is rising. Please may I not have to sleep in my car tonight. I pass Twizel. I can go there. Sidewalks are usually all rolled up by 9pm and it has to be later than that. Omarama is still another 30km. I haven’t eaten. There is a B&B. No. A backpacker place comes up. Still no. I finally reach Omarama.  There is a bar open. It has a hotel. I don’t want to pay an arm and a leg.  I don’t bring anything in with me. I’m not expecting good news.

This hotel is less than what I would have been willing to pay and it includes a cooked breakfast in the morning. The young women in the kitchen give me the prettiest room and tell me to help myself to coffee and/or tea during the night from the restaurant. I can pay in the morning. This has been a perfect day!

I can not believe I’m not sore! Life is good! The Omarama Hotel is one of my favorites now. The included breakfast is two eggs, a large portion of bacon, tomato and baked beans and it is superb. I spend my entire breakfast chatting with a couple from the Invercargill area on their way to Akaroa, near Christchurch. This is the very same place I almost gave up trying to find. We finally exchange email addresses and I am about an hour later starting than I’d intended. On what I’ve come to call “traveling days,” I already know that most of the day will include a multitude of stops in order to take pictures. I try very hard to know where I am at the time or why I took a particular picture. For example, I’ve passed close to a thousand streams and creeks, but there is always a reason I stopped to photograph one particular stream or creek. Today seems to be lake, bridge and waterfall day. Landis Pass gets an honorable mention because the landscape is interesting, but Lakes Wanaka and Hawea just steal your breath away. It’s the color and the clarity. I’ve never seen water this shade of green blue from a distance. Up close, you can see the entire body of someone swimming! It’s that clean and clear! You can see rocks on the bottom even when the water comes up to your shoulders. And it is back dropped by the Southern Alps and surrounded by hundreds of different species of foliage and flowers. And these lakes are gigantic even though they aren’t the biggest. The town of Wanaka is a lovely touristy town. Shops and cafes abound. They do have tiles running along side the sidewalk by the lake that are labeled with consecutive years and local, national and international historical information that is interesting. Other than Auckland, they have the first bead store I’ve seen in NZ. Wanaka also has “Puzzling World” a place dedicated to all kinds of puzzles including a walk through maze, a hologram hall and a “Tumbling Towers/Tilted House.”  I made a purchase, but to my surprise, my credit card got rejected; twice. The clerk and I figured it was the machine since this does happen apparently. I paid in cash. Moving on, I must have taken over twenty pictures of Lake Hawea alone, even though there really isn’t much there besides the lake and some houses. I stop for the Blue Pools, as opposed to the Blue Lakes of yesterday which weren’t really blue or pretty. These are intense in color and beauty. Unfortunately, the sand flies, similar to our black flies, are also intense and hungry. It also has a suspension bridge with a sign that warns not to allow more than 5 people at a time. Some of the people crossing look so frightened, no one else goes on just to let them cross unobstructed. Passing each other is an experience. I notice as I go up and down steps that I do have some residual soreness from yesterday. The “Gates of Haast” is a bridge overlooking the Haast River as it explodes across boulders within a gorge. Just down the road from there are several water falls, including a double called “Thunder Creek Falls.” It gets to be kind of fun seeing the same cars and people pulling up over and over to see these different sites. Sometimes we don’t make it one full kilometer (about .6 miles) without stopping two or three times. I finally reach the town of Haast which is on the west coast. My priority is always going to the beach. This is a brown sand beach with lots of little stones and shells….and lots of sand flies, too. When six land on me at the same time, I’ve had enough. At the visitor’s center, I ask about the Keas I saw last night. I want to be sure I have the right bird. The lady points to a picture without speaking to me, but the radio goes off and she is busy anyway. When she is freed up, I ask her about the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers. She asks me if I have a room because they will all be booked up for tonight, then smirks when I say I think something will turn up. Next order of business is fuel. My credit card gets rejected again, but now I’m concerned; this could be bad with about a month left. I stop again along the way to get shots of the Tasman Sea. Just before I enter Fox Glacier the town, there is a sign for viewing the glacier. It’s getting dark, and I don’t have a place to stay. On the other hand, if there is no place to stay, this may be my only chance to see it. Fox Glacier is the largest in the park; about 13km (8 miles) long. I would love to take one of the tours that brings you up on the glacier for the day. I’ve skied on a glacier in Canada, but I don’t remember it being distinct from everything else like the Tasman glacier was yesterday. I take the dirt road to the viewing area. It astounds how a massive amount of really dirty snow and ice can rivet your attention. I follow the sign to the river which states a 40 minute turn around time. It is after 7pm, but it doesn’t get really dark until after 9pm. This has another suspension bridge. It makes not so funny noises as I walk on it. I don’t weigh that much and it, too, warns about more than 5 people. Did I mention that I don’t weigh that much? I hustle back after seeing the milky colored river created by the melting ice and debris. The overlook states a 1 hour 20 minute turn around time. I figure, not if I run a little and don’t stop on the way. This is a great path after yesterday; filled with loose rocks, hills and flowing streams that you have to ford. There are even uneven steps to deal with just for good measure. As I emerge from the trees to a wide active crossing, standing before me is a tall long haired blond fellow. I tell him I hope I didn’t spoil the picture he was taking. We start talking. We’re headed for the overlook so we go together. He is from Holland, biking through NZ for the past two months with four other guys. He saw both glaciers from a helicopter yesterday. Tomorrow, he will take one of the eight hour tours on the glacier. This is the same one I am hoping to take. We reach the overlook. After photos (he has one of those really big ones), I share my binoculars to get a better look. Both of us are silent for a time just looking at it. I remember from yesterday that this, like most of the glaciers, is receding at about .5% per year and it is eight miles long now. I wonder how big it was 100 years ago. We turn back. He is a little surprised that I keep up with him in flip flops. He says that chances are if I went somewhere in Holland in my “jandles” as they call them here, I wouldn’t get served. People from Holland really look down on them. He doesn’t care. We talk about marathons (he plans to do his first in 2009) and half marathons (I’m ready for my March 9^th one if I survive today). By the time we get back, the sun has set and I can just see the way back to my car. He is on a bicycle! He has a torch (flashlight) and I would offer to follow him with my lights, but I’m almost out of fuel (haven’t seen anything open since before ¼ of a tank). We exchange email addresses and I walk down to my car.

I brewed my first batch of Kawa Kawa last night. It is darker than Hene’s and I’ll have to ask her about the ratio of leaves to liquid. It smells and tastes the same so this is the first drink of my day. I’m going to need it. I slept very little last night without any idea as to why. It poured very hard and continues off and on as I travel across the country toward the west coast and Milford Sound. The area I’m going was formed over successive ice ages. In fact, Milford Sound is a misnomer because it isn’t a “sound” at all; it is a fiord. So what’s the difference? Sounds are flooded river valleys. Fiords, on the other hand, are carved from uplifts in the earth’s crusts forming peaks and valleys. As snow and ice accumulate over vast regions forming glaciers during an ice age, the pressure slowly turns the valleys “u-shaped.” Some of these valleys, called “hanging valleys,” sit suspended above the main valleys which are, of course, much lower down. This process continued with a second ice age and subsequent melt leaving sharp peaks that drop nearly straight into the sea with navigable valleys. All this took place over the past 10 million years with little change over the past 6 thousand years. No, I’m not an encyclopedia; I looked it up.

I am literally chasing a rainbow. I have followed a car and truck for about 5km with the sun out, but their splash from the road is creating a rainbow behind them until it starts to rain hard again. Between Balclutha and Gore, the sun is out once again. There is another rainbow. This time, however, it stretches clear across the valley and remains from Balclutha to the town of Clinton; about 45 km.  Just before leaving Clinton, I see a sign, “Clinton to Gore Presidential Highway.”

I arrive at the town of Te Anau, but I am so excited to get to Milford Sound that I keep on going. After driving about twenty more minutes, I see a sign saying, “Limited petrol next 94km.” I look at my tank; ¼ full. Well, it said limited, it didn’t say “no fuel” and there are no stations in sight. Besides, something will turn up.

I’m entering Fiordland. That initial “rush” is gone and I am so exhausted, I have to pull over and sleep for awhile. I choose a place called Lake Gunn. Throughout this trip, I have often stopped at places where the name of the place has meaning for me. In this case, Gunn is the last name of a relative of mine to whom I am very close and love dearly. The site surrounds me with moss covered trees and a lovely lake with water gently lapping along its shoreline. I don’t care about the time; when I wake up, is when I’ll continue. Of course I have to take a picture first.

In my usual fashion, I can’t just get to a place. I need to stop whenever the moment moves me and in this case the moment is at a place called The Divide and Key Summit. My fuel gauge has just informed me that my tank is empty, but whereas I can do nothing about that, I can enjoy this beautiful day on this incredible trek. I get the usual looks from expensively outfitted trekkers about twenty minutes into the hike. I’m wearing short sleeves, but I’m still wearing my fleece pants which are now rolled up with my flipflops and my little blue/black day pack. I really wish I was wearing shorts. I can hear the wind and the fall of water, but very rarely do I hear birds. The air almost smells sweet, it is so pure. I pass water falls, oddly colored boulders and wild flowers I’ve never seen before. I stop often for pictures, but more, I want to process all that I’m seeing. A man starts to sing from up above. It’s brief; then there is laughter. As I pass a woman and three men, I ask who the vocalist is. This is how I meet Jason and David. We talk briefly and David asks if I can do something for his shoulders. I massage him right there on the trail. We exchange some travel info and make loose plans to reconnect in Queenstown. I reach Key Summit a few minutes later. After playtime up there, what has gone up, needs to come down. I pass a few others coming up as I head down. Three people in their twenties notice my flipflops. One says,” I wondered if it could be done.” We all laugh. Everyone is in a good mood today and for the most part, very friendly. As I reach the bottom, I see Jason and David and now there is Phil. I take their picture for them and David remarks how great his shoulders feel. I even get a granola bar as payment. We start talking about my fuel situation and Phil suggests I talk to the guide in the car park. The fellow is loading people onto a bus, but is very nice when I ask his attention. He tells me I can get emergency fuel up the road and gives me directions.

“Just up the road” turns out to be another 25km of mostly dirt road. I push my fear of running out of fuel aside in exchange for faith that this is all part of the journey and get rewarded with Hollyford Camp. This place is a throwback to the 30’s and I am instantly in love. The gas is pumped with an arm’s length hand lever. A few cabins, all painted different colors,  are arranged in rows along a driveway and there is a bomb (yes, a bomb) across from the fuel pump which reads, “Property of the USA. “  For $20, I have a three room cabin heated by a wood cooking stove. One room serves as the kitchen/living room, one room has two bunks and the other a double bed. Since there is no one else in my cabin, the whole thing is mine and I close the door to the bunk room. There is a regular camp kitchen, open all night which runs on gas, the water for the showers is heated by wood, there are separate men’s and ladies toilets and showers, a store that also serves as info centre and since the entire camp runs on a generator, all the electricity cuts off at 10:30pm. There are candles, matches and wood for the stove in each cabin. The owner has to have an incredible sense of humor. There is a gate with no accompanying fence with a sign that states, “No sand flies beyond this point.” On the other side of the gate, is a sign that states, “Please keep gate closed to keep sand flies in.” This is a play on the sheep stations. Along the drive to the cabins is a road that makes a sharp right. There is a sign that points to the right saying, “Right Way.” There is also a sign pointing to the left where the grass is saying, “Wrong Way.” In the picnic area, there are feet with shoes on coming out of the grass similar to Dorothy’s event upon landing in Oz. In front, there is a sign post with the distances to various cities throughout NZ and the world with one sign pointing straight up and labeled Heaven. There is a glow worm cave nearby and water falls about 8km (about 5 miles) down the road. And the very pleasant woman in the store gives me information about Milford Sound.

I wasn’t planning to take a tour, thinking that I could do a drive/walk. But, in fact, to see Milford Sound, it really takes some kind of tour, either by boat or air. Boat is, of course, cheaper and there are several to choose from. If I take the earliest which is at 9:30am, I can save some money and the lady suggests I pay a little extra (with what I save) and get dropped off at the observatory. She also tells me that I need to ask for this because they don’t volunteer it. With tomorrow planned, I settle in and head down the road on foot to see the falls. When my intention raises a few eyebrows at the store, I explain I don’t want to use the fuel. That brought some smiles as to my intentions if not some doubt as to my level of fitness to walk that distance with return.

I have been walking for awhile now. It starts with a thought. My dad would have loved this place. Suddenly I am walking down this dirt road alone (or not) crying, sobbing.

I make a side trip when I see a sign that says “airstrip” and I follow a path with a sign reading “historic grave site.” The airstrip is farther than I want to travel. I want to see the falls, it is getting dark and after about 10 minutes I give up on it. The grave is close and sad. The head stone remembers a Scotsman by the name of Donald Keith, age 59, who became lost and died here from exhaustion in May of 1886. The falls are a little further. It is getting very dark when I finally get back. I notice that each cabin has a name; my cabin’s name is Jane. This is my mother’s name. I find out that the cabins are not named for people, but for horses. It still makes me smile. I also find out that the place is owned by a man with the last name of Gunn. It gets really cold here at night. There is a goose down quilt on the bed for later; I have my fleece pants and socks on, but I am like a little kid as I get the stove started. This is so cool. The place warms quickly and the scent of burning wood permeates all of my belongings. It’s an early night when the one light goes out at 10:30. I have three candles going to finish a Sudoku, but I need the rest anyway.

The road to Milford Sound has a tunnel. Homer Tunnel is very long and carved right through the mountain. It is a jaw dropping, my throat goes dry experience that true claustrophobics would never be able to handle, but I love it. The other side expands into the Cleddau Valley and down to the dock area. My hostess from last night is right and I need to ask to be dropped at the observatory. As I board I tell one of the crew and receive further instructions. The sky is what I call “absolute Blue.” In fact, everything I see including the green of the trees, the gray cliffs, the water and snow all have various shades of blue. The shear enormity and majesty of it all leaves me speechless (but attempting to describe it).  We are told that some of these mountains continue for another mile down below the water and that when it rains, there are literally thousands of waterfalls that can be seen all at the same time. There are only two permanent falls; Stirling and Lady Bowen. We pass them as we make our way toward the opening into the Tasman Sea. Both falls are examples of those hanging valleys and the Bowen Falls drop an impressive 160 meters (530 ft). As we near one of the rain created falls, the mist from it surrounds the area in a rainbow. Even as I click away with my camera, I know I can not capture this view, this moment, this day. We stop to see some NZ fur seals. As my fellow passengers get all excited to view nine seals from about 100 feet away, I realize what a gift I received at Cape Palliser. The guide explains that fiords are glacially formed and that sounds go from shallow to deep, whereas fiords go from deep to shallow, hence the misnomer for Milford. Fiords are actually carved during one ice age and backfilled with water during the next. Milford is one of fourteen, but not the largest. The others are reached by boat and/or track. We see Mt. Pembroke which is one of the wettest places on the planet receiving 643 cm ( I think about 205 inches) of water in the form of rain or snow over approximately 182 days each year.

The boat stops at the observatory and I am the only one getting off. This structure is attached to the land like a floating dock and bobs in the water, moving at all times. The “top side” part is an info and receiving centre. Tour boats will drop people off all day long, and one line arrives about every hour to pick up those ready to return. There is a double spiral staircase that takes you downstairs to a 360 degree viewing station of sea life below the water line. This place is unique for several reasons. The construction of this structure is one of only a few in the world. The location, weather and geological configuration provide the others. The Tasman Sea provides a salt water environment. The steep cliffs and hanging valleys which provide the lovely water falls also dump fresh water into the fiord which is lighter than the sea water and literally floats on top. This enables sea creatures that would not normally exist together, to do exactly that. That is why this viewing station is here. Each window has an explanation as to what is growing here and what you might see pass by. Black coral, red coral, spots, sponges, scallops, a sea urchin and an eleven legged star fish are among the sea life that keeps me there almost two hours. The trip back continues to delight and I’m still back with enough of the day left to make multiple stops as I return to Te Anau with, hopefully, enough fuel.

A rocky river bed with a mountain backdrop provides one of many Kodak moments, but far better, is a place called the Chasm. I am mixed in with a busload of tourists, about fifty in all. We all walk the carefully sculpted trail taking pictures along the way, but I just can’t get the view I want. There is always a boulder or trees in the way.  As I start back, there are four people off to one side on what looks like a rain run off area, but there are boot tracks in the mud. This being one of the very many times I am grateful I am not a “tour” person, I proceed where these people have decided not to tread for fear of being left behind. Down I go, grabbing at roots and perches to allow my descent. The reward follows. I stand beside the waterfall I could only glimpse from above. I can enter the clear green tinted pool at the base of the falls. Thank you for this moment. I take the time to just sit and exist. The rushing sound of the water in my ears and the breeze it creates is all I need to contemplate.

Time passes and I need to move on. I grab hold of the rope that allowed my final descent and now contemplate getting myself up this thing….in flipflops. Bare feet work better and the ascent, as usual, is easier. Once in the car park, it has warmed up enough to change into shorts. I am so good at this now.

After passing through the Homer Tunnel again, I stop for a view of the Hollyford River. There is a Kea, a type of large parrot, entertaining some children in the car park. These are very friendly birds, and as long as you don’t try to pet it or pick it up, it’ll come quite close without fear or aggression. I don’t plan to stop again until Mirror Lakes because I need to keep an eye on my fuel consumption. The Mirror Lakes are less than a five minute walk, very tiny and a bit of a disappointment after some of the other lakes and water views I’ve had. I start to really look at my final few miles through the Eglinton Valley and river. By the time I reach Te Anau, I am once more on empty and that just tells me that we figured just the right amount of fuel and experience.

It rained very hard last night. I awaken to a yellow dawn. I swear I can take pictures in my sleep. I study maps over breakfast. I am determined to know my way around. I believe that some of my confusion stems from ambivalence as to whether I even want to be in Christchurch at all. I would like to go out to Akaroa or the gondola, either of them requiring my car. After wandering aimlessly trying to at least come within range of something I want to do, I find I’m not in Christchurch nor am I out on the peninsula. I have emerged from a very cool tunnel which was long and dark and went straight through an entire mountain.  I am in Lyttleton, which is built from the harbor reaching up an extremely steep slope. It is so steep, that as I continue to get even more lost, I find my self going up a hill in which I can not see the top; in fact, I can not see any road surface. Now even though there are houses built along this street with driveways, my whole body is instinctively leaning as far forward as I can go in a vain attempt to keep the car from tipping over backwards. My mouth has gone dry and my eyes are wide open and I am actually truly scared. After I make the crest, I find myself in a rather exclusive neighborhood. Part of me now wishes I had taken a picture while on that hill, but I was too afraid of taking my hands off the wheel. Just the same, these people do privacy in a big way. Most of the homes are sealed off by hedges reaching 20-30 feet with only holes cut at the bottom for drive ways. And they are about 5 feet thick. I finally see a man standing by his car at the end of a street and ask for directions.

My first destination, because I can find it now, is the gondola. Maybe I can get a sense of the place. The sun is coming out and that always helps. I purchase a combo gondola/tram ticket, which is good on the tram for two days. The tram is in town and I’ll be able to get on and off as much as I want. My attitude is improving; don’t get in your own way.

The view from the top is spectacular and I’ve come to expect no less. After I take my first picture, I realize it includes the neighborhood I got lost in. The Visitor Centre turns out to be more than the usual shops. There is a whole display on extinct island species for starts. The Moa, hunted to extinction, was the tallest bird to ever live on our planet with the top of its back measuring as much as six feet above the ground. It was considered a monster by the early Maori and they were actually trying to eradicate them. The Haast eagle was the world’s largest eagle with a wing span of about six feet. It could take prey 10-20 times its own body mass, including the moa. It went extinct shortly after the moa. The Prince of York returned from a trip to NZ wearing a Huia feather in his hat. The bird was black with a bright orange wattle and the females had a white band of tail feathers. For the sake of fashion, this bird was then hunted to extinction by 1907.

Along with the observation deck, shops/restaurant, the display and some trails is a “time tunnel.” This is a free 5-10 minute ride that takes you through a history of the area. Obviously, this is pretty quick, but nicely done and an added treat. After wandering a couple of the trails for a short time, I’m ready to find my way around Christchurch.

I have a much better orientation now. I guess I’ll know for sure when I drive out of here. I am aware that it is “much easier above the trees than below the canopy.” My destination is the “Sign of the Kiwi,” but I have given up after 20 minutes and now I sit in the car park of the Antarctic Adventure. This sounds like an amusement ride, but it is actually an information center on Antarctica. They also have penguins. This place, I found easily.

I am learning about the “Hercules” L model which is used to do most of the transporting to the Antarctic. I’d no idea, but 70% of all personnel flying to Antarctica leave from right here in Christchurch on one of these planes. I’m unsure why here and not farther south. I remember that South America is the closest land mass to the Antarctic. This is only the “warm up.” As I enter the first real display area, it is very cool and dark. There are diary readings playing about the Arctic winter and then it starts to snow on me with audios of horrific howling winds. One of the diary readings, which are all real, explain how two men needed their clothing cut off their bodies because it had frozen solid.

There are eighteen varieties of penguins and an example of each is displayed either by taxidermy or some art form. Emperor penguins are the largest and come up to my chest in height, a full 130 cm! The Little Blues and White-flippered are only around 45cm and are the smallest of penguins. The legend is that Taroa, the Albatross and Tawaki, the penguin were constantly arguing about which was better at flying and fishing. Tane Mahuta (remember him?) got fed up with the constant arguing and gave each a gift. To Taroa, he gave the longest wing span of any sea bird so that he could sail the ocean winds in search of food. To Tawaki, he gave narrow flipper wings so that he could fly beneath the ocean waves to catch all the fish he needed.

This place has a storm room where you can get a rough idea of Arctic chill factor. They provide jackets and shoe covers; the covers to keep the snow clean.  There are a couple of places in this room for taking pictures, including an igloo and a snow slide. Though these aren’t real, there is real snow in here. The lights go out and an audio tells you a storm is coming. The wind starts to pick up. It gets stronger and stronger. We all grab at our jackets. It gets stronger and starts to snow; a little bit sideways. The winds get stronger still as the wind chill indicator shows us the temperature plummeting in the chamber. Someone could scream right now and you would never hear it. The wind starts to die down and the temperature begins to return to normal. I find all of this fascinating, but it just confirms for me that I could never have braved this environment or endured the hardships that the Arctic explorers faced. This is deprivation at its most cruel.

There are a small number of Little Blues kept here. These are birds that would not otherwise make it out in the wild because of injury or some other factor specific to that penguin. The facility for them allows you to see them above, at and below water level. There is no getting around it; these creatures are adorable! You can even view them when they are sleeping in their little cubbies which they are free to enter and exit at will. I sit and watch them swim around for awhile. I am hoping to see penguins out in the wild while I’m in NZ, but for now, this will definitely do.

I like this place. It has many displays that say “Touch me.” They have a base camp set up in one room so you can know just how difficult it is, or at least was, when people first started exploring Antarctica. I get to experience an ice cave and end at a theatre with a hundred foot screen with insanely beautiful footage of ice, sunsets, penguins and auroras all to music. This is one of my highlights in NZ. Walking out to the blistering car park only makes me appreciate it more.

There is a real comfort zone in the familiar. The desk clerk in Kaikoura, an American, recommended a pizza place here and today is the day. The place is a sports bar called The Holy Grail, the biggest in Christchurch and one of the largest in the country. They have a special with pizza and beer for $12.50, and that is an amazing bargain in this country. On my way there by tram from where I’m staying, I pass the Anglican church. This is the church in the center of town, surrounded by a large plaza and simply the hub of the social scene. Here people sit, stroll, eat, read, watch, walk the dog, shop, visit; you get the idea. They can also play chess with pieces from knee to waist high. There is a unique conical structure rising from the sidewalk. It was a gift to the city not long ago, I was told, representing life. It is gray metal and comes up like an ice cream cone with leaves in greater and greater detail as it opens up to the sky.  It’s really quite pretty and certainly draws your attention as you enter the square because it sits not far from the front door of the church.  The Holy Grail is just down from here. The building used to be a theatre. It is set up so you walk in through the middle and there are multileveled sitting areas on both sides all facing a full wall screen in front of you. This is showing a cricket match, while other screens display soccer, tennis and other sports. I get a Hawaiian pizza with ham, pineapple and cheese and a Tui. I don’t know it goes back to my original statement about the familiar or if the pizza is really as good as it seems to be and frankly, I don’t care. I am “eatin’ good in the neighborhood!” and feel fantastic right at this moment.

After this feast, I hop back on the tram to continue my mini tour so I’ll know where I want to go tomorrow. Just past Cathedral Square and The Holy Grail, is the Avon River where one goes “punting” leisurely down the river on a pleasant afternoon. A punt is a small flat bottomed boat that is propelled by a pole, similar to a gondola but shaped differently. Christchurch has a glass fronted art gallery housing more than 5500 works and the Canterbury Museum across from it housing all sorts of items from this region. We also stop at New Regent Street which is Christchurch’s first shopping “mall.” It is actually a street done in Spanish Colonial architecture with all the fronts painted in soft pastels of blue, yellow and green. I need to get back for a few massage appointments, but tomorrow’s route is in my head and it should be a good day.

I’m getting an early start on a rainy day. Too early for anything to be open, I wander through Christchurch’s Botanical Gardens until the Canterbury Museum opens. The Canterbury has displays on the Maori, Albatross, dinosaurs and regional history. It’s a very neat place to be on a rainy morning. Two tidbits I found interesting, I’ll share. One is about Nor’westers. This is a dry, warm wind that occurs all over the world. In the Canadian Rockies, it is called a Chinook, in California, the Santa Anna. It is a positively charged wind that makes people irritable and grumpy. It can cause sleeplessness, mood swings and depression. Studies have linked it to migraines. In Switzerland, it is called a Foehn, and the law actually recognizes that changing wind and weather conditions can actually drive people temporarily insane. Nor’westers can cause temperature inversions that can trap pollution and make breathing very uncomfortable for people with asthma and respiratory illnesses. The second piece of info is a theme that is so relevant to NZ, it seems to sum up my whole time here. This is a quote from John Muir: “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”

There really is a tremendous amount of information on the Moa. They also have an Egyptian mummy of a young princess. They have taken great care with this display and even consulted Egyptians as to the appropriateness of her display and Maoris, for a Maori “coffin” also available for viewing.

I return to the Botanical Gardens, this time with more purpose. I really enjoy the different sculptures and fountains as much as the flora. There are a few Rata trees. They are covered in orangy-red flowers. This is a cousin to the Pohutakawa trees I’ve described that are blanketed with red flowers. It was a rata tree I climbed in Wanganui. Both are all over the island; both help bees make the best honey on the island and both are a dining favorite of possums. The herb garden here is extensive and I can’t inhale deeply enough as I pass through. A “World Peace Bell” is on display. This was actually forged from the coinage of 23 countries, including the USA. It resembles the drum shaped bells from Nepal and is suspended from a very modern looking open chrome and tile structure. And, of course, I have to walk through the rose garden. All the roses are covered in raindrops, and if it’s possible, they are more beautiful and have more scent than I’ve experienced so far. At one of the entrances to the rose garden, they have a giant metal rose. It’s, well, different, but I like it. With bright blue hydrangeas and neon orange cannas, the gardens and walkways are quite lush, but the tram will be making another pass soon and I have other places to go.

Back on the tram to Victoria Park named for Queen Elisabeth. Did I get you on that one? It was originally a market place. The Avon runs through it and there are little bridges, flowers, statuary and even a Maori Pou Pou (Po Po) showing Rangi and Papa being pushed apart by Tane and his brothers.

Back to Regent Street and off to the last grocer’s in NZ where you hand the clerk a list and he gets you all your stuff. This shop turns out to be amazing. There is candy piled at least three feet in the air on a counter. There are chutneys, jams, lollies (candy) and all kinds of things you might find in a gourmet shop. A woman walks in ahead of me and asks for three things that no one would ever find in this chaos. The clerk hands her the items within a minute. The items are expensive, but that isn’t really why people come here. He is the entertainment and he is very good. He is prompt, courteous, smiles and other than asking once if he can be of assistance, he never speaks unless spoken to first. It takes me ½ hour and seven customers to be ready to purchase home made jam I will never find in the USA. 

Next stop is Christchurch Cathedral. This is the one the city is famous for; a stone Gothic structure. There are a number of designs inside, but only one they feel the need to explain; the fylfot or swastika. This symbol has been around for ages as a sign of prosperity, but was adopted as the emblem for the Nazis. It seems obvious why it was chosen, but it has diminished this pretty design forever. I climb the 134 step bell tower and I’m not even winded. This is a good sign for the ½ marathon. I actually include myself in a Kodak moment at the top of the tower.

This tram thing is really working out. They don’t even bother checking my ticket any more. As I wait for its arrival, I watch the crowd. Several women are crossing the street. One is dressed very differently in rust red oversized coat and trousers. She walks right up to me and asks me if I’m alright. I tell her I am and that I’m waiting for the tram. She blesses me and hands me a lovely pink rose which she pulls from her pocket and walks off. The tram comes. I scrape my jaw off the sidewalk and ride over to the art gallery. The tram conductor explains that the silent water fall that extends the full length of a wall on one side of the art gallery cost $47 million. He goes on to say that when they were constructing the gallery, they hit three underground springs and decided to incorporate them into the structure. The all glass paneled front of the gallery is a work of art in itself. However, I can not say I am truly a modern art fan. Some things I like, while a piece of string glued to a piece of paper and triple matted selling for $800 just doesn’t do it for me. There were two exhibits I found notable. “I See Red” brings together different art works exploring some of the powerful ideas and meanings attached to the color red.  I even got to make my own little paper Marae. The second exhibit is called “Fossil Cairn and the Weight of Destiny.”  Megan Jenkinson went to Antarctica and using different media, explores Scott’s ill fated trip and the 35 pounds of rock samples found with the deceased party. Both are moving, at least for me. After hopping the tram for a final time, I get to pass Christchurch’s parliament building which is the oldest remaining original parliament building still existing in NZ. I get off at the tram station which is within a five minute walk of my hotel. On the way, I notice a store selling “party pills, herbal smoke, herbal highs and hash.” This is a first.

As I drive away from Christchurch, my one regret is that I have not found the road to Akaroa. There are signs, but every time I start to follow one, nothing seems to lead to it and I end up no where and lost. I see a sign up ahead for Akaroa. No, I gave that up (as I make the turn onto Highway 75 and Akaroa). There are faster ways, but I never found them.

As I drive toward Akaroa onto the peninsula, the sky is overcast. This is actually the oldest town in the Christchurch/Canterbury region. It was originally settled by the French and you can still see the influence. I drive through town on Rue Jolie, the main street. This is French for beautiful street. All my years of French have finally come in handy. In addition, the architecture has some French influence and the whole town is very quaint without a tourist atmosphere. The harbor is very accomodating and has about 50 boats of varying sizes, mostly sail boats. In addition, there are lighthouse and domain trails with the first real bush vegetation I’ve seen on the South Island. I gather Kawa Kawa for tea tonight.

Now I’m going to make my way to Dunedin (Do nee din). I know it was modeled after Edinborough, Scotland, but beyond that, it’s just a name to me right now. I pass several venison farms. If I haven’t mentioned these, they are scattered throughout NZ. I’ve been told the venison is not as gamey tasting, but I have yet to try some because venison entrees I’ve seen started at $26 for the entrée alone. Grilled fresh fish at a fish and chips place is around $3.50. I stop along the coastline to see if I can catch a glimpse of yellow-eyed penguins, the world’s rarest penguin. Shag Point is the location and it has offered me shags, shearwaters and black-backed gulls, but not a penguin to be had.

I don’t know anything about Dunedin. The place I’m staying has a booklet with things to do, so I’m starting with #1-Baldwin Street, the “steepest street in the world.” I didn’t drive this street, but it doesn’t look scary steep. The street in Lyttleton had me gripping the wheel and leaning forward in an up and over to nothingness clench. The car felt like it was going to fall backward at any moment and I was in a sweat the whole time. I couldn’t even take a picture because I was too terrified to take my hands off the wheel. I would have to drive this to know for sure, but there is no turn around, so I would then have to back up. I don’t think so. I do walk it and it really angles up at the end, but I’ll just take their word for it. It is, in my daughter’s words, “one sick nasty street.” The real entertainment is watching others come up it. Some take breaks, a few will tack, like a sailboat, while others pretend they are looking at something in order to take an “unnoticed” break. There are a few who just give up. I do take my flipflops off to go down. There are stairs on both sides in places, but what fun is that?

I actually find a shady spot to park at Dunidin’s Botanical Gardens. The first thing I notice from this entrance (not the main entrance) is a white with red roof stage. Though not large by any means, there is a grassy area in front of it and when you cross a bridge over the small river, there are terraced rows with staggered benches overlooking the stage. Some of the benches have shrubbery blocking the view, so it’s doubtful this is its prime purpose, but it makes for a unique setting for small performances. There is a Eucalyptus section. Did you know that the world’s tallest hardwood tree is a Eucalyptus Regnans? There are over 500 species of Eucalyptus throughout the world. Now even though I probably won’t remember this tomorrow, it’s nice to know today, which, by the way is sunny and warm and perfect. There is a path along the rock garden that leads to a greenhouse like structure. In keeping with the garden look, the restaurant/coffee bar and info centre are housed here. They even give out free seed to feed the ducks. One duck waited behind me the whole time and nipped me when I finally turned to feed him, the cheeky little thing. Of course there has to be a rose garden and Dunidin’s compares with the best of them. They also have a green house in stages, starting with warm and dry, which are mostly succulents. They also have warm and wet, which includes orchids and tree fuchsias.  There is a pine section, Australian section and an aviary. Statuary is placed intermittently and Peter Pan shows up again with a very cocky look.  There are areas for children to play where moms can sit back and watch comfortably. And you can picnic almost anywhere so lunch is on a bench in the rose garden for me today.

Dunedin has a well established museum. There is always a new piece of the puzzle to be found, so here I am. I find out that the Takahe, a relative to the Pukeko (remember him?), is headed for extinction. And while I’m thinking Pukeko, I saw one fly. Now I know why my friend said they were flightless. Turkeys fly too, but it isn’t pretty, high or far. Anyway, I’ve mentioned staoats before as being in competition with possums as enemy number one. Little stoats are actually in competition with deer for food. Weasels and stoats were introduced to reduce the rabbit population that was also introduced. I guess my question is why were these introduced in the first place? And the answer is both simple and complex. Of course no one intended for all this to happen. Rabbits and possums were introduced to start a fur trade. I honestly don’t know what kills possums, but I bet they aren’t introducing anything else to the island. And that is one of the things I really like about NZ. They are pretty upfront about their past mistakes and I think there is a genuine effort to clean up and correct them. However, this is on the wake of a leak that officials hid information in a recent report that blamed sheep and cows for the loss in the ozone layer. And just in case I don’t get to view any out in the wild, I see stuffed kiwis and yellow-eyed penguins, the skeleton of a Haast Eagle (already extinct) and the jaw bone of a whale, along with about a million other things.

There are at least four more hours of light so I’ve got time to get out onto the peninsula to the Royal Albatross Centre. I’m planning to spend tomorrow afternoon there, but I’ve got the time now. Of course it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t stop about every km to take a picture, but I finally arrive. Tairoa Head houses this protected area for water birds with a

Visitor’s Centre, complete with restaurant and shops, but also a great deal of free information presented in a number of ways from film to interactives. There is a lighthouse, but it is inaccessible because it is also a nesting area. And then there is the viewing area which extends onto the cliffs. The wind has all us humans huddled, but out to the cliff edges we go to get a look at the Royal Albatross, Molly Mawks, Gannets, etc. Cameras and heads flail back and forth as viewers attempt to capture flight and I’m sure I could probably find full time work on necks if I just wait awhile. Roughly 50 pictures later, most of which are probably blank, I acquaint myself with the Centre which is now my best friend because it is warm and my hair isn’t whipping across my face and eyes. Besides; I’m freezing. The desk lady tells me that the Little Blues (penguins) come onto Pilot Beach around 9:30pm each night. This beach is walking distance from here, but also on the way back, so I’ll take my car. The Yellow-eyed Penguins which are the rarest penguins in the world, arrive at a different beach around 4:30pm. This, then, is what I’ll do tomorrow, since it is nearly 7pm now, but I can certainly stay for the Little Blues. I’ve taken pictures at museums and farms, but there is nothing to compare to seeing a creature in its own environment. I think I should have been a naturalist or maybe a nature photographer. I just can’t get enough of this stuff.

So, here I am standing with a bunch of other people, some in winter parkas, while I stand in my shorts, flipflops and fleece top (at least that) waiting to see tiny penguins come up onto the shore in the dark. And I do mean dark. It is now nearly 10:30pm and I see a little head pop out about 4 feet away. A guttural, chirpy cooing starts, and soon the sound crescendos all over the beach. There is absolutely no flash allowed, but still we all attempt lengthy exposures to carry away these treasured moments. More than an hour later, I realize that I can barely move my fingers and toes. It doesn’t matter; I’ve seen mates wait for each other on the beach, and parents unite with infants at the nest with noisy greetings and hopefully a hardy meal for the little ones. And of course, there is the famous waddle which leaves us all “Oh ing” and “Aw ing” without even realizing.

It rained last night and it is raining still. I meet a young man and his mom in the kitchen over breakfast and get a late start on the day. I have two massages to arrange tonight. That completed, and the rain having lightened, I will find indoor things to do until the sky clears a bit.

I think chocolate is a really good way to start the day. Chocolate through history was looked upon as a substance of power, vitality and a gift from the gods. Cadbury was a tea grower here in Dunedin, but switched over to chocolate as an interest. His sons developed the product. They bought the then well known, Hudson Biscuit Company, added chocolate, bought Pascale and Mother Earth and have, been expanding and updating ever since. We get little chocolate bars all through the tour. I like this tour. Though they receive supplies from all over the world, they try to stay fresh and regional by obtaining sugar cane from the Queensland region and milk from Otago for this factory. They have a number of factories throughout the world now. Okay, a couple more facts. At Easter time, 40 million Cadbury eggs are made which are not exported. All of these eggs are for the 4 million New Zealanders and they are gone in one week. Shortly after leaving the tour, I pass a shop “Guilty by Confection.” Yup! That’s us!

Today is February 14^th, but for the vast majority of people I care about, it is the 13^th. I have called one of my three birthday people today, and will call my mother, the Valentine baby, tomorrow.

Back at the Hostel, I do one of my two massages, have a very hasty lunch and take off for a Speight’s Brewery tour. This is the beer I drank on Omaha Beach in Waarkworth with Christine and Murray. I have not seen one Tui sign since arriving in Dunedin. Our tour guide is a character with maybe a few too many snipes at women, but funny all the same. Here comes the history again. The first recipe ever found for any concoction was supposedly for beer. Our guide tells us we should try Spruce beer if we get the chance since it may be made from this original recipe. As for Speight’s, three fellows by the names of Greenslade, Dawson (brewer) and Speight plus one employee (unnamed) started in the 1800’s making beer by gravity method. It is now the only gravity brewery in the Southern Hemisphere still in existence. The gravity method is cheaper but requires all the ingredients to be hauled up and literally dropped down various shoots for mixing. Over the years, the lines between lagers, ales and beer have blurred. Beer is technically hopped ale. Hops are related to Cannabis. NZ used to import hops, now they export 95% of their hops to Germany, the USA and Ireland. According to our guide, hops increases estrogen in the body; that is why when men drink beer they can’t drive and talk silly. The water used to make the beer comes from five springs under the brewery. I noticed a tap on the outside wall of the brewery when I was coming in. Our guide tells us that on several occasions, some “unknown person” has let slip that the tap has been connected to beer inside the brewery and that enormous crowds have gathered to partake. Of course, the brewery doesn’t do that, but while the crowd is gathered, it’s a good time to go next door to the Speight’s pub and get a brew.  We walk through the Gyle room. Gyle is a Dutch word for the measurement of 15,000 kegs. There is a lot of beer in this room. Technically, all Speight’s beers are lagers. When all breweries started going automated, beer took a big hit in this country because people hated the taste. Speight’s went back to the gravity feed and tried to recover. Several years ago, they had a huge contest to revitalize their ad campaign and an employee suggested the “Pride of the South,” logo and the brewery started the “Southern Man” campaign. It was so well received, it has made Speight’s the overwhelming leader in beer in NZ. At the end of the tour, our guide tells us that we can drink as much free beer as we want until the DVD he is about to play for us finishes. It starts, but the first guy in line is just standing there. We all look at him and about nine of us, all at the same time, say, “Go!” Once he gets moving the line is like a revolving door with individuals going round and round refilling their glasses as we try the various types. I really like the Old Dark, but find out that Speight’s is not, as yet, imported in the States. I guess I’ll just have to enjoy it here.

It is time to head back to the peninsula for the Yellow-eyed Penguins arrival. I race back to the lodging, grab the car and motor off to the Otago Peninsula. I actually find Sandfly Bay without incident. The guide from yesterday told me to be here by 4:30pm. It is 4:10 which is perfect until I read the sign that tells me I have to find a blind along the beach that will be labeled as such when I get there. I am now careening down a 200 foot sand dune that is sucking up my feet and ankles. I finally hit the beach and have no idea in which direction to go. I spy a couple coming toward me from the left. Don’t tell me I missed it! I take off in that direction as fast as I can carry my pack, binoculars, camera and flipflops.

Especially on the South Island, I have no concept of time. I see three signs along the way all saying, “No access. Fragile bio-geological area.” I see a man way up ahead. I finaaly spot the blind far up to my left. My gastrocs (one of several lower leg muscles) are screaming because I’m trying to get to the blind before the penguins start to land. I’ve been told they won’t come on shore if they see people. The man I’d seen enters after me. There are already three people here. This is much warmer than last night, but farther away. I don’t care; I’m just glad to be here. Besides, I have my binoculars and it’s still light enough to take pictures. We see one within half an hour coming up onto the beach. Since then, there has been nothing. After what seems like forever, a man enters the blind. He tells us that there are four people down at the beach with cameras ready. There are signs everywhere telling us that the penguins will not come ashore if people are present. I can’t stand it! The wife of the man who came in around the time I did, leaves for a few minutes. I’m sure her husband is one of the people down on the beach because he has a big camera and has been gone awhile. Three people enter the blind about 15 minutes later. Another penguin shows up about 5 minutes after that. I can not believe that my camera batteries have decided to quit now. I have been so good about carrying extras at all times…except right now. I’m not angry. I’m not even annoyed. I have two pictures and I’m here to witness this right now. I am only grateful and I mean this sincerely. I see seven penguins in all, including several on my way back to my car. I take a slightly different route back and get rewarded for the effort. Two sea lions are cuddling behind a dune, one brown, one almost all white with a black face and a few black spots. This is rare. I charge up the sand dune (the really really big one) like the “little engine that could” back to my car and camera batteries. Back I slide down the sand dune as it crosses my mind that I am going to have to climb back up again. Oh, and did I mention there is a trail as well? I arrive back with the sea lions, take several incredible pictures and leave happy as any child in a candy store with unlimited funding. God, I hope I’m not late for that second massage!

I have to decide whether or not to go further south to Invercargill. I know that if I go that far south, I will want to go to Stewart Island as well. That would be at least another 2-3 days. No, I think it’s time to go west to the Fiordlands. Besides, I simply don’t have warm enough clothing if it gets any colder during the nights. The decision made, I feel better as I arrive with five minutes to prepare for my second massage.

I open my eyes. It’s getting light. We’re almost there. Mahoney and I rely on each other to get luggage and our bearings before exchanging emails and parting ways. He will be spending time with friends in Wellington for the next two weeks; then he will travel to the South Island. Brittany is right: it is really fun when you see someone more than once in your travels.

I have about an hour to kill. I splurge on a coffee for $3.80. When the ferry shuttle arrives, the driver is really funny. The shuttle looks packed and he tells us that there is another shuttle coming in ten minutes, then proceeds to take nearly all of us anyway. I can’t lift my luggage all together at one time, but a fellow getting on helps me. I in turn, hand him all his stuff. When we get to the ferry, he helps me again. David is a Kiwi. He now lives elsewhere, but is home for a visit. He is an absolute wealth of information. While on the ferry, he points out pa sites and gives a little history. We talk about the real estate market, our experiences in other countries and NZ. This trip is well over an hour and we have the time for David to advise me as to places he thinks I’ll probably like based on our current conversation. His friend is there to greet him when we arrive in Picton and I’m invited for fish and chips. We talk wine country now and Sean gives a few more suggestions. We go our ways hoping to catch up again in Nelson later on. It’s nice not to be alone all the time.

I have to wait nearly three hours for my car (the only way to travel) which gives me a chance to look around lovely Picton. I get to see the Edwin Fox, the ninth oldest ship in the world. Apparently you can board it, but it looks like you can also fall right through it, so I keep strolling. I’m in and out of shops and parks until I go to get my car. This one doesn’t have a working radio which is disappointing. I’ll travel the east coast first; the destination, Kaikoura. The rest of the day, I pass vineyards, beaches and seals. I wish I would pass a free internet sign just once. It is late when I pull into Kaikoura. I grab the third place I try. The young woman at the desk has a shoulder problem and I work on her for the price of the room. We are both happy. That is until I lay down on the mattress; or should I say, lack of one. It’s like a big mat and I don’t sleep well.

I am signed up for a whale watch. This is singularly expensive and will cost me dearly in accommodation to offset the expense. The weather is not good. It has rained and turned very cold during the night, plus it’s foggy. When I check in for the watch, I find out that there are 3-6 meter swells and poor visibility. I move my reservation to 12:45. I’m off to the lavender farm up the road to pass the time. As soon as I get out my car my nostrils are filled with the scent of lavender. Thousands upon thousands of bees buzz along with the cicadas. There are six acres of sculpted gardens and fields accented with other plants, trees and flowers including roses, galardia, lupines, bamboo and many I have never seen before. I stroll through this intoxicating arena where they have transformed large cut trees trunks into benches, large boulders adorn rock gardens and nooks and crannies are set up for repose and meditation. I find out that the purple flower I see everywhere is agapantha. There are about six varieties of lavender grown here. I am surprised when I can select the specific kind I want based on the scent. I had no idea each would be so different.

I park on the main street. This is a fun place. They have a restaurant called the Sonic which has a gigantic metal fish suspended above its veranda. A placard up the street tells the legend of Maui, who fashioned a fish hook from his mother’s jaw bone and baited it with a flax fiber soaked in his own blood. When he hooked a monstrous fish, it resisted so violently, that he had to plant his foot on the thwart of his canoe before he could heave his catch to the surface. The fish turned into land with its dying contortions becoming the mountain ranges. His fish was the North Island, his waka, the South Island and the thwart that bore the weight, Kaikoura Peninsula.

I wander the rocky juts and find 4 and 5 inch paua shells. I start to go out toward Fyffe Landing but realize I’ve got to get back for the whale watch. The weather hasn’t improved much. A couple of small boats on the water are tossing from side to side. My “still small voice” is screaming at me not to do this today. When I arrive at the check-in, one watch has been cancelled, and mine is pending and there is a strong seasickness warning. I postpone until 5:45pm. I am going to spend the rest of the day at Fyffe Landing. I feel really good here. I drive as far as I can, taking pictures constantly. There is a cliff walk and I like the sound of that, too. The sun is even making an appearance occasionally. Now I hesitate putting this in here, but here goes. All day, I have been ignoring that voice telling me “not today!” I show up for check-in and it is pending. The lady at the desk tells me I have about ½ hour and I should probably find a place to stay tonight. I didn’t like the place I stayed last night, though I liked the young woman at the desk. I find a room at a backpacker place and ask if I can offer my services. The desk fellow has no objection. I get a key and head back yet again for a whale watch I probably shouldn’t be doing.

When I arrive, it has been cancelled. I am actually relieved. Now I book it for tomorrow at 6:45 am. My biggest concern is that I’ll over sleep. Back at my lodging, I put up a note on the info board. I actually get three people and pay for my room, groceries and part of the whale watch. If the North Island was my learning ground, the South Island is now my working ground.

I am actually awake without panic. Breakfast is out of the question just in case the sea is not in a cooperative mood. I’m ready to go in under 20 minutes. Good on me; I’ve got time for an instant decaf. Instant coffee is pretty much all you can get. I don’t know if it grows on you, but I’m secretly (or not, now that I’ve stated it) beginning to like it. It is not like Sanka in the States. I’ve packed carefully this morning; not knowing what the weather will be like, I’ve got warm clothing with me. I’m actually early, but stop to take a few pictures of the sunrise. It is going to be an awesome day! I find out that there is actually an even earlier tour and that mine starts at 7:15am. We board the bus; no worries today. The swells are still around three meters, but rolling, not choppy and there is no comparison in visibility between yesterday and today. We get on a bus that takes us over to the boat. This is a very well orchestrated tour. We watch a short flick on safety and the guide talks to us the whole time, so the 8 minutes to the boat goes by very quickly. No time for the “short attention spanners” to get anxious. We board and there are more instructions and a movie while we head out. Once we stop, the Captain sends a listening device overboard. He listens for sound that then goes silent. The sound is feeding, the silence signals that the whale is now coming up for air. We are aiming to watch Sperm whales today. Everyone is anxious as they allow us to leave our seats and go to the sides of the boat awaiting the appearance. We are all spotters, they tell us, just be sure that what you are spotting is breathing, evidenced by the blow spout of water. Most people call out for stray logs and seaweed we’re told. He comes up on my side. His name is little Nick and we are told these are not pet names, but a way of identifying who the semi residents are from the transients. Little Nick has a little nick on his dorsal fin, hence the name. A Wandering Albatross swings by and no one knows quite where to point the camera. I find out that Orcas aren’t whales at all, but are actually dolphins. What I already knew was that they have NO OTHER PREDATORS and they prey on ANYTHING. In this place, there are only male whales. The climate and water is too cold for the females, so they can only be found with the calves farther north, closer to the Equator. Seems odd saying “farther north to the Equator.” Anyway, the Sperm whales are averagely 15-20 meters weighing in around 40-45 tons (I think a meter is just over two feet. 1 ton is 2,000 pounds). They have the largest existing brains. The oldest fossil in existence is a sperm whale and it is 32,000,000 years old. In less than 100 years, men have hunted every known whale population almost to extinction. They mostly eat squid. Unfortunately, there is now about a 6:1 ratio of plastic to plankton. Researchers are finding more and more plastic in the bellies of dead whales. And, by the way, the giant squid is not a myth. Giant squid have been found that measured over 20 meters (just over 40 feet). Whales eat their food whole even though they have teeth. Those are mainly for grasping. We come across a blue shark which really is quite blue on his back or dorsal side. Gannets and a Molly Mawk albatross appear.

As we move to a new site, we pass a New Zealand fur seal all by itself. We are successful a second time (I am the spotter!) and see Tono who is also a sperm whale measuring 17-18 meters. Another Wandering Albatross (that’s what it’s called) passes overhead. Whales have the largest existing brain. Sperm whales carry 2.5 tons of oil in their heads. When they were first hunted and this oil was discovered, it was thick, slick and white and mistakenly assumed to have something to do with the male reproductive system hence the name “sperm whale.” It is actually oil that is still in use. It is believed the whales use it for ballast; humans use it for all sorts of reasons. So much so that the Minky whale is the only whale population that is doing fairly well. An Australian research vessel just caught Japan on film violating the protected whale act. There is some kind of loop hole the Japanese have been using to continue to hunt whales. With this film, that loop hole just might get closed. Both Dolphin and whale meat are sold at quite high a price, especially in Asia. However, both contain high amounts of mercury. Some populations of whales are so low, there are no statistics on them. As we head in, we stop for a pod of Dusky Dolphins who put on a show for us all around our boat. They are so fast, all of us just snap pictures continuously hoping something will come out. The day is sunny, visibility is excellent and I find myself once again grateful that I didn’t go out yesterday.

The Kaikoura Winery gives tours throughout the day. This winery is the furthest south of this particular string of wineries specializing in Sauvignon Blanc simply because these grapes do the best with the 4-500 millimeters of rain they receive each year. Sparkling wines are produced, too, but can not be called Champagne because they don’t come from the Champagne district. Our guide emphasized that these wines are purchased to drink, not to be placed in a cellar. They have even tested the aging process using cork and plastic/metal tops. What they found was that the cork allowed faster aging which you don’t want in a white wine. White wines are usually kept no longer than 2-3 years; hopefully they have been enjoyed long before that. Approximately 700 acres are able to produce 3500 bottles of wine. Before we enter the cellar, the guide tells us about “Recycle Fashion Days.” I am not sure whether it  is all businesses or everyone in town, but the participants make “clothing” out of what ever they recycle. We see two “outfits.” One is a Madonna-like bra which sticks out at least 18-20 inches and a skirt; the other is a gown, with both made from the wine bottle caps and labels. Now we enter the wine cellar. This lovely space can be rented out for weddings and small parties. Kegs line the walls with twinkle lights liberally placed throughout the cellar.  Blending wine has become more popular and I ask how they decide what to blend and in what proportions. Our guide said it was up to the maker and the grapes. I ask then if it’s a “toss of the dice and they just experiment at this point and she concurred with that. I think wine lovers can look forward to some amazing blends in the future as it becomes more of a science. I find the difference in the Sauvignon Blanc from 06 to 07 is very distinguishable. I taste one of the sweetest Rieslings ever; and I like it. My education continues as my appreciation of wine expands.

Just down the road from the winery, is the Maori Leaping Cave. No one else was on the tour so the two of us had quite a bit of fun. The guide books deny any connection to the Maori, but my guide told the story of one chief from up north battling a tribe that had a pa site just above this cave. One warrior was able to escape by leaping from the cliff. Surviving the fall, he was able to warn the others and muster reinforcements. I ask if this is true. He tells me that he will only tell me what he knows to be true. We enter the cave. This is one of the only caves in the world with flint compressed into circular patterns. Usually, flint appears as a horizontal line, or even a curve but this forms an elongated circle. There are no fossils in this cave because it was so deep under the sea when it was formed. We look up at the ceiling. He points to a large wooden cover. This is the opening which appeared as the owner was blasting away the hillside to sell as fertilizer back in 1958. The original opening has never been found. This 10,000 year old cave has many interesting features and all the usual stalagmites, stalactites and columns (joining of g-mite and c-tite). Reddish areas contain high iron oxide and I never need to touch anything because I am constantly being dripped on. One other unique feature in this cave is the pearls. Cave pearls form as the calcite hardens around grit much like the way pearls form in an oyster shell. They only exist in a few caves in Poland and France and here in this little cave in Kaikoura. 

The coastline of the South Island is far more rugged than the North so far. However, my awe of the south coast is met by the disappointment with the interior I’ve seen. Now I have not traveled all that much inland, but there is no bush. In fact, there isn’t much of anything…at all! No trees, flowers and in some places, there is barely any grass. Where there are trees, it’s mostly reforestation and new forest less than twenty years. I can’t find Kawa Kawa, Manuka or many of the pines and deciduous trees which were abundant in the north.

I make a few stops as I make my way south. I can not believe I am still taking pictures of seals. My fascination has not waned in the least. I also get to go through some tunnels cut through the mountainside. Now I know I must have been through tunnels like this in the States, but for the life of me, I can’t remember when so I find them great fun. Of course my day is not complete without lots of beach pictures, including breathtaking Gore Bay. This is made even better because as I am approaching the area, there is a sign for “Cathedrals Viewing Point.” This is a series of cliffs that definitely resemble the Gothic look of Notre Dame in Paris. You can almost hear the bell ringing and see Quasimoto waving to you.

I can feel my energy shifting. I don’t know whether it’s exhaustion, the constant movement or what, but I’m not right. I decide to head for one more beach. This time it is Montunau Mouth. On the way, I have to cross a suspended wooden bridge. It barely fits my car and I realize I will have to come back over it to get back on the highway. This beach is different from all the others. I’m up on a cliff overlooking it. The passage down is definitely for four wheelers. Below there is water, then sand, then water again. I watch three guys fishing for awhile. When it looks like they will get swallowed up by the waves, they leave and so do I.

It is getting dark and I pass right by Waikuku Beach. It is so much like Chincoteague Island, Virginia; I can feel my mood slip right back to blue. Suddenly, I want to wrap my arms around all three of my children at the same time. I leave the beach almost immediately, but the feeling isn’t going away; I want to see my kids.

As I continue struggling to get into Christchurch, I am making up nasty sayings like, “Christ, where is Christchurch?” and “Get me to the Christchurch on time!” (from “My Fair Lady”). I have no idea what time it is, but I finally get into the city and after three tries, I’m at another Hostel. They have no objection to me putting up a notice for my services either, but I’m not doing that tonight.

Lamb, venison, several kinds of salad, potatoes and dessert make a very substantial and tasty meal. Afterward, the children all participate in teams for points in a game of Pictionary. They are very good at it, too; even the younger children. What really strikes me is how they support one another. No one is teased or chided in any way. And it isn’t because adults are present. I saw it in the morning when they were getting ready to compete and in the afternoon when they helped each other with the horses in the water. It reminded me of when my son and daughter were in 4H. The common bond they have over the animals makes them more respectful of each other.

We head back after a great evening. While I massage J, Tw gets a call from a man named Schofield she has phoned earlier. They met several years ago, here. His wife works in health services in Masterton and has contact with Maori people who practice Maori medicine. We get a name of the health service which will open around 9:00 tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I work on the young boy from yesterday and awhile later, Emily. I go to bed almost immediately after a shower and some packing.

Not wanting to call right as they open, I wait until 9:30. I ask if anyone there does Miri Miri who would be willing to work on me. I think my asking to learn it has been too threatening. They may even think I work for the government who has really tried to eliminate the practice of Maori medicine, especially when it’s practiced the old way, incorporating Miri Miri with Te Rongoa and Karakia by noncertified women practicing out of their kitchens. My accent should help me, but who knows? The lady at the other end asks me when I want a treatment. I tell her today, if at all possible. She asks me to wait. Yes, I can be seen at 10 am. I know I can’t get there that fast, and at the same time realize I don’t even know where “there” is. I relate all this to her, I wait again, but she tells me to just come and we’ll work it out. I’m going to an address in Masterton and she gives me directions. Within five minutes, I am explaining that I need to leave right away to Tw and J as I shove my suitcase into my car. They tell me I can comeback tonight; they aren’t even going to change the sheets, just in case. I know deep inside that I won’t be back and start to tell them this, then let it drop. Once again I have found amazing people who have influenced me profoundly with their generosity and kindness.

I get to Masterton and find the address with relative ease. The receptionist asks me to wait. A moment later, a Maori lady with a big smile comes and greets me. We go back to a room where we spend the next 2 ½ hours talking plants, spiritualism and massage. She does Miri Miri on me and gives me two ½ gallon containers. One has brewed Kawa Kawa, the other has a mixture of Kawa Kawa and Koumaraho. I’m to take these over the next three days. She refuses any payment, gives me her email and says we can keep in touch. My head doesn’t feel ready to explode like usual from all the information. I am calm, but excited. As I put the containers in the trunk, I notice that my car was bought at a place called Schofield’s. I find that so coincidental, I laugh out loud and some pedestrians look at me like I’m crazy. I’m totally giddy as I also find out that I have my dates wrong and I still have two more days before I get charged by the bank.

This is a day of celebration. I take a meandering way north which includes both shoreline and inland routes. I pass Mount Bruce and an area that has hundreds of windmills atop the surrounding hills. I stop at the Tui Beer Brewery in Mangatainoka. Downtown Dannevirke sports a larger than life Viking in full color which I still feel badly I didn’t photograph. I drove through Ti Tree Point without realizing it. Herbertville beach is lovely and dedicated to a couple who arrived in 1842. As usual, there are stops for anything I find interesting, and a cemetery near the roadside gains my attention because of a few carved head pieces. Again, I find it fascinating how many items adorn a gravesite here. I’ve seen this in other countries, too, but not quite to this degree. Along with live and plastic plants and flowers, items may include pinwheels, solar lights, other small cement and/or ceramic statuary and personal items including full size flags, knives, clothing, mugs and jewelry. It reminds me of the Egyptians only this is above ground.

I drive past the place with the world’s longest name. No really, there is a plaque and everything. Taumatawhakatangihangakaouauotamateaturipukkakapikimaungakoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu is pronounced just like it is spelled, remembering that “wh” is pronounced like an “f.”

I spy yet another lovely beach, Te Paeraki, with several cars entering it as I approach. I drive for a short while, stopping to pick up three of this beach’s unusual shells when I notice my gas tank is nearly empty. I continue on looking for an exit. I start following an old white van, but when it veers off to the left, it is through soft sand and I don’t think I’ll make it through there. Instead, I hit very wet sand and, once again, find myself trying to maneuver away from it. Of course because I’m not fully grown up yet, I get stuck. Now here I am stuck in wet mud/sand with an empty tank and the tide coming in. I walk over to where the van pulled off. A large Maori man with his two children is casting nets. He is concerned he will also get stuck, not to mention his van is parked on a hill because he has to push start it. His son is a young teen who helps him accomplish this and we all go to see what can be done with my car. We finally pull it out and back, with a belt/rope and the son pushing. The son is covered in mud when the car starts to go and he slips, and when we stop, so does the man’s van. I pull beside him and we jump start it. Now I’m stuck again and my empty tank light comes on. This just gets better and better. This is so ridiculous, we’re howling with laughter. We now attach the belt to the front and drive almost completely off the beach together. Now all I need is some petrol.

I arrive in Hastings with a full tank of gas, but much later than I had wanted. I try several places, but the prices are too high. They all say the same thing: you won’t find it less anywhere else. I finally pull into the Fairmont. It’s late and the office is closing which means that I am probably their last possible income for the night and they are probably my last opportunity for a place to stay. We compromise and I unknowingly enter one of the best rooms I’ve had. It is spacious and well appointed. There is a little kitchen with a jug, milk, coffee, tea, biscuits, a refrigerator, sink and stove. But the absolutely best part is the Jacuzzi in the bathroom.  After a stint on the internet, I sink down into hot water with jets. I’m considering taking up permanent residence in this room.

This morning, I am going to take care of a little business. I notice that I am perspiring more than usual, but the day is starting off cool. I’m wondering if it’s the Kawa Kawa mixture. The bathroom shower is just as fantastic as the Jacuzzi. This has a huge portable head with plenty of pressure. Like a few other rooms I’ve stayed in, there is a shower curtain that slides across a large area with a central drain in the floor. I like this room so much, I’m trying to find an excuse to stay and the hosts are just as awesome as the motel. I leave with my day fairly planned. I want to go to Gannet Beach, but have to wait until low tide. My host has told me that I need to be out there around 4pm. That’s okay because along with my business, there are a few other interesting places to go.

I have to find my bank. I find a Kmart first, which happens to be the first one I’ve ever seen in this country. I need duct tape for my sandal which is getting loose again. I find clear duct tape which I think is very cool and will certainly look better. I also decide that I am not going to freeze anymore at night. Clothing is extremely expensive in NZ. I can’t find a pair of fleece warm-ups for under $70. I head for the children’s department. Here I find navy fleece warm-ups for under $20 with bright pink stripes down the sides. At the moment, I feel a bit silly getting these, but I can use them for running when I return home, and I definitely need them in NZ so this is a good investment. I also need batteries. I buy a ten pack because every few days, my camera begs for a battery change. I have found that if I keep the batteries I take out, I can use them again a few days later. Do batteries rest? Under normal circumstances, I should have a hard time finding my white mundane rental car, but I just look for the filthiest car in the parking lot and it’s a piece of cake!

Now I have to find the bank. The check out girl has given me directions which include my bank being on Market Street about two blocks from here on one or the other side of the tracks. I proceed two blocks and actually find the tracks. There are street signs, but no Market Street. I ask several people, but they are all from out of town. I see an elderly lady getting into her car and ask her. It turns out she is partially deaf so she comes through the street landscaping, stepping both over and on some small bushes to hear me. She tells me “It’s this way,” and points. Then she points in another direction and says, “Or maybe this way. You have to cross the tracks.” Then she turns and points in the direction I’ve just come. Then she asks me where I’m going. I happen to turn my head to the right as I answer her and there it is. I thank her and head for the bank, never finding the street sign.

I stop and ask directions for 399 meter (1,309 feet) Te Mata Peak which is actually in Havelock North. One of the fellows I ask is going out that way and says I can follow him. When I get to Havelock North, I enter the rotary, see the sign, wave a thanks to the man and proceed. I find a little dirt car park with several warning boards, an electric fence and a stile. Over the stile I go and I am very surprised when I see trucks and a logging operation going on a short way up the dirt road I’m on. This is yet another sheep station because there are sheep grazing everywhere. I find an interesting way of holding back erosion. Someone has placed hundreds of tires into the hillside. Plants and grasses are growing out from them holding them in place as much as they are holding the soil and plants in place. I enter a forest that smells heavily of Eucalyptus. It is slightly different from the kind at Scoutland. This has larger leaves than I’ve ever seen before. Kawa Kawa is everywhere. I want to bring a batch home to my clients and family and make everyone healthy. As I walk along, I think about an old Sesame Street song from when my children were little; “Over, Under, Around and Through.” I continue over narrow goat paths. I know the shortest distance between a low and a high point is a straight line. It may be the shortest, but not necessarily the fastest. The last two peaks are killing me and every so often I’m on all fours to get over the next one. I find it hysterically funny that as I ascend one of the last grassy peaks, I see a car meandering up a windy asphalt road to the summit. Would I trade 80 degree slopes and eucalyptus forests for my car and the easy way up?! Only if I can’t find my car when I get down the mountain.

There is a legend for just about everything here. I keep remembering what L.. said; “Pick out the story you like best and believe it.” Te Mata Peak is the body of the chief Rongokako, the ancestor of all the iwi (tribe) of Ngati Kahungunu. He swayed from attacking the Heretaunga people when he saw the chief’s daughter. A series of rasks were put before him and he accomplished all but the last, which was to eat his way through the hill. His last bite choked him. The “bite” and his body are “visible” as the skyline and a peak with a huge scraped out area. The full name of the peak is Te Mata O Rongokako: “the face of Rongokako,” which was shortened to “the face,” Te Mata.

I’ve decided this is as good a place as any to repair my already once repaired flipflop. I pull out the knife my daughter gave me for Christmas. How I ever got into the country with this thing I have no idea. It measures 7-8 inches when fully opened, but it has come in extremely useful on a number of occasions this being one of them. The repair easily managed, I’m content just to sit awhile. I notice I am perspiring more than usual and in odd places. My hairline, my hands, wrists and behind my knees; these last two are pulse points and I believe it is the result of the concoctions Hene gave me. I start talking to a fellow from South Africa who has moved here to Hastings from Hamilton. He says he needs to be closer to the ocean and he is making his way south until he starts work on Monday. We exchange suggestions on where to go.

I start down. These legends, these stories, are bouncing off the inside of my cranium. None of what I’ve been told or read is counter to my own belief system which I have held for years. Which is better remembered; a text explaining tectonic plate movement or a warrior eating his way through a hill to prove his worthiness as a suitor? Which is the greater lesson; the tale of unfulfilled love and banishment (Taranaki) or here’s a mountain, there’s a mountain? Wallace told the tales and L.. summed it up; “Pick the one you like best and believe it.” Hene says, “Pray to protect you, pray to protect me and it’s all good.” Now it’s time to find my car and eat.

The breeze blows in one direction and it’s warm; then shifts and it’s cool. The air is so fresh up here your body begs you to inhale. I descend past the grassy slopes, find the stile and enter the eucalyptus forest. The scent of pine mingles with the eucalyptus creating a blend no aroma therapist could recreate. I sink down into an area with a little brook and picnic area. I haven’t been here before which means I’m lost. Okay, I need a little Universal interference here. I walk the perimeter looking for another trail. I remember a sign earlier indicating a picnic area. I see a marker that says, “Hau Valley and exit. This sounds good, though my original trail began with a “C.” I’m ascending again. My path ends and I have to go right or left. It seems familiar. The post says “Nature Trail” and points to where I’ve just been. I turn right. The path winds a bit, then I hear it; logging equipment. I continue and see a sign for Chambers Walk. I’m back.

Te Awanga or Cape Kidknappers Gannet Reserve is next. I have no idea how I managed it, but I have found this place without directions. Roughly twenty people are standing around at the beach entrance. A sign gives specific information about fire, vehicles and walking on the beach. “Walking on the beach can only be done at low tide. Allow five hours for your return walk. Depart here three to four hours after high tide and commence returning from the Cape no later than one hr thirty min after low tide.” The fellow at the hotel said that the tractor tour commences around 4pm. It is just about that now. Everyone is standing around looking at one another. I had seen the tours advertised back up the road, so I don’t know if they assemble here or there. There is a shed renting bicycles for $20. I wonder what the tractor tours cost. When was low tide? When is high tide? Enough of this! I start walking; the one thing I know for sure is that it’s a long way.

My host at the hotel had told me not to go into the water. A boy was having his picture taken near here yesterday, when a wave took him and he drowned. There is a sizable drop off at this area. His words have me spooked. I’ve been walking for quite awhile. I have no idea what the tide is doing nor do I have any idea what time it is. In some areas as I walk, I have no choice but to enter the water. “Allow five hours for return” the sign said. I have walked a really, really long time. A bicycle passes. This is a good thing. No one is going to rent out a bike if this is during the dangerous time. I realize the bike is faster on and off the beach, but the bottom line is I’ve got time. Enough of this fear thing going on. I’m going to enjoy this or I should get off the beach now.

The smell is the first notification I have arrived at the Gannet area. They are everywhere and so are their droppings. Imagine a pure white seagull. Lengthen his beak to about 3-4 inches. Tip his wings black, blacken the legs and make its head a pale to medium yellow. This is a gannet. There are too many to even begin counting or even estimating. I arrive just after the bicycle and just before the tractor with its attached wagon of hefty tourists. I young oriental boy asks me to use his enormous camera to take his picture. Then he takes mine. I come across him later a little further down the beach where he sets his timer and takes more shots of himself. Maybe he isn’t sure he is really here and needs to prove it. I know that feeling and review my pictures often though I am seldom in them.

I make my way back up the beach. The bicycles go by on their return. I never saw the tractor again, but they must have a different way off because I am walking through much more water than on the way out to the Gannets. There are fishermen, a few drunken guys in their thirties, and a man fishing with his son. I leave them all behind me to deal with the tide coming in. I’m on my way to Napier after a three hour hike and a four hour twenty minute walk today.

Napier advertises itself as the Art Deco City. I’m driving along the Marine Parade with one big long park sitting between the ocean and me. After the usual foray to a grocery store, I get to fall asleep listening to the ocean out my window. Along with an Art Deco Shop, Napier has “Opossum World.” This place is borderline bizarre. Along with super soft hats, scarves, etc and possum paraphernalia, there is a possum museum of sorts here that shows possum fetuses through development and more facts about possums than you would ever want to know. So I’ll only mention a few of the ones I find interesting. In New Zealand, there are 70,000,000 possums eating 21,000 tons of vegetation every night!

They were originally released here from Australia between 1837-1840 in an attempt to establish a fur trade. I read in one of the museums, that originally only six possums were released with several more releases over the next few years. After it became illegal, the practice continued awhile longer. Now they are combining possum and merino wool to make very soft warm apparel. Even with a continuous open season, road kill and natural demise, they are, along with stoats which were also introduced, the number one pest in the entire country. The shop/museum also has an hysterically funny display with five possums on the roof of a car, one possum as road kill and one all bandaged up with a crutch all singing Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.” I guess you have to be here. Clive Square is picturesque as most Squares and walkways and gardens are in these towns. This one is particularly adaptive. It started off as a playing field; then became a garden. In 1931, after the earthquake that nearly leveled the city, it was used as a temporary shopping center called “Tin Town.” Once rebuilding was well underway, it was turned back into the garden it is today. All the rebuilding was done in the Art Deco Style the city is known for and they celebrate “Art Deco Days” in February, commemorating their survival from the earthquake.

A common breakfast here is three small pancakes, a banana quartered and three thick cuts of bacon. This will cost $12. With coffee, you must add $3-4 more and add that again, if you want juice. This is not an inexpensive city.

Otatara Pa is one of the few remaining Pa sites in NZ and one of the oldest where structures still exist. It compares to our Western Forts, where most people lived around and outside the fort, but in times of trouble, everyone gathered within its sheltered walls and afforded a defensible position plus protection. They are usually built on a hill or jut; this one is up on a hill. The palisades to this pa are covered with Pou Pou (long o’s), tall ornately carved posts meant to intimidate. It was here you were determined to be friend or foe. Once blood is shed at a pa site, it is unlikely it will be used again. In 1931, after the earthquake, red stone, considered perfect for making roads was discovered. This land was privately owned by a European at the time who then quarried away a good deal of the pa, destroying most of the site. Aside from the palisades, the north sides of the hills remaining are for terrace gardening of kumara, the sweet potato and main staple. Not all the terraces are for gardening. Some were for defence, while others were used for whare (houses) and storage pits. It would have been a hard life.

On the way to Gisborne, I pass a building the front walls of which consist of two mosaics. It’s called “Real People Mosaic Art Gallery,” and it is dedicated entirely to artists with any type of disability whether physical or mental. Some of the works inside are quite amazing and all are for sale.

I find I can now do switchbacks at 80 k/hr. I still get passed like I’m standing still on most days, but not today; not right now. I am behind an Andretti descendant for sure. This makes the drive to Gisborne interesting and death defying; also quite fast. Just before entering the city, I, of course, have to go to a beach. Oraka Beach is lovely with the sound of popping corn. It is actually the sound of pebbles falling from the side of the cliff as it slowly disintegrates.

Radio Gisborne is so much fun I’m sitting in a car park just listening. Callers phone in with cleaning problems and this young woman tells them how to remove stains, gum, clean white walls (both kinds); just anything. Ti tree oil gets out gum from anything including hair. White spirits (alcohol based substance) gets out most things. If you want to remove tar, use baby oil, then white spirits. Lavender oil takes out mustard. Use pantyhose to sponge out the stain, always from the outside, in. Tea stains are removed with glycerin, then white vinegar. She liked baking soda and vinegar for acid stains using ½ cup of bicarb in the wash and ½ cup vinegar in the rinse. For mold in cloth soak the cloth overnight in salt water. Hang to dry without rinsing; it will form a crust. When dry, shake off the crust, then put it in the regular wash. To bleach your teeth, use bicarb for toothpaste, then rinse with ½ lemon juice and ½ water. I love their accents.

The Titirangi Pa site was donated to Gisborne by the Maori people of this domain. It is now a park which houses the James Cook Observatory which is open to the public Tuesday evenings. I hope it is used frequently; what a wonderful facility to have at your doorstep.

Continuing in the car, “Cleaning with Shannon” has ended and I am now listening to two fellows talk about word sources. I can now tell you the difference between an attorney and a lawyer and the definitions of cool and hot as they apply in slang. Did you know that the word “woose” (they don’t tell you how to spell them) is a combination of wimp and pussy originating in the USA in the 60’s to describe a person who is weak and needs to “buck up?”

I am still detoxing from the Kawa Kawa which requires frequent stops, especially in the morning. Now I have mentioned the toilet facilities before and many are even worthy of photography and mention as is the one at Kaiti Beach. It is fully automated, very clean and powder blue. The door flashes a green light when vacant. When you press a button, the door slides open. By pressing the button inside, the door shuts and music automatically plays. Another button unrolls paper and another to flush. A sink, soap and air blower are provided as well. When you press another button the door opens and the music stops, waiting for its next customer.

As if there isn’t enough to do in Gisborne, there is a little street market going on every Saturday. The prices are very reasonable and they bargain as well. But I am spending my morning looking for a Miri Miri practitioner. I make a quick stop at Waikanae Beach to pull in some energy and ease my frustration. After six possible leads all going nowhere, I drive along Gisborne’s Marine Parade. There are cars parked along a multitude of short dirt paths for a day stay, though a few look like they have been here awhile. Scattered along the way are what I call “Frankenpines.” In the States, there are areas where the cable towers were built to resemble pine trees, but the branches are wide spaced and in rows. Here, they look just like that only they are live.

I stop to gas up before leaving the area. I ask the young female attendant where Highway 35 is, but she is clueless. So is her young male colleague. I drive to another station and ask the lady behind the counter. Behind her is a young male coworker. As she begins giving directions, she points in one direction as her colleague points in the exact opposite. As he sees which way the lady is pointing, he corrects his finger. Another customer and I look at each other. This returns the customer, the counter lady and me to the discussion of young people not having a clue as to their whereabouts in their own towns.

Gisborne is one of my favorite cities so far along with Wanganui. I start down Highway 35, the Pacific Coast Highway toward the Tuhoe country. The Tuhoe are one of the few tribes that did not sign the treaty. They would have an independent nation if they could.

Along the way north, I make frequent stops; Wainui, Makarori, and Tatpouri Beaches. I pass through a birch forest and stop at Cook’s Cove Walkway. It says it will take 2.5 hours and I probably shouldn’t do this, but when has that ever stopped me?

So here I stand, breathless at a dizzying height overlooking a gentle ocean. I follow several other paths but nothing quite compares to that crest. My flip flop repair has not lasted and I have to return barefoot. I don’t feel like repairing it here so I move on to Tolaga Bay’s Wharf. This is a really long wharf. It has rail tracks on it from when they would load and unload goods, but nothing leading away from the wharf itself. I don’t see any people to talk with as I pass through town, but I have a lead at Tikitiki anyway so I move on. The road heads inland for awhile where I always make better time because I’m not stopping every five minutes to take pictures. Each town is similar. They are small, run down with few structures. The Maraes are always white with red trim and well maintained. People stare at me as I pass by. Tikitiki is the same as the others. There are cows wandering the street, but there is also a gathering not being held at the Marae. I muster my courage and walk up to a small group of women. I ask for my contact. They ask me what my business is with her. I was hoping they wouldn’t. I don’t want to lie, but I especially don’t want to tell them it’s none of their business. This is not the place to offend people. I tell them I’ve been traveling a lot in my car and I need some Miri Miri; that someone recommended her. They want to know who. I tell them. They don’t know him. I explain that he’d worked in this area and when and gave other details. It goes on like this for awhile. They ask; I answer. One lady finally tells me where to find her. I’m not sure the others are happy about this, but it’s done. She is actually home and we talk. Then we get to work. It isn’t the light gracious tone of Hene. I’m not sure why this woman is showing me anything because she is acting like she doesn’t like me. I don’t care. We work together planting knowledge and Miri Miri in my head and that’s why I’m here. When she is done with me, she dismisses me and tells me to go out and cure all the Pakehas. Then she laughs. There are more layers than an onion to this statement.

I arrive in Te Araroa. I walk into their little general store. There is a very large framed genealogy of Manuel Jose who traveled from Spain to Peru to New Zealand. He had 5 wives, 11 children, not all of whom lived, 54 grandchildren and over 3,000 descendants in all. A woman in the store and I get to talking. She is also one of the descendants and told me about the lady who recorded all this. Apparently, this one woman devoted her life to this, recording every Marae meeting and tracing the genealogy for this entire family. She turned 80 several weeks ago and they had a big celebration with a parade where she was all dressed up in traditional Spanish garb and she was thoroughly acknowledged. A few days later, she was in a motor vehicle accident with her husband. He lived, but she was killed. We both go silent. I ask her about Miri Miri. She isn’t sure if it’s Miri Miri, but she gives me a name and directions. It’s very early, so I head for the East Cape first.

As I drive up this gravel road along side a shoulderless, unguarded cliff, something hits me on the head. I think it’s part of the cliff. Yup! There is a stone sitting in my lap that wasn’t there a moment before. Hmmm…

The East Cape of NZ boasts the world’s first sunrise each morning. I find out that I could have stayed here last night to watch this, but console myself with the fact that it has rained all morning and there wasn’t a sunrise to see this am. The lovely East Cape lighthouse is accessed by climbing 568 steps. If I don’t finish the half in Nelson, it won’t be because I’m not in shape. All the way here, by road and by path, I have to have my camera at the ready. It isn’t that other countries don’t have this kind of beauty. It is just that here it is so accessible and it’s free to enjoy. Even this lighthouse is on private land, but the access is free. You just have to respect the stiles and gates so the sheep don’t get out. As I’m leaving I see a young woman who stayed at the same place I did the night before. We exchange a greeting and go on our separate ways.

I find my next contact. She isn’t at home, but she is down the road and I’m told to go to her there. This is a very pleasant woman; immediately friendly with a big smile. We spend the afternoon together, but I can’t stay. I promised my friends in Kaikohe that I would be there for Waitangi Days. So back into the car I go. I make one more stop. This is to obtain some pure Manuka (ti tree) oil. A young woman is coming out as I am parking the car. After my purchase, as I exit she is waiting for me. Her name is Brittany, an American, who is in fact, the same young woman I saw at East Cape. We start talking and there is an instant bond. Whether it is because of our mutual country, a mother/daughter thing or just loving NZ, it is almost hard to say goodbye. We exchange email. We hope to run into each other again.

 The single largest expense of this entire trip is petrol. It is $1.70 per liter and it goes fast. A fellow passes me with something huge roped to the back of his truck. It is so big, that it drapes off both sides. I pass him back just to find out what it is. Because it is getting dark, it takes me awhile, but I finally see that it’s a wild boar. The tusks are enormous. I don’t stare too long because I don’t intend on joining him. Besides, I have a long way to go and it will be about three hours longer than I had thought because of my misreading one of my maps.

I stop once for gas. It is now 12:45 am as I turn onto Heke Street. There is one light on. I open the gate and drive in. The porch light goes on as I close the gate for the night. R.. comes out to help me with my things. In the hall, she gives me a big hug and says, “Welcome home! We’ve really missed you.” We talk until nearly 2 am, but we’re all by 7 the next morning. Melody has to teach, but we will go later today. R.. is very excited to got as am I. The day will be leisurely today so I go into town with R.. to help her find games for her Sunday school children. Everything is so expensive. I have an idea. I ask for a box at one of the stores. I spend most of the rest of the day making a sort of Bingo game for her children. We call it Tutu, which means “play.” It has numbers up to 20, the full alphabet and symbols, both Maori and geometric. This should help the children get started with their alphabet, etc while still having fun.

Melody calls. We’re taking her children, too, so we will take two cars. I want to be there before it gets dark so we can see what we’re doing with the tent that Melody is bringing, but has never put up. The sunset is a pretty one and the climate is celebratory. The skyline is filled with flags and pou pou (po po-long o’s) which are the maori totems. There are tents of all sizes and shapes, including round, everywhere. After waiting nearly half an hour while the sun sinks further and further we get a site. This thing has two rooms and a canopy. It has numerous posts and poles of different sizes. It has no directions at all. About an hour later, with most of our male neighbors’ assistance, we have a tent to sleep in. The camaraderie is wonderful. Neither Melody nor I have had supper, but R.. had wandered off during the tent fiasco and got a huge portion of food. Maori cater to their elders. This she shares with us and it is enough till morning. I fall asleep to a movie playing in one of the large main tents and a group singing several tents over.

I awaken to truly beautiful voices. This is the sunrise Karakia (prayer) and I can not describe the effect, the serenity, the impact. This is true Maori tradition thanking the gods for the new day, the weather, the food we will eat, basically everything. I fall back asleep listening.

It’s rainy this morning. Both Melody and I take showers and hunt for food. Most of it is heavy carbohydrate stuff. The five of us, R.., Melody, the two children and me, finally walk up to a tent and ask about their breakfast. We find out that it isn’t a vendor tent, but they invite us anyway. While we’re eating a man comes over to pay his respects to R.. Not that he knows her, but this is what they do. Soon, we have another man and two ladies joining us. Both of the women look familiar. One is the wife of the first man. The other lady is a major peace activist. She comes up to me later and says, “I know you.” Neither of us can recall, but I know I’ve seen her before. She tells me we’ll talk later. Melody is staring at me. I shrug. The day is filled with intense conflict. Our male friend had said that he is going to try to talk some sense into the “young rebels.” He used a Maori term. I know the Tuhoe are here; you can pick them out. I don’t know if they are the only ones who want total independence from NZ. There are speeches being given all day. This is an election year. All the party candidates are here. NZ has five parties; Labor, which will probably be voted out this year, National, which is considered very Pakeha, the Green Party with the only female candidate, New Zealand First and the Maori Party. The hot topic is beach access. More and more land is being bought and developed as beach front property, denying access to locals who have fished and played in these waters for generations. Does this sound familiar? The NZ First fellow makes the mistake of saying, “Who here has been denied access to the beach? Right! None of you.” He says this as three or four hands go up. As this is pointed out to him, he states, “I just wanted to see if you were listening.” Then he tries to go on. No one is listening after that. The labor candidate, a Maori, has been a big disappointment. They have angry words for him. It would be better if he weren’t Maori. The National guy is the only one wearing a white shirt and tie amongst an audience clad in shorts and bare foot. The candidates aren’t the only ones to watch. There are four or five Elders in the audience. Even when others talk, they watch for the reaction, be it a hand gesture or nod from one of these people. One is a very thin lady with chin moko. Another is a heavyset woman with white hair, also with moko. I recognize her from her picture in my carver friend’s book on moko. Melody points out several more, all men. One of these men now starts to speak and the place goes silent. Unlike this country, the Green Party is very viable here. Out of everyone who spoke, I feel she has made the most sense and spoke the most openly. Of course the Green Party and Maori have a number of shared interests. It will be an interesting election. Other tents have discussions going on as well. Sometimes, there are a lot of angry words in Maori.

I run into Paul. He asks me about R..’s friend, the woman we had dinner with on her way home from Tane Mahuta. He isn’t getting much business here, though he doesn’t come right out and say that. I tell him she is very busy which is the truth, but I’m extra happy to tell him so. Melody and I put out a sign for me. There is a vendor area and we aren’t sure about payment to be a vendor so we keep this discreet. Even so, I have enquiries which lead to work. When I have nothing to do, I work on finishing the game for R..  Melody’s children help me and a little girl wanders by who is soon joined by her cousin. We finish quickly. Now it’s time to try it out. They love it. R..’s friend stops by near dark. A.. has come to her house and is waiting there to bring R.. home. We are all totally confused by this. The actual celebration is tomorrow. After some sorting out, both of luggage and feelings, I walk R.. to the entrance and say goodbye. We are both a bit upset and confused.  Melody and I don’t talk much about it when I get back. It’s late, but I’m restless and take a walk. In the big tent next to us is a film on civil rights and defying acts versus upholding laws. Activist 101. Down the way, there is a room filled with Elders. All the men have there walking sticks, a sign of their prestige and status. There are only two or three women there. No one is young. They speak only in Maori and in hushed tones. There are a few other people standing away from the door in the shadows who seem to be trying to listen, but no one is close. Melody and I agree this should make for an interesting day tomorrow.

The morning Karakia is sung once again. This morning is sunny and warm and we get ready quickly. The wakes have already gone out from the other shore. They will land back on this shore in about 1 1/2hours from now. It isn’t enough to have these incredible carved canoes to watch. The sun glints off the water and a small boy blows the putatara (conch shell with wood or bone attachment played like a horn). Off shore, the rhythmic chant from the waka’s coxswains keep the canoes slicing through the water made choppy by the winds. They go past us toward the original shore. We’re all confused until a lady nearby tells us they brought a body to the marae last night. We are all camped on the marae grounds. But a tongi (funeral) takes precedent over everything else, so the canoes can’t land here. We cross over to the Treaty Grounds.

The Treaty Grounds have a festive air. There are rows and rows of vendors for food, jewelry, ketes (flax bags), all kinds of items and information booths as well. I find the info booths an interesting addition. They are giving out free samples of food and explaining why this is healthier than the carbohydrate/fat saturated diet most Maori tend to have. They even have a dental van with free checkups, toothbrushes and toothpaste for the children. An entire area is devoted to just children. It sits in one corner of the grassy plaza and offers two kinds of bouncy houses to play in, climbing walls and bungy rides. All of this is free. A soccer game is taking place as we arrive and Melody’s children take off for the play area. We check out the vendors, then Melody heads back to the Marae. There is a stage on the plaza as well with a continuous flow of local talent; everything from opera to traditional Maori dancers. I walk over to where the wakes have landed in time to see the rowers on shore and the arrival of the New Zealand Navy, complete with cannon salute as they come. Over where the first celebration waka is located, there is another stage set up. At the moment, it is traditional Maori dance and I spot Michelle. I wish R.. was here to see it. They have moved the waka onto the grass and have put chairs under the waka cover to provide a shady area. The flagstaff area is probably the most political at the moment. This is one of the flagstaffs that was continually cut down by the Maori even after the treaty was signed. It is currently surrounded by 13 police and 7 Maori wardens standing guard facing out toward the crowd that has gathered. In the middle, stand the woman from the day before who said we would talk, the wife of the man we met yesterday and another woman dressed in shades of purple with moko and feathers. Several men hold a large banner and flags. The woman in purple says something in Maori, then addresses the crowd. She explains that the group has just placed a blessing on the land, especially this land where so much blood has been shed. She asks for peace. They sing several lovely Maori songs with the aid of a guitar. The woman then starts to lead the group of about 25 across the grounds while they continue to sing. Most of the crowd follows. I wander back to the waka area. There are different dancers on now but they are just finishing. Now the Navy Band comes on. They are as well received as the Maori dancers. There is absolutely no tension here today. I head back to meet up with Melody. I wait for a little while then wonder off. At one vendor site a man is carving wood. At another site, two women and a young man make ketes with flax. I check back; no Melody. I wander back to the Navy Band. After they finish, some young Maori boys come out looking like home boys. They are doing a very poor imitation of rap and slam so I leave again looking for Melody. This time we meet; we’ve been missing each other by minutes each time. We find Melody’s little girl, but not her son. He is a little older (10) so she isn’t worried. We head back across the river. Children have been running all over the place all day without parents, but people tend to watch out for one another’s children, maybe because quite often, they are related by tribe.

We start to pick up around the tent. Many campers are already gone. I do a little more massage work. We need to head back but we still haven’t seen Melody’s son. His friends have come by looking for him; now everyone is looking for him. While Melody is gone, he shows up. “Stay here,” I say. I have him help me clean up while we wait for Melody. I don’t dare send her daughter out, we’ll be here all night. The little girls from the day before stop by as well as Melody’s son’s friends. We are all playing TuTu when she returns. Now we are seriously packing. I remove everything from the tent, including the tent pegs and the tent promptly collapses on top of me. What can I say; it has been awhile since I’ve been in a tent.

We are packed and ready. We have already decided on where we would like a picture together but it is presently being taken up by the Tribesmen, a Maori motorcycle gang who has ridden here on their Harleys and is basically just showing muscle and bike. Not to be intimidated by this, plus we have to leave and we want our picture, we walk over and start to pose. We hand the camera off to a young woman standing by watching the gang. Some of the guys actually move out of the way. Our picture now taken, we are ready to head out.

I take the children while Melody takes all the equipment. I don’t how they stay awake, but they do and the ride home is pleasant. I help unload; now it’s time to say goodbye. We do a lot of the “blinking thing.” I think both Melody and I needed each other. She recently moved here and is still adjusting; I am just passing through, but this gave me a safe harbour and I am so grateful for my Kaikohe family. I don’t know what to expect when I get to A.. and R..’s house. What I receive is a warm welcome home and the Scrabble box to get ready.

I hand R.. the TuTu game. We decide to try it out before Scrabble. R.. loves it and we play several times with A.. We play one more time. As many times before, I am in their evening prayers; for my safe journey, thankful for my entering their lives, thankful for us being together one more time. I can’t speak when we finish.

Today the car goes back. I have so many emotions running through me right now, I can’t begin to start. It should take about 3-4 hours; I allow myself 41/2 hours. I won’t go into my farewell. They stood on the sidewalk and waved as I drove off. Haere Ra- I farewell you.

Driving through Auckland is like driving through any large city where everyone is trying to leave at the same time. Enough said. With no car my weight problem is evident. If I haven’t mentioned it before, I came with one small suit case, a computer case and a small day pack. I now have two small suitcases, a box approximately the size of my computer case, my case and some food along with the day pack. I have effectively doubled my size. This is not good except that I have one of those wheelie things to attend most of it. I get a ride to the bus station. I don’t see any point to spending money on a room and traveling all day when I can travel through the night and wake up where I want to be. I get my ticket but find I have to go to the Sky Tower to actually get on the bus. I also have a ticket for the morning ferry to the South Island. I still have a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

As I sit waiting for the 7:15pm bus out of Auckland, a scruffy fellow approaches me with two huge suitcases on wheels plus a day pack. He introduces himself as “Mahoney.” He is an American from Arizona by way of Montana. We watch each other’s suitcases while information gathering and last minute toileting before getting on the bus which we are told has no rest room. We talk about our travels, past and present. When we get on the bus, we sit across from each other by his request. This is a double-decker and I head upstairs immediately. We’ve got a great view which will be even better if we can take over the very front seats once they are vacated. Mahoney moves forward, leaving his things behind. As we approach Hamilton, he reappears to summon me forward. The front passengers are getting off. We grab the seats beside the two fellows up front. My fellow is built like a linebacker. The four of us get on about NZ and soon my maps are out and we’re all exchanging stories. This is one of my favorite things; I love when I can interact with other travelers. The two fellows are unknown to each other, both are on business and both are happy to be out of Auckland. They tell me there is a phrase “JAFA.” It stands for “just another f__g Aucklander.” Of course, my experience of three whole days with Auckland has been pleasant enough so I’ve no further comment to make.

So here I am at the front of the bus with huge windows, more leg room and a double seat all to myself on the way to Wellington. I will take the ferry to Picton tomorrow and then decide where to go from there. I’ve got all night. I curl up on the two seats and sleep. I’m so glad the counter girl told me to dress warm. Sometime during the night I awaken and Mahoney comments on my ability to sleep in a contorted position. He hasn’t slept at all. If he only knew how much more comfortable this space is over others I’ve been. At the rest stop, I stretch as much as possible, but it’s cold and I’m soon right back on the bus. I’m asleep before we hit the next town.

As I drive, I can see one seal upright on a large area of rock with his head stretched toward the sky. I don’t know how close I’m going to be able to get, so I start taking pictures immediately. I spot another seal coming out of the water. Wow! Two seals! I park the car along the side of the road and head down the grassy slope. I see ahead that there are more seals than I had first thought. As I approach the beginning of the rock juts, movement to my left draws my attention. This magnificent brown creature who has been basking in the sun has taken notice of me, too. I come to a full stop, not knowing whether I’m considered a threat and if I will be running the way I came in seconds from now. The seal stretches and flops back down. I proceed. There are approximately twenty seals here. The closer I get, the more carefully and slower I step. I get bolder as I move in for pictures, trying, but knowing I will fail, to capture these moments. Every few minutes, one or more make these growly grunts or grunty growls with an occasional bark of sorts.

At first, I walk amongst them, but keep my distance. It isn’t long before I can approach individuals within a two foot distance. The urge to touch is almost irresistible but I don’t for several reasons. First off, these are wild creatures pure and simple. They may carry things I don’t want and I may carry things they don’t want. Secondly, I don’t know if my touching will scent-change them in any way, especially if some of these are young, though they are all pretty big to me. Third, they have four, 1 to 1 ½ inch long teeth and exceptionally flexible necks and lastly, they are quite content to let me do what I’m doing and I don’t want that to change. They range in size from three to about five feet, maybe a little more. I haven’t a clue as to weight, but their bodies are certainly much thicker and solid. A few have huge eyes that make you just want to hug them and I think these are probably the younger ones. If one goes into the water, chances are, more follow and they swim and play for awhile before getting out again. They come out of the water positively gleaming. Their resting positions are anything goes; bellies, sides or backs, with heads flexed or extended. I just sit watching for awhile without any agenda. I have no idea what could possibly top this.

There is a lighthouse at the end of Cape Palliser. I head toward that. I spot a long high rocky outcrop that looks interesting, so I stop again. I find what tops seals; baby seals!  They are everywhere! Now I’m really careful. They blend so well with the rock, I see one then turn and realize I missed three to my right and several small groups to my left. Here I think I am approaching them, when I’m really surrounded. The babies are curious, but cautious and the adults are much more vocally aggressive so I think they are probably good parents. I accidentally agitate one family when I approach a different family for pictures, having not seen this group. This sets off a chain reaction of grunts and barks and several seals posture in defiance, then turn and move away from me. I apologize and back away. When everything is calm again, I take my family photos and leave.

I have been to the northern most tip of the North Island, now I am standing at its southern end looking out over the Pacific Ocean. Across from the lighthouse, there is more beach with a few more rocky prominences. Here I find a few more seals. These are bigger than most of the ones I’ve seen so far and put on quite a show coming in and out of the water and barking a storm. Males?!

The approach to the lighthouse includes 250 steps to reach the base. I see that the door is open though there is a board partially blocking it. I step over the board and proceed up the spiral metal stairs. At the first landing, a man is working on some of the mechanics and I realize I’m not supposed to be here. I say as much and ask if I can go up anyway. He smiles, shrugs and says “Ok” and I, like a child, bound happily up several more sets of spirals to where the actual light is. I am so pleased to be in a real working lighthouse at this level, I even take a picture of the light. I meet a lady on the way down whose husband has gone up to the lighthouse, but she is afraid of heights and stays below. We talk about the seals for awhile. They have observed them, but they haven’t gotten out of the car to approach them. She isn’t sure if they will. I leave Cape Palliser very reluctantly, but very grateful.

I stop in Martinborough. It looks like many of the small towns I’ve seen. I notice “Moliere,” “Priceless,” with Audrey Tautou, “Death at a Funeral,” “After the Wedding,” and “Talk to Me” are playing are playing at the local movie theatre. I’ve got some catching up to do when I get home. This makes me a tiny bit sad and I want to beam myself home to see and say “Hi” to everyone back home. I’m told Greytown (pronounced “ton” not town) is lovely. This is yet another town along one of the many “wine trails.” There are areas all over NZ where the soil is perfect for growing wine. The wineries all get together in a given area to market their wines by having wine fests or providing maps so that you can go from one place to another in a convenient manner.  I have found mostly reds up here. I purchase a bottle of a very smooth red along with a birthday/Valentine card for my Mom. It was neither a birthday nor a Valentine card, but one with Kiwis and Pohutakawa trees on it which can only be purchased here in NZ. This is actually the second card I’ve purchased for a February birthday and I’ve still one more to go. 

Between Greytown and Carterton is the Waiohine Gorge. I hesitate going there because the initial sign gives an arrow without a distance. But as usual, my curiosity wins out and I am on yet another dirt road which seems to be taking me way out of my way at about

20 km/hour. As I reach the reserve, the signs pointing out the falls seem to have disappeared. Now it’s a matter of “Okay, let’s try this way.” I arrive at a parking lot that has something to do with staying over night, but at least there are people with smiles on there faces. A couple holding hands comes up from a path and sits down on their car. They look like they got wet so I take the other path. As I wind around with the roots, I begin to hear voices. Ahhh life, this is a good thing. Oh my God; what is this?! Laid out before me is an extremely narrow suspension bridge. The floor of this thing is about 18-24 inches wide with sides that reach up as high as my hips all made of wire mesh you can see through. There are also hand rails that come in very handy because every time I step, the bridge bounces. In fact, every time anyone steps on this bridge, it bounces. There are currently three teenage boys having a great time on this bridge as they come barreling across in my direction. I am unsure as to whether they plan to jump over me or if they figure they will just bounce me off. Luck is in my favor as they decide to slow down instead, and we slowly move around each other. I refuse to look intimidated or frightened as they step hard for maximum bounce, pass me and start running again. I give silent thanks that I haven’t eaten much today.

On the way back over after an abbreviated walk along another lovely trail, I encounter a young woman who looks positively stricken as she tries to muster the courage to cross back over. The boys are still at it; she is pale and suggests that I can go first. On the way back I spot a waterfall which of course I need to get closer to so I retrace and head down the other path.

High overhead is the bridge with the young woman finally crossing. At least I don’t have to worry about tides as I make my way over rocks and boulders and wade through the river over to the falls. I take the usual countless pictures, which includes every angle plus rainbow effects from the falling water. The beauty of digital is that I can always eliminate later. I return to my car fully satisfied that this has been a very good decision.

Carterton is a neat little place. The main street here is completely lined with hanging baskets of flowers about every four to five feet. The effort little towns make to maintain a lovely main thoroughfare throughout NZ is impressive. As I pass through town, I know I have to make a decision as to where to spend the night. Masterton is next and I sure could use a shower and a real bed. One of my clients and a good friend had suggested I get in touch with a friend of his if I was out this way. I don’t want to intrude. As odd as that seems considering I have lived with several people here so far, calling this place and asking to stay there would be the first time I approached staying with someone as opposed to being invited. The difference is huge to me and as I get closer to Masterton I’m considering just continuing on through.

I do stop for two reasons. First, the next town is hours away and secondly, I need to stop at the bank to get a code so I won’t be charged a bank fee. Tomorrow is the last day I can do this, the other towns I passed today didn’t have my bank, but it’s closed when I get there. To call or not to call; that now becomes the question. Okay. I’m going to let the phone ring three times and if someone answers, I’ll deal with it, otherwise, I’ll find a hotel here tonight. A man answers on the third ring. I ask for Emily. She comes to the phone and after a brief explanation on my part, Emily asks me what I want to do. She sounds stressed. I realize at that moment that I really don’t know what I want to do besides crawl in a hole. She gives me directions and tells me it’s about 40 minutes from Masterton. Now I just don’t want to go. It’s too far and I don’t know how my time will work out because I still have to find someone who does Miri Miri. As I drive out there, I am thoroughly regretting this decision.

When I arrive, an elegant older woman greets me at a lovely white house with high ceilings and wood floors. I have not been in anything like this on the island so far. The lady turns out to be the mother of my new hostess and we sit and have a wonderful conversation. She and her husband have just arrived the day before sans luggage, which has been lost for the time being. They will be returning only days before I do. We eventually go out to the barns and I meet Emily who looks thoroughly exhausted. It is nearing 8pm and no one has eaten dinner, so Emily’s mom and I put it together. I can’t help but laugh because I am slowly washing dishes across NZ. Every time I stay at a home, this is at least one thing I can offer, so as we are preparing the meal, I also do as many dishes as I can. The meal consists of left over lamb in tomato chutney along with some veggies, bread, wine and a few other things. Emily’s dad appears, as does her husband and nineteen year old son. Her daughter will be back very late, having had practice in Wellington which is at least a four hour drive over a narrow mountain road I drove the night before. People seem to come out of the woodwork around here. I meet a neighbor and her two sons, and another nineteen year old and a girl who I think might also be a neighbor. Apparently, I have come the night before a competition of their horse club. This includes people from as far away as Ngawi down by Cape Palliser, but most of the kids are from farms in the Masterton area. It’s being held on Emily and her husband’s property and there are innumerable details to finish, not even mentioning that I will be taking up one more space and adding to all this. I find all this out over dinner. I offer to help the next day in any way I can, and offer massage to any taker. The mother of the two boys asks me to work on one of her sons’ feet. He has had an injury to it and it has caused him a bit of trouble as well as pain. After I finish with him, I work on Emily’s son. The other nineteen year old will receive massage tomorrow since it’s getting late. A phone call during dinner lets all of us know that the luggage is on its way first thing in the morning.

Tw (Emily’s mom) and J (Emily’s dad) take me under their wing and I am invited to spend the night with them. They have a two bedroom lodging within walking distance that is part of the station and is absolutely gorgeous! A spacious living and dining area that looks out at the beach, plus a hot tub and walk-in shower. I need no convincing. A full stomach and a shower later, I fall asleep while on the computer. Sometime during the night, I wake up just long enough to shut everything down.

After a run and breakfast, we walk over to help with the day’s proceedings. Tw and I are of no help because we don’t know what to do. We sit and watch for awhile, but we both get antsy. J offers a tour and I accept. We take off on a four wheeler. Most of the time, I’m holding on hoping I don’t slide or bounce off as we ramble up dirt access roads, rounding corners with cliff-like drops. A little way into my tour I discover, to my horror, that my little notebook and pencil have fallen out of my pocket. This notebook has every story, every emotion, every event I have encountered on my trip. It is what I use to write my journal at the end of each day. J has offered to bring us back to look for it, but I tell him it’s either gone for good or we’ll find it on the way back. Call it denial, but I don’t think it’s gone.

I do ask to stop a few times (OK, more than a few) to take pictures. This is an 8500 acre sheep/cattle station. There is an eighty/twenty ratio of sheep to cattle and about 20,000 sheep. I see the shearing sheds, the homes of the others who work this station, water tanks, sheep, cattle and other structures. But along with this are some of the most beautiful beaches and views I’ve seen on this trip. There is also a large jutting rock which gives the area its name and a lighthouse. I find out that there are only ten permanent families living here and that this couple moved here from America to farm “where farming has meaning.” I have no idea how they do it all, but this place certainly “has meaning.”

On the way back, we start looking for my notebook and pencil from the point when I first discovered they were missing. J spots my pencil, but even a second pass over the area doesn’t reveal my notebook. We return to the barn area and look around, but no luck. On the way back to the lodge, we stop at Emily and Ander’s house. There on a table is my notebook; a little dusty, but its presence is a huge relief.

After lunch, I check to see if I can be of any use. They are still on lunch break so I take a walk over to see the lighthouse and beaches close up. As I walk along the beach, I notice a lack of shells on the beach. J has told me that this beach changes with every storm. One day, it is sand covered. They can get a storm that takes the sand and leaves only rocks. Then they can have another storm that brings the sand right back again; sometimes with shells, sometimes without. I’m trying to decide whether I should leave tonight or tomorrow. Everyone here is trying to remember names or suggest places where I might gather a lead toward learning Miri Miri. I feel I’m being neglectful if I stay, but it is so comfortable and beautiful here, I don’t really want to leave. I ask for a sign, then let the decision go for now. As I approach the lighthouse I see a cross of sorts. This has no religious meaning whatsoever. Nailed to it are all types of footwear. There are a lot of flip-flops, but much more comical are the crock, high heel, flipper, running shoe and cast.

A lengthy boardwalk leads to the lighthouse where I lose all track of time as I roam the cliffs and rocky juts, ending up on a protected beach where the rocky ledges have almost cut off this water from the swells that smash against them each day.

I am on my way back, walking across the beach that runs along the main street when I see something shiny on the sand. I have been on these beaches nearly all day, but right at this moment, a single paua shell in perfect condition sits waiting for me. I’ll be staying the night. I look around. There is not one more shell of any kind on this beach all the rest of the way back to the lodge. As I climb the stairs to get off the beach, I see Tw and J waving at me. The kids are done for the day and are headed down to the protected beach to swim the horses. I climb onto the four wheeler and off the three of go. This is truly a grand sight. Somewhere around 15 to 20 riders head bareback into the surf with their mounts. Two riders, a man and an older teen race along the sand then head back to join the others. We watch for about a half hour then head back to get ready for the dinner that is being put on for all the children in this competition. We’ve been invited to join even though we have contributed nothing to this event. Since we have a little time before we need to be there and since the dinner is being held literally fifteen steps from where we are staying, J takes me for a drive to another beach in a neighboring town. This is Matakohe beach which is covered with striated rock which forms lines that reach past the water line. This happens when there are layers of clay between sand. The sand washes away leaving these straight ridges of hardened clay rock. On the way back we stopped to see the small memorial rock that signifies where some of the other tribes signed the treaty with the British. Not all the tribes signed on February 6^th, in fact, not all the tribes signed period!

Upon our return, I have two customers for massage; both nineteen year olds. I find out that the one fellow’s family rented out their entire farm a little over five years ago and bought a boat. The dad, mom and two kids then sailed for the next five years around the world while the children were home schooled on the boat. They have just recently returned. What an education!

This place is a bit farther out of the city than I usually stay. I am greeted with a heavy scent of eucalyptus as I get out of the car. With the continued hospitality I’ve been shown here, my hosts provide me with a sleeping bag, pillow and towel. There is a lake and tonight, a full moon over it.

There are contractors staying on one side of me and a very unusual (I hope) family on the other side. There is a woman in her 70’s, one in her 40’s and three children. The 40’s person sits around smoking, while the older one threatens the backsides of the kids if they don’t do this or that. Everybody yells.

Drurie Tower is my first stop this morning. This is the tower I meant to come and see. It has 178 steps, is made of fossilized seashells and commemorates the World War One veterans. It gives a great view of the city and river. Closer to the bank of the hill, is an historic elevator. There is a small tower at the entrance, also giving a nice view and the whole building is painted red. Inside, the elevator takes you to the bottom of the hill and a main street into the city. Since I just wanted to ride it for the experience rather than as a quick way down from one area to the next, the elevator operator suggested I take the stairs down, and then ride back up. She said the stairs go in two directions, and that if I got too far over, I’d end up at a pub, which, she added, might not be a bad thing after taking the stairs. On the way down the path that leads to the stairs, there is a tree related to the Pohutakawa. The flowers are bright orange and slightly different and it is bearing seeds. It suspends over the hillside. There are no seeds on the ground and I want some so there is only one way to get them. Fortunately (or perhaps, not) there are pieces of wood nailed into the side of the tree for easier climbing.  This also affords a nice view, but it reminds me of a news story the day before where a girl climbed a Pohutakawa tree suspended over a cliff and fell. She has broken her arms and a leg and several ribs. As I return to solid ground, I’m grateful for not having repeated her performance. The elevator lady is right. I take the stairs. There are a lot of them, they are steep and I’m grateful I’m going down and not up. To get to the elevator, there is a tunnel. This is cool!

Having stopped earlier at the i site (they are information centers all over NZ), I have a number of destinations I can choose to tour. Heading out of town, I arrive at privately owned gardens near Fordell. I park and wander through a small building. I call a few times, but no one seems to be about. This area is more like a series of gardens. One area is across the street and I find it by accident. All kinds of succulents surround an open, grassy plaza. Ornamental benches and bridges add to the whole aura of the place and I take massive amounts of pictures.

My next stop is business. I’ve been given the address of two of the councils on Maori affairs in the city. I get referred from there to a clinic that is only open once a week. I try it and I’m excited both because it is actually open and the receptionist writes down the name of the woman I need to see for Miri Miri. Just like a rollercoaster, my mood is up only to slip back down when I find she is away until February 6^th. I use my phone card to leave a message for her to email me if she will see me when she gets back. I will return to the area if need be; that isn’t a problem because I absolutely love Wanganui. The main street is lined with flowers and small trees. There are a multitude of shops that are beyond the usual and prices are better here.

Not far from the clinic is a glass studio. I watch them making glass vases and sculptures that range in price into the thousands. I also pass a Plunkett House. I think they are still in use in some areas. At one time very wide spread throughout NZ, they were started by the Plunketts to offer women education and assistance while pregnant, with delivery and child nutrition and development. Plunkett nurses would educate and assist in the home as well as allowing young women to have their babies at these “Plunkett Houses.”

Within walking distance is a hillside housing both the Sarjeant Gallery and the Wanganui Regional Museum. I wander the grounds a bit first. There is a wonderful sitting area that is actually a sculpture made of cement and thousands of tiles of ceramic hands whose owners are named on each tile. It forms an open spiral which you can enter, leading to benches inside. There are also trees and flowers everywhere which is really the norm in NZ. The Sarjeant Gallery dominates the hillside though and I find myself wandering over there. This is a gallery of modern art. No photographs are allowed which is disappointing only in that the central cupola contains a piece that is hard to describe. Imagine a three-D shoots and ladders, all white, suspended about 100 feet in the air. Another area features an artist who seems to be obsessed with bleeding Jesuses. There are other artists as well, some I like more than others. I’m about half way through and the guard has told me they are closing, but adds that I can take my time. He ends up showing me around and explaining the different artists and why each was chosen for this museum. We walk out together with telling me I should really come back tomorrow.

The yelling people are still yelling when I get back to Scoutland. I’m truly thankful they retire before me.

I’m ready to leave in the morning. I stop in to pay for my second night and my hostess tells me there is a celebration in Ratana from today through the weekend, but that the Prime Minister will be there today. She gives me the newspaper with the article and off I go. I decide I will go to Ratana, but first I need to go to the Wanganui Regional Museum. There is actually information on Tahupoteki Waimu Ratana, the man who founded the town. He is considered a prophet and healer and has some 40,000 followers. Every year the town celebrates his receiving his prophecies. In addition , the museum covers things like the making of flax, Chinese foot binding, Maori weapons, musical instruments, dance, the various tonga (pendants) and their meanings and legends plus facts on the development of the Wanganui River. My head once again feels like it is going to explode.

RATANA! (Pronounced ratna) There is one way in and out. There are some permanent structures along with houses. The Ratana church is one of them with a big sign that says no photographs or videos. Inside, the walls are white, the ceiling is aqua and writings are all done in rainbow colors. Like any church, it’s a peaceful place. My shoes come off before I enter. There is also a large common. Along the perimeter, is a large stage, a hall with food preparation capacity and an archives/business office. It is into this building I go trying to get more information. A man wearing a red top, the only one, allows me in front of him. There are two women and two other men in the one room facility. After only a few moments, one of the men gets behind a camera while the other two sit down in front of it. It seems I stumbled into an interview with the senior chief and descendant of Tahupotiki Waimu Ratana.  Apparently, Ratana was originally a rather tough and abrasive man. In 1918, he had a divine revelation of the future calling for the establishment of a mixed denomination movement based at Ratana Pa. He changed utterly from the way he had been. Now somehow, this ties in with a town called Parihaka. In 1881, the Parihaka people had been displaced from their land. The administration sent troops in to further disperse the people because they continued to thrive as a community. A cannon was set up on a hillside to blast the Marae of these people, but it didn’t go off.  The interviewer went on to say that the Treaty of Waitangi must be kept and upheld. The man in red (interviewee) stated that Maori cultural mores and aspirations need to be upheld. “Why is the MP coming today when the New Zealand government continues to trample the Waitangi Treaty?” he asks. He finishes with, “The word has been spoken; now the action needs to be taken.” They plan to carry the “message of Parihaka, the message of Ratana” to the United Nations in November when a “World Indigenous Conference” is to take place.

The interviewer speaks with me explaining that they are the New Jerusalem and that they can collapse the NZ government now because they hold God’s power.  Another fellow walks in and corners me on the whole philosophy. The Prime Minister arrives and gives a speech. That room had been such a hot bed in contrast to the friendly atmosphere outside. There are several large tents on the grounds which can accommodate several hundred people. The insides are lined with mattresses. Around those are small individual family or singles tents. Off to one side, a group is playing Volleyball, other people  sit under one of the open air tents set up to provide shade during the activities. There is a line formed at one end of the Common. I walk up and ask why. The last couple turns to me and tells me to join them. The lady tells me just to do what she’s doing. I rub noses and get kissed by about 50 people. As I leave the receiving line, a man tells me I’ve been okayed and I am to go to the back area for tea. I join the lady I was in line with and we sit and have sandwiches and tea. There are security people everywhere. Now I get it. I accidentally joined the dignitaries from a tribe near Hastings who are joining the rest of the dignitaries for tea with the Prime Minister. There she is. There is also security for some other government officials present and the whole thing feels very strange to me.

Shortly after I leave this area, a large band in blue uniforms begins to play. They lead an entire attending tribe onto the parade grounds. Almost everyone is dressed entirely in black except for the fellow in red who is walking at the front of the crowd. They sit under one of the large shade tents facing the hosting tribe which sits in an open air permanent structure. A few women from the visiting tribe get between the two and begin to dance and sing. Then there are speeches. Then the host tribe gives speeches. Then there is more singing and more speeches by both sides. This is all in Maori and goes on for about two hours while I walk around. They are getting the politics out of the way today and tomorrow there will be activities because tomorrow is the actual day of celebration when the Holy Spirit came down to Ratana. It is blistering hot, I’ve got nowhere to sleep but my car, but I don’t feel I will get anywhere if I stay for the night anyway. Back I go the way I came, a bit overwhelmed by the day.

I stop in Bulls (this is the name of a town). I don’t know where to go. I enter a pub called the Rat Hole. The bartender explains, upon my inquiry, that I do indeed want to stick with Tui beer. Speight’s is OK, Lion Red is garbage, but Tui is the stuff. I know it’s good from New Year’s Eve. That, and the fish and chips help me decide to head for a beach where I can clear my head.

I meet a family on Himatangi Beach. The couple has brought their two small children and new puppy to the beach to walk along and clean it up. The puppy comes up to my car and I open the door to pet him. He starts to climb in, so I pick him up. He is shivering so I cuddle him while the children slowly meander over. I put the puppy down on the sand, but he climbs right back in. I hand him over to Tanisha, the little girl. Their car isn’t far from mine and she heads toward it while her little brother stays behind to entertain me with jumps and dancing around. Apparently he didn’t want to leave either, so his mother finally had to come and get him. I miss the sunset, but it is worth it tonight.

I watch the sunrise at Foxton Beach. I’m traveling the beach roads on my way to Wellington. Foxton is the next town. Again, not in the tour guides, this place is a little gem. Besides having a lovely cheerful main street, it has the De Molen windmill, a Maori Arts  Centre, a murals walk focusing on the area’s heritage and a flax museum complete with demonstrations. Unfortunately, the Arts Centre and Flax museum don’t get started until at least 10 am, so I continue to Waitere Beach.

When I grow up, I want to be the person who sees the tire tracks on the beach and can resist going on myself. Until then…..the beach roads I travel are truly “beach roads.” Along the way, the radio is my companion. There are always public messages that I wish we had in the States. “Keep your kids from getting burned by the sun,” fire risk notices and every major concert on both islands are amongst a few. The fire risk is so great right now, they are not only stopping all new permits, but they are canceling already issued permits and fines for setting a fire can be as high as $2000 and/or 6 months in jail. I stop when I see something I think might be interesting. The beach I’m on right now is littered with pink and lavender tiny triangular shells. Other more exotic shells are present. All sizes of wood, sculpted smooth by the tide would bring an artist to tears. The backdrop for this splendor is Kapiti Island and the Tararua Range. The beach has ended with a sign saying “Haera Ra – Have a Safe Journey!”  and I say “Goodbye” to whatever beach I am now on. I have no idea where I am, but I drive on without making any turns and eventually find Route 1.

I haven’t traveled very far when I see this shop. It has a huge carving painted turquoise that would attach to a waka (canoe) at the entrance to the parking lot. I pass by. I stop. I sit. I sit longer. I’m not intending to buy anything right now, so why look? I turn around anyway. The items, both jewelry and crafts are quite nice and a little different. The prices aren’t bad either. The lady behind the counter and I start talking. I get around to asking about Miri Miri. At first she is reluctant, but then decides to get her brother, who has carved all the bone items to come and talk to me. He gives me a name and address. He says he also does Miri Miri, but for himself, his family and pets (2 dogs, 1 cat, 2 kittens, 2 piglets and 1 sow).We also talk for awhile, then he goes back to his shop to carve. I see a piece he has made that I want for someone. The counter lady tells me she is going to get her brother so he can bless the bone. I tell her that I don’t want to bother him again, but she goes to get him anyway. When he comes in this time, he takes the piece and both my hands and says a prayer in Maori. Call it the mood of the moment or anything you like, but I get the shivers. He repeats the process with another piece, but I don’t feel the same. He looks intently at me and asks if I felt anything the first time. I tell him what I felt. He says, “You’ve got some power there!” and invites me to look at his shop. Here, there are hundreds of semi finished bone carvings. There are also wood and paua shell/bone carvings ranging in sizes from a coffee table and door lintel to earrings. H.. invites me to have lunch. By late afternoon, he is teaching me to carve bone and has shown me a $5000 pounamu (poo nah moo – greenstone) mere (flattened club) with its own hand carved wooden case. He has made calls to find me someone to do Miri Miri on me and I’m staying the night. H.. loves golf and holds a National ranking. He also loves books on everything and has thousands; no exaggeration, thousands.

Today I meet his niece, Cheryl, who is watching the store. We get on very well and have a lot in common. I finish my carving. It is a musical instrument and I find carving both relaxing and a challenge. H.. tells Cheryl we, meaning he and I, are going to the beach to get wood. He has called three more times to reach this one man whose sister is a powerful practitioner, but we haven’t heard back yet. I spend most of the day finding more boxes of bone and incredible pieces of carved greenstone (pounamu, nephrite jade). H.. decides that we are going to make earrings for me and I am not about to protest.

H.. and I load up his bus. This is a very old camper bus, complete with refrigerator, stove, loo, wood stove for heat and running water. We also have steak, salad, eggs, onions, bread and more. Off we go. We head where the sign says beach, then veer off to where the locals know to go. Part of this land belongs to Maori and part is privately owned. A fellow H.. knows has set up a living area patched together with blankets and pieces of corrugated metal and plastic that he is living in as a protest because this beach will someday have water front homes and he will no longer have use of it. We gather wood for awhile. H.. asks me what I look for in a piece of wood; I ask him the same question. Right now, I’m trying to look from his point of view because I have no intention of taking back any of this wood. I start taking sunset pictures. H.. tells me that Kapiti Island is actually a bird sanctuary. He asks me if I want to go out there. A friend of his has a boat. I tell him I won’t be staying long enough to do that. It starts getting late and I realize we aren’t leaving the beach tonight. H.. says I’m little so I get the chair. This is a recliner that only semi reclines and faces the back of the bus. We talk well into the night until I drop off from exhaustion. I wake several times during the night out of discomfort and H.. sings in his sleep. I finally get on the floor between the driver seat and the recliner and get about two full hours. In the morning we go back out for more wood, move to a new location, gather more, then start breakfast. H..” knows when to disappear” as he says, and I cook all the food we brought since we never ate supper last night. We head back to Levin where H.. lives. First, we stop at the protestor’s shack to visit. We also stop at the Otaki market. This is one of the better ones with lots of “bits and pieces” as they say here. They have these things called “Lucky Dips.” I’ve seen them at other markets, too. They are pre-wrapped goodies that you buy on faith that you’ll like whatever is in the package. We drive around a little while longer while H.. shows me various local sights; a popular picnic spot, a river border for the tribe. When we return, I unload the bus. H.. works on finishing the earrings. After a run and a shower, I go to visit Cheryl. We still haven’t heard from the practitioners. Cheryl lives in Wellington and invites me to stay with her when I get there. She has connections within the hospital there that helps Maori people with Western medicine, and may be able to help me find a Miri Miri practitioner. Even if this were not so, I find a real kinship with Cheryl and we part as friends. When I walk back to the house, I ask H.. if there has been any word. Still nothing. I anticipated this and tell H.. it’s time for me to leave. I know he doesn’t want me to go. I know that I am not comfortable staying. We also part as friends.

It’s getting late but I need to get some good distance tonight. I spot the words “seal colony” at the most southern point on the North Island and want to check it out. I’ve decided not to go to Wellington yet, but start back up the East Coast after the seal colony. As I am passing through one of the towns, I see this giant light up on the hillside. As I get closer, I realize this is a giant lighted Madonna. The statue is huge and though I detour to try to get closer, I can’t find an entrance. I make several attempts at a photograph, but really can’t capture it well.

I am so tired. I drive through Upper Hutt and Featherston. I want to drive by Lake Wairarapa even though I may not see much of it. I actually stop several times and get out of the car both to stretch and wake up and to look at the lake in the moonlight. Along the way, there are drop off roads, dirt, of course, with car park areas where I can sleep, but I’m not comfortable here, it seems too isolated so I keep moving. I see all kinds of furry creatures, mostly possums, but one is so different I have to get out of my car and photograph. I still don’t know what it is; I just know what it isn’t. I see a sign for Cape Palliser and Lake Ferry. I know the seal colony is at the Cape, but I want to see Lake Ferry, too, and it’s closer. It is much to late to find anything open, so I am once again in my car for the night in a car park by a lake across from some houses. I sleep until about three when I get cold. I practically empty my suitcase putting on layers, but I sleep nearly two more hours. I finish the drive over to the beach in Lake Ferry, only to find tire tracks. I have got to grow up......soon.

I will not describe in public the toilet provided here. Suffice to say that the one at Waitiki Landing is truly a palace by comparison and that I have been ignorant of filth and that which is completely disgusting until this moment. Enough said.

The beach is magnificent at dawn. The sky is overcast and everything is a shade of blue. I find a few interesting shells, but when I return to my car, I can’t get off the beach. I had seen two people fishing, but I really don’t want to bother them if I can help it. I start to dig. And dig. And dig. And dig. I use a piece of wood I’ve found, but nothing is going to be big enough for this job. After several more attempts, I head for the fishermen. It turns out to be a man I’d say in his early forties with his elderly mother who is wrapped up and sitting. He looks a lot like Kevin Costner. He gets on his four wheeler and heads for my car. After two attempts where the rope breaks, he is able to haul me out. I’m grown up, I’m grown up, I’m grown up! I thank him profusely, double check my directions to the seal colony and drive off once again.

Coming into the Cape Palliser area is a lot like entering Heaven. I pass the very tiny community of Ngawi as I drive along a road almost narrower than one lane along cliffs with 300 foot drops, with no shoulders or guard rails. But is it ever beyond the imagination beautiful! Just like at Cape Reinga, I am shivery all over and nearly in tears at the sight. I can see the South Island across the water. I’ll be there soon. There is something pointy in the distance. There must be a lighthouse here, too. Below my car, the water is crashing against the cliffs with sprays reaching at least fifty feet in places. I see something move down on the rocks ahead. I get closer. OH MY GOD! SEALS! Now I know this is what I came to see but actually seeing them is totally a different story.

I’m going to digress further for a moment, because it is here in this cultural center that this giant Maori jigsaw puzzle begins to make sense. I have been chasing down leads to someone who will teach me Miri Miri. Just about everybody and his sister claims to do Miri Miri, but no one will work with me or even on me. One reason is obvious; not everybody and his sister do Miri Miri. The second reason is probably discrimination; I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not Maori, heck, I’m not even from NZ. The third has to do with intention. Ruby was very explicit about this. It is far more complicated than I can express here, but I’ll try. Historically, the Maori didn’t have a concept of ownership. Since land and water and different aspects of nature share a common genealogy with man, in the same way you don’t own your brother, you don’t own land. Therefore, you can’t derive financial gain from land or water or trees, etc. It would be like making a profit from selling a relative. This is basically how Europeans were able to take advantage of the Maori in the first place. From the Maori point of view, they were granting others almost an extension of family, expecting the newcomers to care for the land as a relative. Obviously, that concept was not shared by Europeans. In addition, people have come and gone through Maoridom who have used what they learned from the Maori to their own financial advantage without a thought to the source of that knowledge. How does the adage go? “Kick me once, shame on you; kick me twice, shame on me.” Intention is very significant. Reason four has to do with Maori culture in the area of their healing arts. Te Rongoa is medicine; more specifically, plant medicine. Miri Miri is massage. And there is a third element; Karakia which is ritual. These three are intertwined like a fisherman’s net. They are separate and equal, codependent and one all at the same time. Anyone can learn a technique; not everyone can make it art; can make it their own for true healing. Not everyone extends the respect and acknowledgement to the source of this knowledge. Some try to take credit for what is accomplished, not realizing that he or she is simply one of the tools within the process. Healing is always from within; these elements just set up the external forces in a way that can initiate or accelerate the process. You have to know the right combinations of all three elements to get the job done. The fifth reason has to do with the individual. This connects with the other four reasons. It has to do with worthiness. Who is worthy to be extended this knowledge? What will be done with it? How will it be used? Will the practitioner become “larger than the process?” The recent news around Sir Edmond Hillary comes to mind. He never wanted his being the first white man to climb Mount Everest to make him larger than what he had accomplished. He sought no further recognition, nor any financial or political gain. He knew he was part of a process, not the source of it.

 After about three hours of legend and artifacts, I ‘m ready to leave. My head is throbbing and I need to eat, but there is some business to take care of first. I try three book stores on Devon Street to no avail. I do get my glasses fixed, having broken one of those little nose pieces off when I hit my head inside one of the caves. My glasses were on top of my head. The brunch has a multitude of choices, some of which I am familiar and others I am not. I’ll try almost anything once. Today, it’s octopus. I have to say, I’m glad that’s done; too chewy.

I have a choice between heading south on Route 3, an interior route, or Surf Highway 45 along the beach. For me, there is no choice. The interior route is supposed to be lush, historic and breathtaking, but nothing recharges my battery like the ocean. This is where I go to think, reflect and commune. In this case I have to add, no matter what the weather. I plan to stop at every single beach along the way.

Oakura Beach is my first stop. I dun my Anorak and out into the elements I go. The ocean is white with multiple shades of gray underneath. The water is so roiled and angry and the wind is so strong, you can hear nothing else but a pounding roar. It is impossible to know whether or not it is raining because there is ocean spray everywhere.  On the way back to the main road, I stop at a pasture to check my map near a cow pasture. This one cow starts looking at me. Within seconds, cows from the entire pasture stop grazing and are coming my way. It is a tad unnerving, but at the same time, comical; a definite Kodak moment.

Puniho beach was so deluged, I didn’t get out of my car even though I was already soaked from the Oakura Beach. Pungarehu Beach was also busy drowning. Next is a sign for the Mount Egmont Boat Club Lighthouse. Now I haven’t mentioned that name yet. When Captain Cook sailed into the area and saw Taranaki, he named it after a man he honored in the British navy. The man never saw this mountain and wasn’t the least bit interested in seeing it. There has been a continuous discourse through the courts to call Mount Taranaki by the name it has held for over 900 years. It is currently called Mount Taranaki/Egmont even though the Maori won their case a few years ago. The light house is not open, but I like lighthouses and this is a pretty one.  What I don’t expect is that just down the road, I find a second one, the Cape Road Lighthouse. This is near Oaonui

(Ow o new ee). Opunake is having a downpour and has escaped having its picture taken. However, Kaupokonui beach is very interesting. This is another true black sand beach complete with a small river and bridge. It starts raining yet again and the wind picks up which makes recrossing the bridge interesting. It is bad, I have sand in my hair, pasted to my legs and arms and in my nose and mouth by the time I get back to my car. On my way through Manaia, the sun comes out, but it continues to rain. I start looking for the inevitable and chase it down a side street. I love rainbows. Hawere is my destination and I stop at a beach just outside town. This is certainly a rocky one, but I don’t spend much time here.

Hawere has a water tower I think I want to see. This town isn’t even listed in my big guides, only in the local one. Now that I’m here, I have to look it up again to see why I wanted to see this particular site. Plus the tower is closed until tomorrow. And they charge. It’s a water tower for Pete’s sake.

I have now returned to Highway 3 and stop at Patea’s beach. This place sports a sign reading:                                          No Vehicular Traffic

Pedestrians Only Please

The cliffs are liable to collapse without warning

Please keep away from the cliff face on the beach

And then they give a 24 hour assistance call number. I love it.

I arrive in Wanganui, but not before passing through a place called Aotea. This town has about four buildings, two of which are absolutely wonderful. On the right is the South Taranaki District Museum looking very ornate with carvings and paintings in rich reds and blues. On the left, is a waka which sits above your head up on columns complete with nine full sized people in it. More Kodak moments.

Wanganui is just a wonderful place. If someone told me I had to choose a place in NZ to live the rest of my days, Wanganui would be it so far. As I’m soaking in this lovely city, I spy two women laughing and talking. These ladies have to be local because they seem so comfortable. As it is, they are sisters who live in different parts of Wananui, and have decided to meet for coffee to catch up. Not knowing themselves how to get me to the Holiday Park I’ve chosen from the guide, they pull me into a Kabob restaurant and ask directions. The two fellows there ask me why I’ve chosen that place. They go on to tell me that this place gets a lot of drunken, rowdy people and that it isn’t all that safe. They suggest a different place, call to make sure there is room and then give me directions. This is how I end up at Scoutland.

I see a sign “Three Sisters.”  I half wish there was nothing left between here and New Plymouth; it’s getting late and I’m getting tired. I can’t find this place in my guides. I have to admit, as I start down along the stream bed toward the ocean, this definitely looks interesting. A family has stopped at the same time. They seem really nice and are very attentive to one another. I would like to share right now with my family. Every few steps are more beautiful and interesting. It starts as a grassy area and stream bed. Next we have yellow cliffs, partially covered with large tufts of long grasses, changing to white/gray clay cliffs with a shaggy carpet of grasses. This area also has the clay to walk on and it is quite slippery in spots. Next are big boulders covered in mussels. This is where the family turns back. As the clay gets wetter, the cliff walls start forming shallow caves. There is not one hint of human trash here, but lots of drift wood and stones. Some of the caves have moss growing at their entrances and have a constant drip coming down from their ceilings. The water is increasing here and I am ankle deep in gray clay muck. I realize people pay good money for treatments like this so I am grateful for any good it’s doing for my feet. The caves are getting bigger and deeper. I wish I had my flashlight with me.  This just gets better and better. As I carefully advance farther into this one cave, I see glow worms! I don’t believe it. They are close enough to touch, but of course, I don’t disturb them. These caves and drift wood and stones continue for awhile. There are a lot more stones in one of the caves. They are volcanic and worn completely smooth by the constant roll of the tide. Three of the stones are now mine to be used for massage in the future. They are perfect. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Even the rock formations change. Some of them have wear patterns that make them look like Swiss cheese. As I approach the ocean, there is one jut of land all by itself with beach behind it. I know I should get going, but this is so fascinating. Across the way, the cliffs continue right down to the ocean. There is a massive area carved out making a tunnel through the cliff to the other side. I guess this one lone hill in front of me must have looked like that once, but the land above it must have collapsed at some point and now it stands apart. I have to go to the end. As I come around, there stands a rock tunnel just like the one across the way. I can’t stop now. The other side is a continuation of beach. Two massive mounds of earth stand in the water. I guess I found the other two sisters. It is getting dark and now I have to head back. Apparently the tide has been coming in while I’ve been preoccupied and I find myself up to my thighs where the clay muck used to be. I pass  some crabs staying out of the water between breaks in the rock cliffs and even high water won’t keep me from getting yet another picture. I’ve rolled my shorts up as high as I can and they still get a little damp. It is so worth it. This place is one of the most intriguing places I’ve been so far.

I get to pass through another rock tunnel on land this time without a car behind me, so you know I’ve got a picture of that as well. Just outside of New Plymouth, I stop at yet another beach area; the Whitecliffs Walk. The water is high here but it sports a huge fairly deep cave that I can’t quite get to the end of simply because I can’t see where I’m going. This, too has glow worms, though not as many as Three Sisters, and with no comparison to Waitomo. The narrow lane back to Route 3 has a few hawks or falcons munching on road kill, but they aren’t interested in me taking their pictures. Just as well; I’ve got a date with a sunset and this one is going to be a doozy!!

As I am entering New Plymouth, I don’t even know where to point my camera. Mount Taranaki is bathed in pinks, blues, purples and a cloud cover only at its peak. Out side my driver’s side window, the sky is bright orange. I can’t stop so the sky is captured as I drive. I find a place to pull over and start thanking God I’m here at this moment. I sweep past New Plymouth to what looks like the farthest spot west I can find. I am either at or just past Kawaroa Park. Again, each angle, each second is bringing me to tears. To some moments there is no description, no photograph, no recollection like that one pure moment when you are actually there to experience it. This is one of those.

I’m sitting in my car unable to move for a long time. When I finally start to stir, it is with the realization that it is nearly 10 o’clock and I have nowhere to stay as yet. I head back into town. The main street here is Devon Street. A bar/restaurant called The Breakers is where East meets West Devon and they have a big “Accomodations” sign.  I haven’t stayed right on a main street yet and this street seems apropos given the name, even if the spelling is different. My second son’s name is Devin, and even the east/west thing has a connection to him for me. The price isn’t bad and the room is clean with its own shower and a full set of sheets, blankets and towels. It even has a jug. I do something I haven’t done anywhere else. I offer my business card and let them know I’m available to do massage.

It’s very late, but I can’t sleep. I watch out my window as the street sweeper, in something that looks like a golf cart with a giant vacuum cleaner attached, goes about his task. As I read up on this perfect mountain, I find out that this is one of the places in NZ where you can bike, hike, ski and later get some of the best surfing NZ has to offer along the Surf Highway, Coastal 45. I finally drift off thinking about meeting Taranaki in the morning.

I awaken to street sounds; people buzz and traffic. Time to go to the mountain, though this mountain has the potential to come to me according to Maori legend. Taranaki was part of the Tongariro Range. He fell in love with Mount Pihanga, and she for him, but she belonged to Mount Tongariro. Mount Ruapehu, the oldest of the chain, banished Taranaki to keep the peace after a vicious struggle between Tongariro and Taranaki. Taranaki dragged himself away using the Wanganui River as his path and enlarging it as he dragged himself along and added his tears. He headed north along the coast. Eventually his foot became trapped, and this is where he has stayed. Taranaki hides himself in the clouds whenever he doesn’t want anyone to see his tears as he watches his brothers and knows he can never return.

This morning when I ask directions, I just happen to be on the right street, heading in the right direction. All 2518 meters of the mountain disappears as I get closer. Taranaki must be having a bad day as the top is not visible under cloud cover today, in fact the whole day is gray and colors are muted. According to Aryevedic philosophy, “there are many paths up the mountain,” and Taranaki can prove it. There are at least four major entrances with multiple trails and off road accesses from those. All of these have “intention logs” to know where you are, or at least, where you hope you are heading. This will of course help greatly should you not turn up and they have to send a rescue team. I’m thinking that I probably won’t need rescuing today, so up I go with some water, snacks and my flipflops. There are four trails to choose at this location, and since this is my day to spend with the mountain, I take the longest one. This is a mere two hours with a little symbol telling me I’ll need to be in above average condition and I will probably do some climbing as opposed to just walking. Not far into the trail, I come across a ladder…hmm..gnarly roots, dead logs and traps set to kill. Yes, I think this will be a good trail. The traps are set for weasels and stoats. They are adamant that they will get this problem under control. What I don’t get is how we are able to hunt all kinds of animals to the point of extinction, but when we decide to “control” an animal population, we never seem able to rid ourselves of it. I’m thinking that we should label our pests as valuable entities. I bet we could get rid of them in a couple of years.

At first, it is very quiet save for the sound of my feet. The deeper I go, the more I start to hear. One particular birdsong has me fascinated. I have no chance of spotting this creature in this density of forest. This sound is so unusual and so pretty; I stand motionless for some minutes but finally move on reluctantly. Stairs up, stairs down, ladders up, ladders down, thick vegetation, dry beds and stone/rock ways repeating about a thousand times; I am thanking God right now that I did not run this morning. A lot of this path is washed out ruts. I guess the water can fill these dry beds and ruts fairly quickly if it starts raining hard at the top. No worries. I guess I’ll either walk down or get washed down, either way; I’ll end up at the bottom. There are steps, either man or nature made, that reach mid-calf and others that are to my knees. I am a hamstring runner. My quads are weak, and yes, I know I have to strengthen them. The point is my quads are getting an excellent, albeit over, workout today. The half marathon in Nelson is March 9^th and I hope to be ready.

I am covered in spider webs, a patina of perspiration and mountain dew. Insects and birds are all you hear when you’re still, as there is no wind. Traveling over gnarly roots is like a deep massage to the feet if you keep your feet relaxed and let them mold to the roots. The path has gotten narrower with more vegetation in the way. You can actually watch the cloud cover drift from right to left over the top of the mountain. This movement is another first for me and though it doesn’t sound it, it is quite dramatic.

I head for the Maketawa hut. A hall with coat hooks greets you. To the right is a communal sleeper with five across side by side continuous mattresses. A bunk level doubles this. To the left is a locked door and directly in front is a communal kitchen; two large tables with benches plus a stainless steel on wood counter. The attached open deck gives an expansive view. It is starting to rain as I come out onto the deck. I throw on my Anorak. There are four older gentlemen having lunch. We start talking about which ways we’ve come and the weather. Here they are fully equipped looking at me in my flipflops and day pack. They ask me twice how I got up here and suggest I go down soon. The weather can turn quickly and with the rain can come blizzard conditions within minutes. As if to prove the point, it starts raining hard, harder. I’m curious, not stupid. I think back to my little “wash away down the mountain” joke. Be careful what you think about…..

The rain lightens a bit, the others have left and I leave, too. I head back to the turn off for the hut and turn left up the mountain. No, I’m not going up the whole thing; I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not only am I not equipped, but it would take me over night. I just want to see the peak of Taranaki again. It’s gone. Not only has the peak disappeared, but fog is descending like hot fudge over ice cream. I am not stopping to listen to birds or jot down descriptions. I do turn every so often to check the fog. For awhile it was right behind me, chasing from tree to tree, but it has slowed because I doubt I’ve gotten quicker. I hear voices ahead. I catch up with two of the four men I spoke with at the hut. They mumble something about the other two; I smile and give a little wave and nod. I take one of the other paths back. The visitor center is a wealth of information, plus warm and dry. I, on the other hand, am drenched and chilled to the bone. Even so, on my way back to town, I can’t resist stopping at yet another Park. The length of the access is lined with enormous hydrangeas. When I do finally return to my room, my plan is to shower and go over to Puke Ariki, a significant museum and library. I wake up several hours later and everything has closed. I walk along Devon Street; then turn to the walkway. There is a small crowd up on a knoll along the way. There are a series of sculptures here and it announces a sale this weekend. The artists are mostly local and the works made mostly from stone and a few from cement. Some of them are really exquisite, usually with a spiritual or political theme.

This morning, Taranaki is a ghost. If you are just passing through, you would never see him as the sky is gray and mist shrouds everything around the town. Today is business. First I run along their beach walkway at 6 am. Beside Puke Ariki, I see a huge eighteen wheeler setting up for some kind of programming. I’ll have to check that out later.

Back I go to my room to shower and pack. I’m planning on a Chinese brunch I found yesterday, so I don’t bother with breakfast. The walkway I used less than two hours ago to run can no longer be traversed. The ocean is crashing up against the cement embankment sending a salty spray everywhere. Now it is also raining. The truck I saw earlier has a gigantic TV screen on the side and it is showing footage of different men talking about climbing. Once in the museum, I hear an attendant explain, “Yes, they will have full coverage starting at 10:30 outside.” Now I remember. Sir Ed, as he is lovingly referred to here, is being buried today.

Puke Ariki is free to the public unless you want to pay $6 for the fossil exhibit. As you enter, an enormous shark looms above you. I consider this place another bargain; there are few in NZ. Outside, the wind is now whipping rain in every direction and you can hear it slamming against windows and rattling any loose nook. You can not see the broadcast through the window for the deluge. This place is an absolute treasure trove of information on the Maori. Maori legend is part of the whole whakapapa (genealogy) and some are available at this museum. This is an interpretation of a story about the origin of knowledge and technology.

Knowledge was kept in the house of Miru. Rangomai and Ihenga want to learn about their world so they go to Miru’s house which is in a “hole in the earth” with other members of their family and learn mana and tapu; natural forces in nature used to enforce restriction (tapu) or to quantify substance of anything or anyone (mana). Tau (a man) told Miru that the flax rope used by Rangomai and Ihenga was stolen from him (Tau). He wanted revenge, which allowed Miru to take advantage of Rangomai and Ihenga as payment for the sacred knowledge. Miru sent Tau to climb back out of the hole, cut the rope and drop it back down. Miru became threatening and muttered inaudible profanities. He decided to kill Rangomai and Ihenga. They sensed a trap and left. Miru caught two of the group and murdered them. When Rangomai and Ihenga found the rope in pieces, they set fire to Te Tatau o te Po. They led an aimless wander. Here they learn that “One overcome by hunger will consume all, but one who controls hunger will continue to eat.” The Te Tini o Manaia people helped them with food and a canoe. “Mattua te kai is equated with generosity because of this.

The hole in the earth is supposed to be intuition and experience. The rope is the journey into the unknown. Knowledge, being sacred, is best taught in special conditions that require a commitment or sacrifice of some kind in return. These are not my words. I find a bit of Adam and Eve in this, myself.

Today has been amazing so far. After the usual great breakfast, we took off to Ngawha; R..,M.. and me. We stopped in to see Paul and set up a meeting for after the baths. I noticed that there is an arrow each way and asked why the left arrow was a different color from the right one. I was thinking that the right one, being white, showed up better than the brown one so it promoted that bath better. I wasn’t far from correct. The right bath house is owned by a Pakeha (white person, pake means white), while the Maori owned bath house is on the left. Subtle but there.

We change up and slip into the muddy water. Each bath has a different name. We’re in Baby. The temperatures today are high and I can’t tolerate most of the others. Several are whitish and cold with a name like the Milky Way. Another has black mud and is said to be very good for the eyes. I can’t get in because the water is too hot for me, but cup the water in my hands and bring it to my face. More and more people start showing up and we leave around two hours later feeling relaxed and new.

We stop back at Paul’s. He’s just returned the night before so we decide we will actually begin tomorrow, but talk today. Yes, he will teach me, but first he’ll do a treatment on me so I can get acquainted with the work. I will also work on him so he knows my starting place. I’m the one who pushes this so he doesn’t think I’m a beginner to massage. It will also give him an idea of my strengths and weaknesses. We talk about our backgrounds and massage politics and its acceptance (and non acceptance) both here and in the States. He asks me if I’ll be here for Waitangi Days. After some clarification, I’m so excited I can barely stand it. I’m going with Paul, R.., M.. and some others up to Waitangi Treaty Grounds as a massage therapist. I’ll be working along side him, doing Miri Miri and getting paid for it. It’s February 5 and 6 and nothing will keep me from doing this.

The rest of the day is spent catching up on sleep and this journal, with a rather successful run as the day cools. I will be spending the night with M.. tonight by her invitation, but she has a meeting that takes her into the evening. By the time she appears, we have finished dinner and we’re well into Scrabble. We spend the rest of the evening at her house watching Alfred Hitchcock Classics, admiring the fashions and laughing at the background music expected to leave a flow of tingles running up your spine. By 2:30, we’re both done in and toddle off to bed.

I have no idea if Subway serves breakfast in the States, but they do here; and it’s very good. M.. is going off to Hamilton today, a place I will get to, roughly 5 hours away and south of Auckland. I am off to Ngawha to begin work with Paul, but first M.. and I have some work to do. M.. has a box of tuna fish heads. These things are huge! We are bringing them over to A.. and R..’s house for A.. to prepare in his smoke house. We also load and unload Manuka (tea tree) wood to add into the process.

When I return, it is with tonight’s dinner. A.. kiddingly suggested I make dinner several nights ago and I’ve taken him up on it. We’ll have snapper, salad and broccoli. As I’m prepping the fish for later, I am acutely aware of the fish head boiling on the stove and another one in the oven. R.. is unsure what to do with these, but A.. tells us these are worth about $40 per head at a market. I have no idea what possesses me to volunteer to clean the meat off these two things, but there it is. I can tell R.. just wants them out of the kitchen. I’ve now washed my hands at least thirty times and they still smell like fish, but the three of us will get around 5 meals out of the two heads. A.. walks in shortly after the cleaning with some of the smoked tuna meat. I think it’s quite good, but A.. feels it has probably been in the freezer too long.

Pete is here to fix the sink. Afterward, I will be working on him, both Reiki and Medical massage. He will be the fourth person I’ve worked on since coming here. I have three more massages scheduled.

Pete is a happy man. He leaves pain free and standing up straighter. He calls me later to tell me he is still in one piece and that he has gotten in touch with Wallace who is very knowledgeable about Maori medicine and history. We’ll go see him at 5pm tomorrow which is great because it doesn’t interfere with seeing Paul in the morning. I’ll have to run first thing when I get up.

Dinner goes well and I truly think they liked it. I win the first game of Scrabble tonight and A.. wins the second. R.. won last night and so the battle continues.

I’m beginning to really run again. I am totally ready for today. I get to Nawha about 10:30. Paul is sitting out side drinking coffee or tea. He tells me that he has thought very carefully about teaching me. He says that he will not teach me the spiritual aspect of his massage because he doesn’t know how his gods will be affected by this. He also can’t teach me today because he has a proposal to work up for this afternoon. I think he’s hedging, and ask him if he is sure about tomorrow. He says, “Yes.” I say “You’re sure?” He says “yes” again. Now I’m not sure. We all know them. Those people who talk like they have seen and done it all, but in actuality, are just that; talk. I need to stay out of my own way. On the other hand, he reminds me of someone, I just can’t think of who it is. I don’t even have my bathing suit with me so the trip is for nothing. I return to A.. and R..’s house. When I get there, the home assist lady is there with R..  She asks me how it went. I wave my hand and can’t speak. I feel like a child; I’m holding back tears. I go upstairs and R.. follows me. We have a really long discussion. I’m not sure why this is happening. There is a lesson in this; I’m just not sure what it is. I’m not even sure it’s my lesson to learn. What I do know is that I’ve wasted yet another day because of this man and I don’t intend to waste anymore. Now I consult with my powers on this situation.

I massage A..’s legs and feet. I am supposed to work on M.. as well and again on R.. and Pete. I also need to show Pete’s son some stretches. It feels great to be working.

It’s 4:22pm and I’ve got to get going to Pete’s if I’m going to get there by 4:30. The phone rings and it’s Pete inviting R.. and A..  R.. is going, but she starts vacuuming the car. I tell her we’ve got to go. By the time she’s ready, I’ve vacuumed most of the car and A.. takes over to finish because he’s not going. We pick up Pete and head out of town. We finally arrive at 5:09 and I’m a little surprised both Pete and R.. aren’t sick from my driving. I did not want to be late, island or no island time.

As we approach, a young woman starts to sing. We stop dead in our tracks. After a few moments of singing, the young woman beckons us to come in. I find out later that if she didn’t like the look of us (me), she would have turned her back on us and we would not have been admitted into the Marae.  A marae is a gathering place. Pakehas are not usually allowed because we are not family or tribal members. I am told by Wallace that this is his family’s marae and everyone is welcome. He tells me that there are three gods involved with a marae. His explanation explains a lot of what L.. had told me in an earlier discussion. Outside is under the protection of the war god. That’s where the rude carvings come in. The second god is at the door and has to do with creation in which women play a very important part, hence the singing and welcome at the door. The inside is the territory of the god of peace. Wallace explains so much and so eloquently that the time feels like a moment. At some point I am asked to speak. At another point R.. and I are fighting back tears. This incredible man has us laughing and on the edge of our seats. I do not take notes because I don’t want to seem rude in anyway. After four and a half hours we have an extensive “god history,” man history, Maori history and some personal history. During all this, Wallace’s wife brings us food, clears settings, shuffles us outside for air and back in again when it starts to get cold, but she speaks very little. When she does, she is warm and laughs easily. We find out that she delivers mail to all the little towns I’d passed through on my way to Dargaville. That means she travels the gravelly, washed out, animal strewn, narrow switchback way several times a week. God bless her.

My brain is fried. I drive back dazed. Pete seems to be okay, but R.. is very quiet. We drop Pete off. R.. tells me she is Maori and her brain is fried also. She says she feels like she just went to college. We try to recall some of the information that Wallace was able to just articulate from memory. Without getting into all of it, there are a few points I find compelling.

He told us the Maori version of creation. He also told us of a Hopi Indian who had attended one of his lectures on this subject and how the man told Wallace that the Maori version matches the Hopi version. He also stated that Maori believe they came from the Americas, not Asia. He also answered a question I’ve been wondering about since meeting A.. and R.., which is how do they combine Maori belief and being Mormon. Apparently, Mormonism actually fits Maori belief with a few name changes, so conversion was pretty smooth. He told us one story about an Anglican minister he knows who told him this story. This is an abbreviated version.

When he first arrived in the area, he heard about a Maori medicine man. He went to this “witch doctor” to confront him, only to find that he was not at home. He was told he was at the house of a very sick man, so he went over there. When he arrived there, he saw a man who “didn’t look very sick to me,” said the minister. He was told that the person he was looking for was outside by the river. Sure enough, when he went out back, there was the medicine man standing in the water. As he approached, he saw that the fellow was beating the water with a stick. The minister enquired as to what he was doing and the medicine man replied that he was counting the final heartbeats of the dying man inside. The minister told him that he didn’t feel the man was all that sick as the medicine man whacked the water a few more times, then stopped. Suddenly, there was a wail from inside the house; the man had died. So began a life long relationship of friendship between the Maori medicine man and the minister.

If you have a chance, look up the year 1057. See if there were any astronomical occurrences at any time that year like the sun shining for three or four days without night. I know I’m going to look it up.

Wallace tells me that I may consider this my marae as well. He says that I can come here anytime I choose and that I can be buried here for free if I want when my time comes. I am deeply and most sincerely honored by this.

When we get home, we try to tell A.. all about it. He smiles indulgently at us, but his mind is elsewhere. While we’re talking, he sets up scrabble. He creams both of us.

I have weird dreams. Gee…what a surprise. During breakfast the phone rings. I know before R.. answers who it is. She hands me the phone. It’s Paul telling me he has something else he has to work on and he’ll call me next week. As he speaks to me, I feel a calm come over me and I repeatedly answer him that I understand. The fact is, I do understand. A man I don’t know spent over four hours of his time with me because he felt that it would be a right and good thing. He has lectured all over the world, but because we asked to see him and we really wanted to know, he obliged. Paul will be working in a place an hour away because he can’t get enough work here. R.. told me yesterday that he had been hard to work with. I was simply a step for him to feel better and more important. This is the difference between the talk and the walk; between having something to prove and having something to give. I had called it right last night. After breakfast, I loaded my things into the car. I had packed last night knowing that he would back down.

Wallace had spoken about the last battles before the signing of the treaty. One of the pa (fort) sites was right up the road. It also happened to be St. Michael’s church and R..’s family’s cemetery. I had offered to take R.. there last night and I convince A.. that he should come with us. We all go in my car. R.. removes weeds and tidies up her family’s plot, while A.. and I go look around. Inside the little church there is a vivid description of the battle. The Maori actually beat the British twice out of the last three battles. After blood has been shed, the Maori warriors always leave a pa site. The last battle happened elsewhere. The Maori were defeated because they didn’t think the British would fight on Sunday, their Holy Day, so they were caught sleeping and unprepared.

I didn’t find out what the reasoning was for building a church on this battlefield. Several soldiers from that battle are buried here though. The church is simple and pretty. I bring them home and tell them I’m leaving, but will be back for Waitangi Days. I ask Ruby to tell Paul, should he call, that I sincerely thank him very much and that I have now received what he could offer me. It is very hard to leave.

First I take a little detour north to a winery that was recommended by my friends from Warkworth. Then I head south.

The first stop of any consequence is Kawakawa. This is a cute little town with a few nice shops. It also bills itself as having “World Famous Toilets.” And indeed, they are! I am not sure how it all came about, but an artist built the building which houses the toilets. The whole place is a giant mosaic, and yes, I absolutely have pictures. They also have a train that runs right through town, but nothing beats those toilets.

I’m still in Northland until I get south of Auckland. Getting into Auckland isn’t the problem. It’s Friday and getting out the other side is slow going. My goal is Hamilton heading toward the west coast.

I stop at                                                  .     The name seemed familiar as I try to read the guide information before entering an area. As it turns out, the Queen  of                 lives just down the road, so I make a quick detour. The place is gated and closed, but the gate was enough. Bright red and decoratively carved, there are actually three or four gates. I didn’t expect an audience with her, so I leave happily with my picture of the gate.

Hamilton is still inland and quite lovely. As I drive along Ulster Street which is lined with motels, one suddenly attracts me. He has only his more expensive rooms left. I turn to leave, but he calls a place for me and then, another. He offers me the better room for the price of the cheaper room. I’m tired. This place has a swimming pool and the internet (which I haven’t had in weeks) and the room is fabulous. It’s a deal for two nights.

The bigger a place is, the harder it is to get around. I even have a map, but I can’t get oriented. Then it hits me. In every town I go to, I am always on the main street and orient from there. Granted most of the towns of been to here, there is only one main street, but it should work the same. And so it does.

My first stop in the morning is the market at Tamahere. It is only on the third Saturday of the month and today is it! I learn this from my hosts. You don’t find this in the guide books. These local venues are so much more fun to me than the tourist ones. This market is the best I’ve been to by far. It is quite large and abuts the cemetery so much that a few vendor tables are almost on top of a few of the headstones. The prices are very reasonable and I buy a few items. One woman was selling plants in framed containers you hang the wall. I told her I wouldn’t be able to get one back into the States so she told and showed me how to make one. It’s like living art. Vendors asked where I came from and if I was enjoying my stay in NZ. Everyone I spoke with wished me good luck and safe passage.

My next stop is Cambridge. I could definitely live here. It actually reminds me of Saratoga. Not that it looks like it, but it has class. I stop at the bookstore hoping for a copy of Te Rongoa. Everyone has seen it, we just can’t find it.

I continue on to another lovely little town called Matamata (short a’s). I had a harder time finding this town and/or Hobbiton than anywhere else I’ve been so far. This is near where the filming of The Lord of the Rings Trilogy took place. I am taking so many notes that my guide asks me if I’m a reporter. In truth, I think I’m so used to taking notes now that I don’t even think about it.  I also need to report back to my son and a few of my clients who share the interest in this incredible story. I am not going to go into any of the details. What I will say is that if it were not for my son’s encouragement to go, I would have skipped the $50 admission. I won’t say it was worth it, but it was a great a great tour all the same.

I return to the city to walk through Hamilton Gardens. I had no idea how extensive this place is. They have a greenhouse where they can hold functions such as a wedding. I enter a different large building that has a wall about 10 x 16 feet comprised of a multitude of sections of varying sizes all carved by different people and fit together like a jig saw puzzle.

The actual gardens are broken up into sections; rose, gardenia, Victorian, etc. A wedding and several parties and picnics are going on all around me. This place is just hopping with activity. The rose garden is my favorite and I think I’m going to frame some of the close up photos I’ve taken here.

The children at the motel I’m staying at have abandoned the swimming pool for the trampoline. I use this time to have a swim, and then take a long walk to the main street after a hot shower. I’ll be on my way to New Plymouth in the morning.

It’s all business this morning. I need to go to the bank, pick up clothing detergent and head south. Returning to my car after the bank, I notice the river walk sign. At first I’m thinking, “Okay, cement along the river, you can skip this.” But I was drawn to it and curious. This river walk is exceptional. This is a wood and bricked way with multiple entrances/exits along the Waikato River. Both sides are lined with trees and flowers in their natural state with the river flowing gently below the bank. What I can’t explain to you is the sound of the wind that blows intermittently, the cicadas, the birdsong, branches rubbing up against each other and leaves greeting the day. It’s warm and sunny and wonderful. And this walkway goes on for kilometers. You can walk it with or without your pet, bike it, run it or just sit and enjoy it.

As I leave Hamilton, I hear yet another public service message, so I’ve decided to tell you about them. First, they are everywhere, both as road signs and on the radio. Some are straight forward: “Don’t let your children get sunburned!” “Tired? Take a break” “Speeding is against the Law”. Others are far more cleaver: “Alcohol + Speed  Dead Ahead.” One poster shows an alien space ship and reads “This is not an unmarked police car. Everything else could be. “One radio commercial starts with “This is the sound of yourself shaving when you’re tired” and you hear the person yelp as he cuts himself. It gives a few examples like that, then gives the sound of you driving when you’re tired, which is, of course, the sound of a car crashing.  There are also fire index displays that show the risk of fire on any given day. And God help you if you start a fire and it gets out of control. You pay heavily, especially if they have given a warning on the radio or TV. The last kind of sign is quaint. My favorite, which I’ve only seen in the Northland, is the exiting sign. While the entrance reads, such and such town “welcomes you,” these exit signs read such and such town “Farewells you.”

There are two definite stops I intend to make. One is to the Kiwi House and the other is the Waitomo Caves. The Kiwi House in Otorohanga is a $15 admission. This is so worth it if you love plants and birds. There are three breeds of Kiwi, all heading for extinction. The introduction of not one, but four species of rat (one by Maori, three by Europeans), possums (a total of six were introduced originally), stoats and weasels have decimated these wingless icons. If allowed, they can live around 25 years. After a brief display, I enter the “nightwalk;” a darkened hall where I watch a Kiwi feeding on insects without knowing I’m there. This is a fascinating creature, about the size of a large chicken with its stout, fleshy legs, dangly feathers and long narrow beak, approximately 4-5 inches long. And of course, no wings whatsoever. The smaller species is more the size of a small rabbit without forepaws.

I’m looking at tuataras, skinks, geckos and wetas and thinking about when I was pushing my way through the tall grasses at Te Paki. I think it’s a good thing I came here after. As I enter a gazebo I look down and there is a Pukeko. This is a bird my friend in Auckland pointed out to me at Western Springs Park. It is primarily blue with a red crown and beak. It is not the least intimidated by me, and actually comes to me when I put my pack down to remove my camera. I think it is attracted to the blue in my daypack. It is so comfortable, that I begin to pet it and it doesn’t mind at all. We sit there for a minute, but the sound of voices startles it and it moves away into the foliage.

I move on into an indoor aviary. It is here I am able to come within four inches of a tuatara to take a picture; it was completely non aggressive. This is an ancient lizard. According to my information, it is the sole remaining species of a kind of reptile that evolved about 220 million years ago. It looks like a tiny dragon or something a film maker would want to use in a horror film that eats people.

Waitomo Caves has a $35 price tag. There are other caves operating in NZ, but this one is considered the best. The attraction here is not so much the cave as it is the glow worms in the cave. I must be in a bad mood. Before we enter the caves the guide nicely tells us not to touch the walls of the cave and talk as little as possible, especially when we get into the boats because it irritates the worms and they dim their lights sensing danger. We have not been in this 30,000,000 year old natural wonder for five minutes when the guide has to nicely tell a man to refrain from leaning against the wall with his hand, arm and back. As we walk along, we get dripped on a lot. I like this. I feel it’s the caves way of letting us touch it without destroying it by leaning against the walls. I watch as others quickly whisk the droplets away; then reach for a feel of a stalagmite. When a stalagmite (from the floor) and a stalactite (from the ceiling) meet, it is called a column. The newest column is approximately two hundred years old. It barely meets in the middle. There are columns four and five feet in diameter. We walk carefully along walkways slowly descending. The guide says this cave flooded a few years ago and shows us the water line. It is above our heads. They closed for three weeks while they flushed all the mud out. We reach the boats. We need two boats for the size of the group; I’m in the second group. The guide repeats the request to keep silent. They slip from view. Two young women start laughing. Someone tries to silence them. Good luck! They continue on and off until the boat returns. I’ve moved away from the crowd because I want to strangle the girls. We get into the boat. As we move away from the dim lighting into total darkness my mood lifts. There in the total darkness, all you see above you is a cascade of blue lights. It reminds me of the cemetery I saw at night. There are far more “lights” here. It doesn’t last long enough even though the guide stops to let our eyes adjust. Somehow the brain just can’t quite absorb what it is viewing. When we are all out of the boat, I’m last. I ask the guide if he still looks at the caves and glow worms with wonder or if it is “just a job” now. He says when he was young (he is about eighteen) he and his friends went swimming there and they thought it was amazing, but now he sees it so often, this is his job. He pauses. Every so often he regains that wonderment, he adds.

I see a sign for Waingaruru Falls. I turn right. The road forks without a sign and both forks are dirt. I turn around and retrace. Before I turn back onto Highway 3, a police car comes flying past with lights and siren. I drive a distance before spotting the police car at the scene of an accident. A car is in a ditch so deep that only the boot (trunk) is sticking out. As I pass I wonder under what circumstances this happened and what might have been if I hadn’t turned down toward the falls.

I pass through a tunnel cut through solid rock. If I didn’t have someone behind me, I’d be playing with my camera again. I finally get back to the coast. This means I need a beach to charge my personal battery and deplete my camera’s.

Awahiri Beach more than meets the need. This is a true BLACK sand beach. It is so black, that some of it shimmers blue/black against itself. There are lots of shells and round stones. They are perfect. As if this isn’t enough, as I look up from the sand, I see the most perfectly shaped mountain I’ve ever seen. Mount Taranaki. This is another must do on my list while in this area. I see tire tracks as well. Someone definitely had a good time here. I’ve been to black sand beaches in Hawaii but never saw anything like this.

My destination is now Te Paki. I might not have gone except my hostess at Puketiti Lodge suggested it. The closest I can describe, is a wadi. There is a continuous stream of water down to the ocean. During high tide and extremely wet weather, it can get quite active. The fun part is that you can usually drive through it down to the ocean. I know that some people would say, “Great, it’s a rental!”  I chose no to do this. If I got stuck, it could be a disaster because in order to make it, you have to drive extremely fast through it and other vehicles are doing the same. Not that it isn’t wide enough for two, but they come whipping through and there are blind curves. So much for my extreme sport prowess!

I stray from the stream bed up onto the dunes when I see people trekking up the side of a dune with sleds. Another feature of this area is dune riding. People rent a sled and come on a bus, stopping at a huge sand dune. They then tramp up the side in the heat, turn around and slide down. You can control your speed fairly well. People from age five or six to well into their seventies were attempting it. I watch for awhile, and then move on staying high this time.

I know that if I stay dune or stream bed, I’ll be fine. But that would be too easy. I spot a grassy hillock all by itself in the distance. A little ahead is what looks like some kind of structure. The latter turns out to be a wind swept area of dense sand forming giant sculptures. Some have the look of rusted iron, are fairly sturdy and have all kinds of shapes, while others will crumble to your touch. These appear as giant honey combs. The grassy hill close by is covered by an enviable carpet of grass that is quite deceptive. It’s anywhere from 4-15” deep and forms a tangled web. I crawl up holding on to tufts to assist my assent. Two trees at the top greet me and share the view. This would have made a great lookout area for the beach below. My few times rock climbing come in very handy. I don’t retrace my steps because, of course, that would be the safe intelligent thing to do.

As I pick through my new route, which is neither dune nor stream bed. Sand is disappearing and more brush appears. Tall grasses are getting taller, but I am attracted by the foliage and flowers and not paying attention. Like a fly to the spider’s web, I realize that if I go in any direction, I’m going to have to go through grasses and brush. If I retrace, which I’m not even sure I can do, I’ll be close to an hour more.

To keep this painful saga short, I trek from small dune to small dune through as much short grass as I can find. I finally run out, but I can hear the Tasman Sea. I plunge into grasses that are well over my head. Then my feet feel the squish of mud. Now they are wet. I pursue. Water is up to my ankles, but I keep my flipflops on not knowing what I’m stepping on. At one point I turn to see where I’ve been. The two trees at the top of the grassy hill look like two people standing up there waving at me. I think of A.. and R.. The water reaches my knees and the grass makes the air stagnant. I begin wondering what might live in here. I take to parting the grass as best I can and falling forward with one foot raised high in the lead. I almost belly flop a few times and I’m constantly losing my sandals. The grass is sharp and I’m getting tiny paper cuts over my body. I take to using one of my meditation chants to start a rhythm and get my mind off what’s happening. One step at a time; one step at a time. I hear the ocean. Almost better, I hear traffic. I finally emerge down by the beach, but still at the stream. The stream water feels great on my feet and ankles. My legs and arms sting and in places, I am bleeding a little. I don’t care. Now on the beach, not only do I know the cure, I have some with me. I strip down to my bathing suit. Hello, Tasman Sea! While drying off, I roll tea tree I have collected from about a half hour ago between my fingers to activate the juice. With the application of the tea tree on my wounds, I feel great. The redness is less and the stinging is gone.

Only two cars are here when I arrive. They have since left and I’ve been alone on this heavenly expanse for nearly an hour. I have run out of water (it figures I’m on a beach with a stream nearby) and I head back. This is the top of Ninety Mile Beach, which is actually about fifty miles long and is actually used as a roadway. You can not begin the drive here though. There is an entry point further down and that is my next destination.

After driving for awhile, I fear I may have missed the turn onto the beach. Finally I see the turn off. The trees along this stretch are different. I drive right onto the beach. This is too much. For some reason this is one of the things I really wanted to do here in NZ ever since I read of its existence. The sun is out, my car and I are on the beach, I’m slathered in sunscreen and life is good. The spirituality of Cape Reinga is replaced by the fun of just being here. This could only be made better by the presence of four other people I know who would enjoy it just as much.

Several vehicles pass by as I’m getting out of the water. I think” What the heck, no time like the present.” I hop back into my little car and start to follow. You can not imagine the thrill of absolute open beach, wider than a super highway at 110km/hr! All you hear is the ocean; the ride is smooth and dust free. I just want to drink this in for awhile.

I have been on the beach for about three hours now. The tide has receded so far, I am actually driving toward the water. I drive in circles a few times just because I can.

If you get hungry on a beach like this and you like shell fish, you are in luck. There are different kinds, but a lot of locals dig for Tuatua. They are like a little oyster and quite good raw, by the way.

Now for the sunset. What a show! I take fourteen shots figuring I’ll eliminate later. As I’m standing in the water for one of the pictures, I notice movement. Looking down there is a very large (I’m saying at least three feet across, no fish story) manta. That shot was a quick one.

Time to head out to a new location. I have no idea where I’m going to go, it’s getting dark, it’s after nine and it dawns on me that once it’s totally dark, I’m  not going to no how to get off the beach. I speak with some locals who assure me I can head south and find one of two exits. There are no signs but I spot what looks like a possible exit. I head in and hit soft sand. I become unsure and try to swing back quickly only to get stuck. This could be bad.

Within two minutes a car comes along and I wave. I’m not even sure they can see me, it’s that dark. The car stops having passed through the soft area. Out of the car comes a man; a very very very big man! He has full Moko (tattooing) on his face and I know he can squash me like bug. Behind him emerges a woman, dark and heavy with an abundance of hair. I tell them what’s happened and ask for help. He turns and speaks Maori and out from the car pop about four or five children of varying ages. It takes them less than a minute to push my car out and I drive onto the asphalt.  I park, run back and thank them personally for their assistance. They looked a little shocked and said something I couldn’t hear, and then we both went our ways.

Kaitaia (Ki  ti “long i’s”  a “uh”) is a rather cute town which, like many towns in NZ, rolls up its sidewalks early. This is the first stop I make after getting off the beach because I have only eaten two Tuatuas since breakfast. The only restaurant, forget markets, open is a Chinese restaurant. He tells me he is closing and immediately lowers the price by a dollar. Okay, I’m good with that. I get it to go and grab chopsticks which I’ve used regularly for years. This works out great as I’m driving along without anywhere to go; at least I’m not hungry. I could stay at a backpackers’ in Kaitaia, but the thought is not a good one so I move on.

At some point as I’m driving I see dozens of blue lights. As I am passing I can see that this is a cemetery and the lights give me the creeps. I see at least two dozen possum/weasel/stoats on the road, both dead and alive. I startle a rabbit that won’t get off the road in its panic and I end up following it for nearly half a kilometer.

As I pass through each little town I realize my bed is my car tonight. I stop in the Waipoua Forest within meters of Tane Mahuta. I feel safe here. When I open my eyes again, it’s still dark, but I feel better.

In order not to have to wait for the ferry, I take an alternate route. This road is dirt. It is everything bad I’ve traveled to date, only ten times worse. If the authorities here want to control the possum/weasel/stoat population in this country, all they have to do is show up on this road at night. I swear they all gather here along the entire length of the road without let up. And they are not inclined to move. I’ve seen flocks of sheep move faster out of the way.

I watch dawn over a fog strewn meadow. I continue to Kai Iwi (long “i” ee wee) Lakes. They are lovely, but are more for campers and picnickers, so again I move along. The only place I am interested in seeing in this area is Dargaville. It is named for the man who bought the land and started the town. Nothing is open yet, so I pull into a parking lot and catch a little more sleep. When I awaken, the town is in yawning mode with breakfast shops open, but little else. I have my first cup of real, non-instant decaffeinated coffee. This, and the eggs over easy with thick slabs of bacon, tomato slices and toast are nirvana.

I wash up in the immaculate public toilet and I’m ready for the day.

I take some time strolling along the town’s river walk that ends at a small park with a gazebo. I browse the main street and find a book shop opening. We search for nearly a half hour for Te Rongoa without luck. I also stop to buy Kumara for A.. because I know how much he likes it and Dargaville is NZ’s kumara capital. I head for the Dargaville Museum next which is my main reason for coming. Before I even enter, I like this place. There are giant murals on the outside walls. One depicts young men working a field. Two real bicycles are parked in front of it and at first glance I can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. The museum itself is a vast collection of everything Dargaville from kitchen utensils to team photos to social clubs and apothecaries. There is a room dedicated to one man and his music. The room is filled with accordions. There are some Maori artifacts but better still, several entire Maori canoes dating back to the 16 and 1700’s.

They also have a page by page report on the investigation of the Rainbow Warrior. This is the Greenpeace ship that was sabotaged and sunk July 10, 1985. “Death of the Rainbow Warrior” by Michael King recounts the incident. Without major detail, this was a ship that had come to protest nuclear testing being carried out by the French government. Two bombs went off on Rainbow Warrior. The second blast killed the photographer on board who had gone to retrieve his equipment. They caught most if not all the people who were involved; all of whom are French with ties to the French Secret Service. France promised justice would be served but demanded extradition of these people and placed a great deal of politico/economic pressure on New Zealand. NZ folded and the agents were returned to France. At least one was hailed as a hero upon his return. Little or no jail time was served and New Zealand citizens are still outraged that this was allowed to happen.

I take a different route back to Kaikohe. A.. and R.. are really happy to see me and R.. says that her life has changed since she met me. The thing is, my life has changed since I met her too, but I don’t think she believes me when I say this.

Since I have no specific plans, R.. and I decide that I should work on her. Her daughter ordered a chair for chair massage and Pete put it together while I was gone. I tell R.. that chair is not my forte, but A.. sold  R..’s table, so this is what we’re using. I explain to R.. different aspects and adjustments she can make to her chair, then we start. I have to keep asking her if I’m going too deep. I work medium to deep. She can’t stop talking about the difference it makes. I know she isn’t just being kind when A.. walks in and she tells him to have me work on him. I work a little deeper on A.. because he is a heavy fellow. He is so pleased that he calls Pete to tell him about me because Pete has been having back trouble lately. I am really excited. R.. is supposed to work on me, too, but A.. starts supper and then it’s time for two games of Scrabble and bed.   

It’s yet another overcast day that spits rain at us in intervals. After breakfast, we get ready and R.. opens the gate so I can drive my car out onto the street. Something is very wrong with my car! I get out and do a 360 around it. My left front tire is so flat I am riding on the wheel. Fortunately I have a spare tire. This will be my first experience changing a tire by myself. R.. goes to find A.. When I pull off the tire, it doesn’t even get round again. I remembered having looked at the tires in Paihia for a leak. Nothing! Upon examination, there is a 3 inch opening in the tire. Nails can not do this. In fact, I don’t know if anything can do that! The gash on the tire was against the pavement, so no one could have sliced the tire. I look closer. There are a series of holes along the contact surface. Defective?

A.. comes and helps by placing a second jack. After the change, R.. and I head straight for the mechanic. He is very nice about it and calls the rental car place. He shakes his head as he looks at the tire and talks to them. When he gets off, he tells me to go over to the Firestone dealer and that I won’t be responsible for paying for anything. Everyone is nice to me there, too. They can’t believe the look of the tire. Then, the manager finds that my right rear tire is also defective and could have blown at any time. I keep thinking about all the driving I’d done and was about to do and how the tire went belly up while I was safe and asleep. I could have died at any point, but I didn’t. There are no coincidences. Two tire changes later, we stop back home for lunch. I’m not hungry, but I eat. We finally leave for Kerikeri.

We pass by a winery on the way in. I would love to be trying some of these places, but it never seems to work out. R..’s daughter lives just shy of downtown. I leave R.. and H.. to catch up on their own for awhile, then we’ll talk later. Downtown is much more built up than any of the other towns I’ve been in.  I do some window shopping. There are a number of interesting galleries and arts and crafts centers. Historically, there are a few sites, but I head to one in particular; the stone store. The guide books say it was built in 1835 to be used as a storehouse, but over time, became a general store. A.. said that they built the place out of stone so the Maori wouldn’t come and kill them all. Then he laughed.

I do a little window shopping, then take off back to H..’s house. They aren’t there but H..’s husband is. We get into a serious discussion about the NZ economy and how important the land is. We discuss both plants and animals that have been introduced into NZ that are decimating those populations such as gorse (unsure of spelling) and the possum. When R.. and her daughter H.. return, H.. talks to me at length about my intentions. I realize she is watching out for her mum, and we get on well after that.

R.. hasn’t brought her suit with her so we head home. Several relations of A..’s show up and I leave without R.. to Ngawha for a bath and to see if Paul is back yet. He won’t be back till Saturday or Sunday. I go for a bath feeling down and discouraged. Don’t get in your own way. Okay universe, take over!

I decide to head out of town for the weekend. When I go back to R..’s house, I tell R.. I’m leaving in the morning and ask if I can stay with them again when I return. She says I ought to know already. We hug. With A..’s relations gone, I sit down to a late supper R.. and A.. held for me. On to scrabble where R.. is a little quiet because I’m leaving. R.. makes a 65 point score right after a 40 point score and A.. looks over at me and says, ”She’s gone mad.”  We all burst out laughing at the way he says it and things lighten up after that.

As I start for Mangonui, I think about something L.. has told me about a group of Maori they call Tuhoe (Too hoy); the “people of the mist.” They still live in the mountains and hold only to their Maori beliefs. I’m wondering if they dislike pakeha (whites), avoid or just ignore them. I’m also thinking about the racial dynamics of NZ. Since first arriving in NZ, one of the major observations I’ve made is how genetically mixed the population is. Couples are so commonly of mixed decent you would suppose this is an ideal society. You would suppose wrong. There are Maori, Maori/white, Asian, Asian /white, Maori Asian, Maori/white/Asian, first and second generation mixes; the list goes on. But somehow this blending still isn’t enough to get everyone working together. There are glass ceilings as well as glass and mirrored walls that prevent others from basking in the rich Maori culture by Maori themselves. There are also many ways in which the Pakehas prevent Maori, pure or mixed, from advancing within the economic and political pathways set up in NZ. The more I travel through the Northland, and I concede it may be different in other parts, the more I see that the towns that are flourishing have shops and restaurants that are at least run predominantly by Pakehas.

I contemplate this as I meander my way up through Matauri Bay, Tauranga Bay and Whangaroa.  I stop here. It has a lovely dock area and a road leading up to “the summit of St. Paul.” I found the trekking path, but didn’t want to spend the afternoon trying to get to the top for a view. The energy just wasn’t there and I wanted to get to Mangonui.

Mangonui is a deceiving place. When I told my friends in Kaikohe I was coming here, they were very encouraging and felt I could probably either find someone who does Mirimiri, or at least advance myself in Maori culture. As I usually do when I arrive somewhere new, I stop the car, get out and walk the main street. I’ll meander in and out of shops that catch my attention to get a sense of the place; to know whether things are expensive or reasonable or whether people are friendly or reserved.

Everyone here is Pakeha. I do see some boys jumping off the pier who are having a totally wonderful time and appear to be at least part Maori. They wave and show off a little for my camera, and I thoroughly enjoy it. My thoughts finally wander away from racial issues and I realize once again I need to find a place to spend the night. Two strikes, but the second place calls over to a lodge on the way out of the town and sends me there.

The Puketiti Lodge (puke, pronounced poo kah, means hill) is set up on a hillside over looking the main harbor. It is less than a year old, spotlessly clean, beautifully appointed and can accommodate me for one night. This place is the bargain of NZ. I can use the internet, have a light breakfast in the morning, the shower is delicious and I have the backpacker room all to myself. My two hostesses are absolutely lovely. The owner especially, is full of information about Cape Reinga having just gotten back herself from holiday there.  She also gives me maps and brochures to help me in my travels and recommends an art show and open market taking place on Saturday.

Today is Friday. We watch the TV as the news broadcasts the death of Sir Edmond Hillary, the first man to reach the top of Mount Everest. People absolutely adore him here; and for good reason. He is a bee keeper, a humanitarian and humble. He has told his family that he does not want any memorials or statues. He has contributed to schools and hospitals without wanting any recognition as to his efforts. Too bad countries aren’t run by men such as this.

The sun has been trying to come out but it has been overcast for days. My hostess calls these “skin friendly days.”  I like that description but I have to admit, I’m ready to slather sunscreen just to see the sun again. I will have to be careful, however. Apparently, there is a large “hole” in the ozone layer just over NZ. I am now driving on the correct side of the road without thinking about it. I still turn on the windshield wipers occasionally when I’m ready to make a turn. Oh well….

Post a run, shower and breakfast, I’m on my way to check out the Mangonui market. It’s held in the town hall and consists of used clothing, some local arts and crafts, one table of higher end local jewelry, a honey vendor named Melanie and a massage therapist. I introduce myself to the massage therapist who tells me she does light relaxation massage without certification. I buy some Pohutakawa honey and leave.

Coopers Beach, Cable Bay and Taipa all have markets that are pretty much the same; more like a community yard sale with the exception of Taipa which is also having an art sale. Some of the work, done by local artists is quite good, but very expensive, so I continue on my way.

I’m going to digress to toilets. Every town has at least one public toilet. So far, all of these are immaculate and well stocked. In addition, the toilets themselves are designed for small and large flushing to conserve water. Private toilets are also designed this way and are separate from the shower facilities. It just seems like such a great idea.

I make one more stop at the Henderson Bay and Rarawa Beach just for the view before finally making a straight shot to Waitiki Landing. This is the first place that looks a little questionable, but it is also the last food, gas, phone, water and lodging. I try to call my daughter; no luck. A cabin is $55 and the “backpacker” is $20. I get a backpacker all to myself again. Without even seeing the room I take off for Cape Reinga.

Roughly 500 yards from this small group of buildings, the road is now dirt with loose gravel. It also diverges with Spirit Bay to the northeast and Cape Reinga to the northwest. I’ll probably want to spend more time at Cape Reinga, so I head to Spirit Bay. This, too, diverges sending me voluntarily to Te Hapua. This is a small grouping of houses and horses, unfenced grazing along the roadside not the least intimidated by cars. There is a small beach, but as I traverse it, I find my first encounter with “beach dump.” Broken glass, pieces of old sails, rusty containers, all litter this lovely little area. I still mange to get some amazing photos. Even here, there is a clean, well maintained, though old, public toilet.

Spirit Bay is a very very long sandy stretch with shallows that may go out nearly a quarter of a mile. How do you photograph such a huge length? I take off on foot to the left for a shot. Little dried plant balls spin over the surface of the sand like tumbleweed and make for several artistic shots. After walking for nearly an hour, even though I’m still not at one end of the beach, I decide to “drop anchor.” The beach is nearly deserted, and I take my shots. I settle in for the next few hours dividing my time between playing in the water and napping on this nearly deserted heaven.

I awaken with a start. The sun is still high in the sky since it won’t set until around 9 pm. Cape Reinga is the perfect place to watch the sunset. Cape Reinga is almost the northern most spot on the island. Technically North Cape is, but it is not accessible by car. Reinga means “underworld.” This is where Maori believe their dead depart back to Haiwaiki, the place Kupe first came from. It has an Atlantean ring to it, I think. It is also the place where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific. When I arrive, I understand why this would be a gateway to Heaven. For sheer beauty, this is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in all my travels. And I have traveled rather extensively.

I wander from bluff to bluff, originally intending to stay on one particular bluff which extended quite far out and had all to myself. However, the trek required a 30 minute walk along a pathway that was hard enough to spot in daylight, never mind dusk. The drive back to Waitiki in the dark would have to be adventure enough with loose gravel, switchbacks, no shoulders, no lights, washouts and hairpin turns. So I watch from the top of a hill not far from the parking area and though it was perhaps, not the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever seen, it was certainly one of the most spiritually moving in this sacred place.

When I get back to Waitkti, I am completely exhausted. The kitchen is closed, but the lady there still makes me a sandwich for which I am most grateful, having not eaten most of the day. Now I get to see my room. It certainly makes me appreciate even more, the luxuriant accommodation at Puketiti Lodge. There are three beds, a dresser and curtains that almost reach across. There is a sheet, as in one sheet, on each bed but they are really set up for sleeping bags. Oh, and a four by five inch mirror. The sheets have stains. I find the cleanest one, and get ready for bed which only requires putting on a different shirt, and closing the curtains as much as they can. I drop off almost immediately.

I am awake. I am freezing. I put on my one long sleeved shirt over my other shirt, my rain Amarak, and socks. My jacket is so big, I curl into a fetal position inside it to stay warm. I’m not totally sure this is better than my car for the money.

Daylight. I have actually gotten some sleep. Now I get to experience the bathroom. This is disgusting. Now I know that at some point, I have lauded the public toilets here. Waitiki Landing is like no other place in NZ so far. Showers are $1 per five minutes. I’m going to the beach.

After a breakfast which has almost made up for the toilet, I find I was in the men’s toilet earlier. Now the ladies’ toilet is a 100% improvement, though still disgusting. I do get to wash up with my soap, their water and no towel. I’m out of here.

There are two things I’ve now learned about myself. I never knew I had a true fondness to participate in extreme sports and I was born to drive in New Zealand which surely qualifies.
 

I decided I would spend some time at the beach; Ocean Beach, specifically. It is part of the Whangarei Heads. After getting lost in Whangarei (pronounced Fangaray), I stopped by a fruit stand for food and directions. The directions were perfect along with fresh strawberries. The lady at the stand said it would be worth it and it definitely was. Off to the side of the beach was a hill with a path. This is always too tempting. I spent the rest of the day on my own private beach. 

Almost sunset, and the urge to head north is overwhelming. I met a volunteer life guard, originally from California about 38 years ago. We talked mostly about how great this place is. I received an offer to sleep at the professional life guard station, but I know I need to head north.

I quick stopped at Whangarei Falls. I have to admit, I’ve never seen an ugly water fall. This hasn’t changed my mind.

It’s late and I don’t have a good feeling about finding a place for the night. I did just stop for groceries. I think I should have left the beach earlier. Oh well….

Did I suggest that driving in New Zealand during daylight was an extreme sport? What was I thinking!? Driving in the dark on the opposite side of the road with no street lights, continuous switchbacks, one lane bridges, no shoulders, drops of several hundred feet beside you at 100Km/h in New Zealand is much more exciting!

There is a longer road to Russell or a shorter route into Paihia. I decide to go to Paihia for no good reason. In the dark, I’m not impressed. It seems more like a run down college town. There are a bunch of noisy bars all on the same street. Everywhere I look for a room; it’s full for the night. I don’t like the energy here. I’m also extremely tired. I keep waking up around 6am, but also going to bed around 1:30am. I decide to drive to the ferry crossing town, Opua. Again, there is no room at the inn. I find a parking lot near a marina not far from the ferry. I know there is at least one lesson to learn here, besides reserving ahead, but right now, I don’t care what it is.

I now know I can sleep in my car. The back seat is the most comfortable, but it does get quite cool here at night. By the morning, I know exactly what I need to wear to stay warm. This isn’t going to be half bad the next time.

On to the ferry I go, I feel disgusting, but for some reason, I’m quite content. Maybe I should have taken the road to Russell last night, but I didn’t.

Now this is a lovely town. It was actually called Kororareka originally and nicknamed “hell hole of the Pacific.” Guess things have changed a bit. After wandering down the main street and gassing up, I start driving without any purpose. I stop at the top of a huge hill with a parking lot and an interesting path. The cicadas are so loud it’s almost unnerving, but you can’t see them. And I mean I tried! At the top of this path is the flagstaff of the British. The original one was chopped down by the Maori. Actually, about the first 5 or 6 were. When the Maori finally made peace with the British, it was chopped one more time by a few Maori rebels and not replaced. Several years later, some of the Maori involved with the final act of rebellion replaced it themselves.

There was a path leading off to the side. Here we go again. It leads down to the road, but not near my car. But there is another path. Onward. It leads to a small lovely cove. I’m really not sure what to do at this point. I think I’m still so tired, I just start to meditate. Then it hits me; why did you sleep in your car last night? How about finding a place to stay? Up the two paths and down the third, all the while the cicadas are laughing at me.

No room. No vacancy. Uh oh. I stop at a “backpackers welcome” “vacancy” place on the map the lady at the gas station gave me. He tells me no, he doesn’t have any vacancies and no one else does because of something going on this weekend and that Opua and Paihia will probably be full as well. Thank you. Just what I wanted to hear. I don’t believe him. I’m supposed to be in Russell: I just know it.

I start driving down the street, but instead of turning back toward town I go straight. Korororeka Lodge has a vacancy sign. Maybe they are full like the other place but I’ve nothing to lose. They have one room. How long am I staying? I haven’t a clue. Some race is going on. I decide I need some recovery time. Two nights. This place has internet, showers, a washer and dryer, a refrigerator, hot water for tea in the room and a wonderful big bed. My hostess asks me if I’m on holiday. I tell her I’m looking to learn Miri Miri and Te Huanga  (Moari medicine). She tells me a relative of hers, Paul A-- does all that over in Nga Wha ( Na Fa) and she’ll give him a call.

I spent a good part of the day on Long Beach, which is quite similar to Ocean Beach in that it has a large grass covered hill off to the right secreting another much more private beach area. There are three more tiny beaches separated by enormous rock formations jutting out into the water. Enough is enough.

It had to happen. My right flip flop breaks going down the hill on the way back. The only reason this is at all a problem is because these are my only footwear besides my running shoes. Everything is casual around here so it probably isn’t a problem to go into a store barefoot. After a shower, I walk into town via ZIGZAG WAY to find one more use for duct tape.

ZIGZAG WAY is a walkway, aptly named, deemed a shortcut into town. It’s very steep, and is completely flanked by flowers, shrubs and flowering trees with a view of the main harbor. Several homes have walkways leading directly to it. Russell basically rolls up for the night around six. It’s around 7:30 and all that’s open are restaurants. After a lovely barefoot walk, I head back.

When I return, the owner and four of the guests are sitting on the deck.  My original intent is to ask for duct tape, but we get into a lively discussion over wine and the sandal repair gets put on hold. Pizza arrives shortly after. I keep offering to chip in, but whoever bought it won’t say and we all get into a conversation about alternative medicine, politics in the U.S. and New Zealand, what’s happening in Pakistan and the Tall Ships race tomorrow. This is all interwoven with each others backgrounds which include country of origin, how we got here, where we live at present, some of our old jobs and motorcycles.

My host asks me if I would like to sail tomorrow in the race. We’re to meet at 8 am, and he will take me down to the pier and get me a ride. Afterward, there will be a Hangi. A Hangi is like a huge picnic. The difference is the food preparation. A pit is dug approximately 30’x12’x8’ deep. A pyre of wood is placed above it and set on fire. It drops down into the pit. In the mean time, cabbage, potatoes, pumpkin, yam, meat, peas, chicken and stuffing are placed in tin foil as a prewrapped dinner. Multiples of these dinners are placed in large wire cages which are then stacked three or four deep on top of the coals which are now in the pit. The cages are then covered with these huge cloths, tarps and dirt from digging out the pit. They will cook for hours. This will be able to feed 1000 people. There will also be bands, dancing and alcohol; lots of alcohol. I hear it’s sort of a “last man standing” sort of affair. I am really excited about tomorrow. My flip flop is still unfixed; I could care less.

I’m going to digress in order to catch you up on some of my local education. The red flowering trees are Pohutakawa trees. The fritters I ate at Omaha Beach are pipi fritters. Pipis being a lot like cockles. They contain a lot of sand and in much older times, would actually wear down the natives’ teeth almost to the gum line. Tui is a local beer I’ve tried which is quite good. The beautiful purple flowering trees are, indeed, Jacarandas. And the little flightless bird is a Pukeko. Whangarei is pronounced “Fun gu ri” with emphasis on the first syllable, “u’s” are short the “r” is rolled and the “i” is long, The word “tenth” or “dentist” is pronounced with a long E. Kia Ora is a general greeting like “Hello,” but is not translated as “Hello.” I have two basic mantras; “Stay out of your own way” and “There are no coincidences.”

I’m startled awake. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s light outside. My alarm clock is still set to New York time and I can’t remember the time difference. It is either twenty minutes of seven or eight. I’m showered dressed and packed for the day wearing my running shoes in fifteen minutes. I wait outside on the deck for awhile, but my host doesn’t show up. I ask a woman passing by what time it is. “Seven fifteen,” she says. At least I’m not late I think. Back in my room, I clean things up, have some tea and get on the computer. About seven forty five, I hear someone pass by my window and a car drive off. I can feel panic passing through me. I run outside to the deck. After a few minutes, I circle the whole place. A fellow is sitting outside, so I ask him about our host. He hasn’t seen him. I wait until eight twenty. I leave word should he show up. I take off to the harbor via ZIGZAG WAY. There is a lot of activity. I finally ask a lady about the Tall Ships Race. I ask specifically if “it takes place here.” “Yes,” she says. After searching the dock area for close to an hour, I go back to the Lodge devastated. I’m sitting on the deck when one of the fellows I had pizza with the night before comes by. He asks me about the race and I explain that I think he went without me. He offers to take me. I decline. He leaves. I remember my mantras. He passes by again. We talk further and I find out that the race starts at a different area of town at a different harbor. My host plays an integral part in the organizing and probably forgot he was supposed to meet up with me. This fellow has known him for awhile and offers again to take me. I don’t know what I’ll do but I’m going to try again.

We get to the other harbor and my co-lodger comes with me to find our host. I feel terribly insecure and I’m quite sure it shows. We find our host; my co-lodger takes off after our “goodbyes” since he is returning home today. Our host brings me to a fellow with a graying ponytail wearing a vest, capris and chain smoking and tells him to find me someone to sail with. He asks one person who says he’s full up. I’ll call him “T”, turns to me and says that that is enough and he’ll just have to take me on himself. He tells me he came in last the previous year and asks if I’m okay with that. Quite frankly I’m elated just to be going.

His boat is two masted, it has the traditional red/brown sails, it’s deep blue, truly lovely and he lives on it. Three others are to show up. The race starts at noon. At ten till, we’re still waiting, while other boats are meandering toward the start line. After several text messages, T goes in the dingy back to the dock assuming someone will show. He returns with the third and last member of our crew; the other two having begged off.

There are two divisions; we’re in the second division that begins at 12:10. We’re off to a good start. The day remained overcast and a little cool, but was one of the most visually beautiful days I’ve spent in NZ. And THAT is saying a lot! I sat at the front for awhile bouncing up and down in the swells in 20 knot winds. The smell of the hand rolled “ciggies” was the only negative, but I’ve no complaints. We didn’t even come in last.

After the race we hooked up (literally) with two other boats and partied. We ranged from stone sober (my crew mate and me) to barely standing. Eventually, we took a dingy to shore for the Hangi. About 12 men and women with shovels dug up the food after a prayer spoken in Maori. Women standing ready at tables extracted the tin foil dinners from the cages and the lines moved steadily. Most of us sat along the hillside eating with our fingers. Soon the band began and a few people started dancing. I didn’t stay long because I have packing to do, but the day is magic. Don’t get in your way.

When I get back to the Lodge, I speak with my hostess. She calls her relative and finds out that he will be returning on Wednesday. He lives near Nga Wha (Nah Fah).  I know my next stop tomorrow is Waitangi (Why ton gee). The Treaty Grounds are there, where the chiefs of the individual Maori tribes signed for peace with the British. Across the street is Te Tii Marae, a meeting house and Maori cultural center. Maybe one of these places can point me in the right direction.

It’s time to check out. I’m paid up and no one is around anyway. I do meet the guy staying next to me who happens to carry duct tape. He’s from California; traveling here for six months. He has been here about two months already.  My sandal now repaired, I decide to take a little side trip east to Rawhiti (Rah fee tee) before heading northwest to Waitangi. More lovely bays along the way; Rawhiti is really small and then I see a new road to travel. This quickly becomes dirt. As I twist and wind along this insane stretch of road, it dawns on me that this is the road I could have traveled the night I slept in my car. I’m not sure I would have survived the drive. I‘m not fully convinced I’m going to survive it now. There are washouts and branches the size of small trees throughout most of the way and I admit I’m grateful when I hit asphalt again.  Now I am most definitely on my way to Waitangi.

I arrive at the Waitangi National Reserve to find two fire trucks and a blocked entrance with everyone standing outside the gate. Do I leave and go to the Marae across the street or stay? I decide to stick it out and about ten minutes later everything starts to clear. At the entrance, I ask about Healers. The ladies are very nice but really can’t help me. There is a Maori “show” but it doesn’t start again for about an hour so I begin to wander.

The waka, or war canoe is the first site I head for. Built in 1940 for the centenary, this 115 foot canoe carries 80 paddlers. In Maori history, this is not the longest ever made. Next is Hobson Beach, followed by the flagstaff, then on to the whare runanga. This is an incredibly elaborate meeting house which was also built for the centennial. The entire inside is comprised of woven paneled walls and complex carvings looking much like totems. The Maori did not have written language. The two places that come close are their faces with the Moko or tattoos and their carvings. Both represent lineage, whether the person is a warrior, orator, coming from the sea or other details. The building carvings actually at times express what, if translated into English, would be considered extremely rude. In Maori, however, it is the way they aggrandize themselves as a tribe or individual family and is perfectly normal for them. The carvings also give the history of the tribe they represent. The tuku tuku lattice work represents the stairway to Heaven, the genealogy and passage from life into death. But no matter where you are, you leave this island off Cape Reinga in the far north. The Moko were actually only tattooed on the higher ranking tribesmen. Women only had their chins and lips tattooed, and again, it revealed a higher ranking. This was still a patriarchal society. A chief’s son might become another chief, not a daughter or daughter’s son, unless she married a chief. Usually the oldest son would become chief, but if for some reason he was unable to do so, the position did not necessarily pass to the second son, or even the third. If a younger son happened to become an orator for the tribe, he might be considered of higher standing than an older son and others might be passed over in favor of him. Favoritism also played a part as the current chief could basically pass on the mantle to anyone he chose.

Moko, or the curvilinear tattooing on the faces of chiefs and their wives was a painful process. This was usually done with an extremely sharp bone and inks pounded into the skin. Remember that the lips of the women were done; a very sensitive area. A chief’s entire face was pretty much covered. As one of my friend’s said with a smile, “Oh, the blood flowed with that!”

It was here I asked a Maori tour guide about Miri Miri (Maori massage) and Maori medicine. He said that it wasn’t practiced any longer. He continued to state that if someone sold drugs, they certainly wouldn’t advertise. He repeated that it was no longer practiced and that if he had a name of someone he would give it to me but that it doesn’t exist so he couldn’t help me. He left promptly after that. A part of me wondered whether there was a wall of secrecy. 

After looking around at the Treaty House, I headed back toward the entrance to watch the Maori “show.” It was just about to start; I grabbed a great seat, but my heart wasn’t in it whether because of what the guide had said or my wanting to be a part of real life NZ such as the Hangi I’d enjoyed. The dancers came out in traditional dress. The women both had Moko though I don’t know if it was actually tattooed or was make-up; I suspect the latter. One or two of the young male dancers also had Moko, but it was on the chest and arm area. One had a guitar and I was instantly disappointed. They did, however, sing a couple of songs using only the instruments from nature; a large conch shell, the Patu (a large flat surfaced club used both as a weapon and a musical instrument we call a billabong) and the flax skirt being warn. They demonstrated how the warriors would pump themselves up for battle along with some of the instrumentation for battle.

After the show, I visited the shop area, so that by the time I left, two of the young male dancers were out front for pictures. I asked if they would answer two questions for me. The first was the meaning of the different carvings that all the Maori wear, and specifically his since it was quite large and different from what I’d seen so far. He explained that his, like others this size, gives his lineage; mother’s on right, his father’s on the left. Considering this is carved and each side is giving information, it is quite elaborate and very beautiful. His was made of green stone. This is not to be equated with jade which comes from China and is not considered as valuable to the Maori. In addition, green stone is becoming rarer in New Zealand and the market for it probably reflects that as well.

The second question I asked, knowing they would probably not have first hand knowledge, was about te Rongoa (Maori plant medicine). One of the boys went to get one of the other female dancers. We spoke for about fifteen minutes about my background, where I came from, what I was trying to do and what I planned to do with the information. Finally, she looked straight at me and said, “You need to see my mother-in-law.”  She told me her name and gave me directions to Kaikohe (ki ko hay). I asked if I should wait until the next day, Monday, but she said I should go now. I turned toward the parking lot, got in my rental car and took off without another thought.

Finding Kaikohe is no problem. Finding R is another matter. After four runs through Kaikohe and three gas station stops plus looking up the home address twice in the phone book, the gas station attendant phoned her and put me on. I explain that we don’t know each other and that her daughter-in-law sent me and what I was looking to do. She asks me when I’m coming. I tell her anytime she’ll allow. She asks me where I am. I say “Here.” She says “Here?” And I tell her it is my priority. She asks me if I have a place to stay. I tell her that’s my next priority. She says she’ll see me in a few minutes and gives me directions.

“I’m insane! This is insane! I’ve got to be crazy!” I keep telling myself as I pull up beside the house. A man gets out of the car in front of me. He’s collecting food for some people he knows. A small, distinguished white haired Maori lady is out front. She signals me to come inside while she rummages for spare food to give away. This is my introduction to R.. We talk for awhile about what I’m trying to do. She invites me to stay with her and her husband; then suggests we head to Ngawha (nah fa) to meet someone she knows who can teach me Miri Miri (roll the r’s). We arrive at a single story hotel of sorts. A fellow comes out to greet us and tells us that P.. is away. Now it hits me. I ask what P..’s last name is and then answer my own question as he replies the same name. This is the relation of my hostess from the Lodge. There are no coincidences. We get a tour of the place and he offers to have me stay there while waiting for P.. I thank him, but decline feeling more comfortable with R.. We’ll check back on Wednesday or Thursday. In the meantime we go to take a look at the Ngawha hot mineral baths located about 100 yards down the road.

The first one we go to is Maori owned and operated. It is a mass of wood and corrugated metal, does have changing rooms and a toilet, but no towels. You are outside for the actual baths. There are approximately 12-15 baths made of wood reaching down into the ground sectioning off the water. Some are hotter than others, ranging from about 100-108 degrees. There is no landscaping to speak of, but for $4 you can sit there all day if you want. R.. knows the two men there so we chat awhile, look around, then continue to the next place, literally only yards away. This one is owned by a civil fellow, who allows us to look around also, but there is no friendly banter; he simply disappears after his instruction to us. Baths here are $6; the place is a little better kept. I think you can stay on the premises overnight.

Back we go to my new lodging for dinner. R.. mentions how shaky the ride is. I tell her I think it needs a front end alignment, but I’m glad she notices too, because I don’t know much about cars  and think maybe it’s just me. I meet A.., R..’s husband. He is in his late 80’s, but manages huge front and backyard gardens, is still driving and maintains a sharp wit. He also does Maori cane carving that is absolutely beautiful. A.. does most of the cooking. We have a wonderful meal of sausages, cabbage, stewed plums, potatoes and bread. I am now feeling very uncomfortable because I realize they are not expecting me to contribute in any way. After dinner, I wash the dishes to the protests of  R.. She asks me if I like to play Scrabble and we spend the evening, the three of us, getting to know each other over this game.

It is now Monday. I manage a short run; maybe two miles. A lot of people are still on holiday, but R.. manages to locate a woman she knows who knows plants. She stops over and goes through about a dozen plants, their medicinal uses and how to prepare them. She suggests we go to the places she knows so she can show me the plants. I’m thrilled. We set that up for 4 o’clock. R.. and I take off downtown on their little scooters. These are somewhere between a golf cart and a riding mower. They are slimmer, quiet and have 3 or 4 speeds. Oh…and they’re a lot of fun! We go to New World, NZ’s equivalent of a major supermarket. I make sure I pick up the tab, again to the protests of R.. We stop at a computer place where R.. knows someone who might be able to help me get my pictures onto my journal, but she’s still on holiday. We stop at the hairdresser’s to set an appointment for R.., and at a health clinic to see someone else about te Rongoa, but she is also still on holiday. We head back for lunch where A.. has once again prepared a feast.

Food is stored very differently here and I am concerned that I will get sick. Eggs are not refrigerated at all. Meat that is left over is put in the cooled oven overnight. In fact, all the leftovers are stored there. They simply reheat them in the morning for breakfast. Better to be sick than to insult. We’ll see what happens.

As I sit in the backyard catching up on my journal, two friends of R..’s show up. They are on their way west to help a friend, but they are also going to the Waipoua (Why poo ah) Forest to see Tane  Mahuta (Tah nay Mah hoo tah), meaning “God of the Forest”, a 2000 year old Kauri tree. They ask me some questions as to why I’m there and invite me to come with them. I decline because of my plans with the plant lady and we agree I’ll get there if I’m supposed to. They will stop back if they are in the area before 9pm.

A..”s niece shows up in the afternoon. We go over to her workplace to try to get online. It’s a bust, but she is interested in going to look at plants with us. We head back to the house, pick up K.., the plant lady and head out of town. The shimmy in the car is getting worse, and I’m wondering how I go about getting it looked at and if I’ll have to pay for it. We drive down toward Ngawha, then over toward Kerikeri. We get samples and seeds of everything. M.. writes everything down while I take pictures. M.. decides we need to go to the bush with her brother who is quite educated in te Rongoa. We make plans for tomorrow. Back we go for dinner. When we arrive, R..’s friends are back and the kitchen is busy with dinner preparation. A.. has made some pipi chowder which he assures me is better than pipi fritters. There is so much food on the table, we don’t even realize that the pipi chowder is still in the kitchen until we are cleaning up. Most everyone I’m meeting is actually Mormon, Maori or not. We say a prayer before each meal and before retiring. I don’t have to be Mormon to appreciate the bounty laid before me. These are some of the kindest, most sharing people I’ve ever met. Whenever I try to thank A.., he smiles and nods. Whenever I say thank you to R.., she passes it off and says, “This is us.”

Shortly after dinner, R..’s friends leave, but not before they invite me to their home, should I pass by there. R must be restless. We take off around 7:30pm to another friends’ house. This house belongs to the fellow I met who was collecting food. During the visit he lends me a book on te Rongoa, written by a pharmacist, once mayor, of Keikohe. It has a number of plants we identified earlier that day plus many more and I know I will buy this book if it is available. We arrive home a little after 10pm. A.. is up for Scrabble but R.. and I are beat. Besides, I’m going to the bush tomorrow.

Breakfast is its usual feast. It includes pipi chowder which actually is even better than pipi fritters. NZ’s have this nifty device they call a jug. It’s a coffee pot looking thing that plugs into the wall and heats a whole jug of water in about one minute; and the water stays hot for quite a while.  A.. and R.. usually drink this stuff called Caro. A.. uses about ½ a teaspoon of Caro, milk and water. I honestly can’t describe the taste, but I like it.  I also like the stewed plums. Oh, and kumara (coo mah rah with accent on the coo), considered the Maori potato. I think this is the true yam, whitish like a potato, but sweet like a, well, sweet potato. Or maybe this IS the real sweet potato and I’m backwards. This vegetable dates back to the great migration somewhere around 1300 AD and is not native to the island. And though I don’t usually eat sausages, the sausages from Ohaewai (reminds me of Ohio, but is actually pronounced “O high way”) are said to be the best in the north. I won’t dispute it; I love ‘em. If it sounds like all I do is eat; that’s because all I do is eat…. here.

We are supposed to leave at 10:30 am. I’m ready by 9am. R.. has leant me muck boots. She feels the flip flops will probably not survive. A little after 11 am, M..arrives. All I can think of is “island time.” For anyone who has ever been on an island, you know that when someone says he or she will be by at whatever time, it usually means on the same day, hopefully within three hours of the appointed time. She was practically early. We were to meet up with her brother at 11 am and still had a 45 minute drive. Island time. My car really shimmies a lot and I vow to have it looked at….soon.

L.. is M..’s brother. We take off after some tea and biscuits (cookie/crackers). The muck boots prove essential, especially when I step into a soft area that swallows my foot and part of my lower leg. I’m so caught, I have to pull on the boot with both hands as if it isn’t still attached to my foot. Of course my day bag has to shift just enough to get mud on it, too; otherwise, I wouldn’t look like I’d been playing in the bush all day.

L.. is a storehouse of information. He not only shows us medicinal plants, but edible ones. Some are rather tasty; some definitely are not. He also tells us stories both from Maori past and his own childhood on this land. M.. has stories of her own and I enjoy listening to their easy banter. L.. takes us up to the family cemetery. I’ve always loved checking out cemeteries when I travel. It is a deep part of any culture, often overlooked for more superficial touristy sites. I don’t convey this to my hosts. I am fighting every molecule of my being to take a picture. I know they would be deeply offended, but to me this place is a work of art. A 6 foot carved Maori statue, painted red, sits defiantly overlooking a million dollar view of valleys below. (Literally, land has skyrocketed within the last ten years and this plot is worth at least a million.) Most of the other sites are similar to our own grave sites post the 1800’s, but this man was a chief. We take a narrow path as a short cut back to L..’s house as he explains that when someone passed on they then had to get the body and the head stone up the path we were taking to the cemetery for burial.  As I struggle to keep my footing I try to imagine what it would be like to have a procession of people all trying to get up this path with a coffin and headstone; I can’t.

Now it’s time for lunch. We have meat, salad, a type of squash I’d never seen before and several other things I don’t even remember. I tell them about spaghetti squash. They think I’m not quite telling the truth. We make plans to get together again the next day to see Tane Mahuta, God of the Forest, in the Waipoua (why poo ah) Forest with L.. driving. This is where I would have gone had I gone with Mi- and Wa-. I remembered that Wa- had told me I would get there if I was supposed to. Tane Mahuta is a 2000 year old Kauri tree. It is billed as the oldest tree in existence. L.. tells us that there is actually one bigger and older but that the conservation department won’t let anyone know where it is because they don’t want anything to happen to it. These trees used to populate the island, but because of their size, one tree could be used for a ship or houses (yes, that’s plural). I’ve seen a few Kauri trees already. They look like the kind of trees most of us drew as kids. They come straight out of the ground towering above everything else; no lower branches, but holding vines and other trees up. Apparently, they grow fairly quickly for the first 100 years, then start to slow down.  M.. tells me that there is a Maori saying that translates roughly, “Stand like the Kauri.” It tells us that we should stand strong in our bodies and beliefs in order to support and help others and to uphold our beliefs. The Kauri trees I’ve seen are about 30-100 years old and range in diameter from 2-4 feet. This tree is 2000 years old and the oldest living thing on the planet. Think about that.

On the way home, we stop at a Memorial garden and monument to Hone Heke, great grandson of the first signer of the treaty with the British. This chief was extremely troublesome to the British having been one of the instigators in the continual demolition of the flagstaff I’d seen in Russell.  The gardens were lush and gave an impressive 360 degree view of the surrounding hillsides and valleys. It is one of the few places I simply couldn’t put on film. You would need a much wider angle than any camera can offer.

We return to yet another feast prepared by “A”. Two types of bread, salad, pork, stuffing, apples, strawberries, potatoes, fresh plums, cooked plums and ice cream and some concoction to drink that is always perfect is on the table. M.. and I look at each other; we’ve eaten barely three hours earlier. Afterward, the four of us play two games of scrabble. I actually win the first game but get my butt kicked the second time. M.. and I help R.. find possible words. We constantly look up words between turns.  “A” is a master of two and three letter words and rarely scores under twelve points. Tonight he made a fifty one point score. If I haven’t already said it, I love “R” and “A.” I’m so honored to be staying with them. I truly believe they exemplify the best in humanity. This is us.

It was a little rainy yesterday. The sky completely opened up last night and it hasn’t let up. I wonder if we’re still going to go. It is an absolute deluge!! A.. has breakfast waiting for me. I finally figured out when they start preparing breakfast; when they know I’m awake.

M.. had pointed her house out to me yesterday, and I arrive ten minutes early.  I pull into the parking area. It seems a little strange to be parking at what appears to be a nursery/day care, but when I tell them I’m meeting M.. at 9 am, they all nod and invite me in. Not wanting to separate myself from the activity, I start helping some of the children sort puzzles. One little boy talked to me for nearly ten minutes even though I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand a word I said. I know I didn’t understand what he was saying most of the time. Around 9:10, a woman came in and as I looked up and told her who I was waiting for, two of the teachers realized I was talking about someone else; they had heard the name wrong and this woman’s name was similar. Part of me wanted to absolutely crawl in a hole, but it was so funny and I was having such a good time, we all started laughing. I thanked everyone, including the children, for the memorable experience, found out that M.. lives in the house next door, and beat a hasty retreat.

M.. looks at me like I have two heads when I explain what happened. This is immediately forgotten when L.. asks about his tea. Apparently while she and her brother were waiting for me, she has offered him tea. This now becomes a second breakfast because when you are offered something by a Maori, it is rude to decline. M.. explains this as she puts out biscuits and cake. I think I might explode.

We finally start off for the Waipoua Forest. I’m back to taking pictures every 100 yards or so.  (At some point I’m going to figure out how to get these pictures imported to this journal and you are going to want to read this all over again! Or not.) We pass through Taheke. The countryside is all hills and valleys covered with grazing sheep or cows or planted with one type of crop or another. Why when most of what you see looks like this, does it still manage to take your breath away around the next bend? We get to Hokianga Harbor. Hokianga means “Place where I left to go home.” This is where the great explorer Kupe left the island, never to return.

Kupe is credited with having discovered Aotearoa (NZ) around 950 AD when he left Hawaiki (Haw why ee kee) to search for a new place for his people to expand. Hawaiki means “Land of the long white cloud.” Kupe then left the island, returning to give others directions as to how to get there. There was a subsequent “Great Migration” about 1300 AD in which 12 (say the tour books) or 13(say the Maori I’ve spoken to) canoes landed on the northern shore. This migration was headed by Kupe’s grandson or great grandson. The names of these canoes and all the passengers in them are part of the oral tradition passed down through the ages forming the extremely important Maori genealogy. It is debated as to whether other Maori migrations occurred between the time Kupe came and the Great Migration occurred, but it is believed that they did not survive probably because of climate differences. This is from the books. Whenever they arrived, they brought plants and animals that were introduced to the island for the first time, including rats. These were food, but they actually devastated the flightless birds, frogs and lizards native to the island.

Opononi is next. L.. asks if we’re hungry. We aren’t, but decide the fish and chips place we’re passing with which L.. is a once a week guest will be a stop on the way back.  Next stop is Waipoua Forest. We’re excited because we recognize at least 6 or seven plants from yesterday as we take the five minute walk to see Tane Mahuta.

How do you describe the oldest living creature on the planet? You don’t. Because of the fragile root system, we have to stand about 50 yards from it. It stands 168 feet high with a 46 foot girth. There used to be much bigger ones.
These are facts; not a description. I'm still making attempts at importing pictures. 

These trees covered a great deal of the North Island until they began being harvested to build ships and other wood structures. They also produced a resin, being in the pine tree family that was used for everything from a kind of chewing gum to varnish to tattoo pigment to jewelry. Kauri trees that fell into bogs over 40,000 years ago were well preserved. These are now harvested, called swamp Kauri, to make everything from bowls and carvings to statuary and furniture including couches and beds that list for over $10,000 apiece.

Tane, the forest god is one of the children of Ranganui, sky father and Papatuanuku, earth mother. Originally, they were one entity, but he pushed their “primal embrace” apart creating light, space and air for things to grow. Branches from the trees keep the sky from resuming the oneness as do the roots with earth. I find it interesting when compared to traditional Chinese medicine, where everything was one until something moved and then there was the Tao (dow). This created yin which is female, cool, damp, dark, lower and substance (like earth) and yang which is male, hot, dry, light, above and airy (like sky). Notice a few similarities?!

We actually identify plants from the past few days, including some edible berries. Tourists nearby give us looks as we taste and discuss our lessons of the previous days. As we head back toward Opononi and fresh fish and chips, M.. spots a sign about readings. This is how we meet Diane, a spiritual reader and eccentric. She used to be a very successful antiques dealer by her own account but moved out here to continue her spiritual development. She read for M.. and myself. The readings were similar, but different and rather general, and mostly to do with changes in the upcoming year. A rather chatty lady; we’re all starving, probably for the first time in days, when we finally leave.

As we dive into fish and chips and burgers, L.. tells me the story of Opo, a friendly dolphin who back in the 1950’s for two seasons used to come into the bay and swim and play with people. That is, until he was killed “accidentally” after fishermen complained that there was a reduced fish population. Let’s see….one friendly dolphin could eat, at most, how much? Anyway, he is buried a short distance from where we are eating and a statue is erected for him right next door to the restaurant. I’m sure he would rather have lived.

We get back to M..’s and say our “Goodbyes.” We have no idea whether we’ll see each other again. I go into town to run some errands. I get back in time for dinner even though I ate about two hours before. R.. mentions that A.. wants to add a little meat to me. I’m sure eating continuously will achieve this. Then it’s time for Scrabble. I love this ritual of ours. I win the first game again, but get pulverized in game two by R..  She says this is the first time she can remember winning. During the game R.. and I decide we’ll go to her daughter’s house in Kerikeri (you can handle this one) tomorrow. She is also a massage therapist and is doing vibration therapy on her clients. I’m interested in this, but she also does te Rongoa. On the way back, we’ll stop at the baths in Ngawha and check to see if Paul is back yet. We will also get my car looked at by A.. and  R..’s mechanic before the trip. R.. says she is going to miss me when I leave. I feel very comfortable here. I help prepare the table before we eat and wash the dishes afterward. We play Scrabble every night and laugh through most of it. They treat me like a daughter and I tell her I will miss both of them also.

Now, you may feel I have started on a negative note. Not at all. This is an amazing country with so much to take in, that I find myself jumping from where I’ve just been to chronology, back to a current moment and back again. Now for a little catch up chronologically. 

Having been dropped at my hotel door by my new found friends, I proceeded through check-in and up to my room. I had asked to be as high as possible and was placed on the 14^th floor (top) with a view that you will see when I can download the several hundred pictures I’ve taken. After a shower and an hour’s sleep, I was ready for an orientation walk.

New Zealanders are some of the friendliest, most hospitable people I’ve ever met face to face. That does not extend, however, when driving. If a sign is not posted to yield to “peds”, you can be assured you will likely get run over, or at the very least, “get a honking” should you venture into the street with no designated right to do so.

A word about vegetation. Parks and what I call “green space” is everywhere. Certain themes are definitely present. I’ve once again, forgotten the name of the most predominant flowering tree in Auckland. It has red flowers that virtually cover the tree. Each blossom is made up of long soft red needles with a yellow/white base. They appear in parks, along avenues, as landscaping for businesses; in short, they are everywhere! The other tree reminds me of one I had seen when traveling through Mexico; the jacaranda. The tree is canopied in purple with very few leaves. These are not nearly as abundant, but still quite an eye catch. Flowers are also in abundance. Blue hydrangeas seem to grow wild and cascade down hillsides creating walls of flowers. All along the roadsides as well as gardens, a flower resembling something in the lily or even onion family grows. Huge round heads of multiple purple or white flowers balance atop a long slender green stalk with long green leaves at its base. The purple far outnumber the white.

My friend and I went to the beach the first day. We’d come in on overcast skies, which cleared and have stayed so since. It gets very, very, very hot during the day. We traveled south along Tamaki Drive, stopping at a beautiful, family oriented park. After a walk, we headed to an overlook. (Views to come.) I can tell you that Rangatoto (ranga means land mass, mound or mountain) is in view. This is the youngest of the many volcanoes in the area. But you can also see Waiheke Island, a place I’m planning to go at some point during this trip, as well as a few other minor islands without populations. We traveled down past the overlook down to an incredible beach; beaches, in a way. As you walk along, you can enter the water or crawl over a few huge rocks, and feel as if you are on a completely new beach. There were a number of fellows on the beach feeling perfectly comfortable to sun bathe in the nude. Honestly, it didn’t seem out of place at all. We continued on. The most outstanding feature on this stretch is the rock formations. The water has eroded them in a way to make them resemble the waves themselves. They are also reminiscent of the curvilinear tattoos of the Maori. Hmmmm…..

As you may have already noticed, I will not be naming or photographing people or even some of the sites along my journey for sake of privacy.

After returning to my hotel, a run and yet another nap, it was time to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Auckland closes off a large portion of Queen Street, one of the main hubs in the city. Fireworks came from both the waterfront and the Sky Tower. Walking along the street, you had to soak in the sounds of foreign tongues chattering in celebration. Street corners abounded with an array of musicians. One group, chanting “Hari Krishna” and drumming away, gathered a large and boisterous crowd with arms waving and bodies swirling. The energy was intoxicating. I meandered down to the waterfront following the crowd of merrymakers. You could tell by the sway.  I had a Kiwi beer at Provedore and danced for a bit, then was ready for home. Couples strolled and cuddled, families tried to keep the little ones in sight, and loners such as me nodded and smiled to everyone. The sense of global community that night is something I hope I can always hold.

How nice to have three alarm clocks; one set for NZ, one set for the U.S. eastern standard time and a natural symphony of birds. You also get to fall asleep listening to the cicadas. A run in which I discovered the aforementioned cemetery. Of course I got lost. The only regret to that was that I didn’t have my camera with me. I really have to figure that one out. The city is teeming with random sculptures of all mediums and from very classical to quite contemporary.

Another outing with my friend. This time we head to Mount Eden. Though not taller than the Sky Tower, you can see both the Pacific and Tasman Seas from its summit. As my friend says, once you’ve been to one summit, the view doesn’t change much. We head to Western Springs Park. This place has rolling hills, ponds, an assortment of waterfowl, an interesting little flightless, almost non swimmer bird, walkways, benches, multiple play areas; need I go on? Paradise. Unlike the community that decided to kill all its waterfowl because of the mess they create, Kiwis have adopted the philosophy that the birds have as much right as anything else and they simply put up with the heavy “bird use” area mess. After all, the hot sun and a few rain storms….

I get to see my friend’s house. It’s a work in progress. Anyone who knows me knows that that is my middle name. It overlooks the Tasman Sea. It will be worth over a million dollars in anyone’s money when it is completed. I am offered to stay here should I need it. I will keep it in mind, but I will probably leave the city soon so I decline. I find out that the government is getting stricter on how homes are structured to fit the surrounding area and the environment. Though there is rampant building in some areas, you cannot build whatever you want no matter how much money you have.

Evening. I need to leave here. I am starting to feel an anxiety as to what to do. Part of me wants to go to Waiheke, a beautiful island a ferry ride away. The rest of me says go north.

January 2, 2008.  Checkout day. I go for a run, shower, pack, check and recheck to make sure I don’t leave anything behind. I need to leave the city.  Just as I’m about to leave the hotel, I start speaking with the hotel computer wizard. He sets me up right in the lobby and I finally IM two of my children. I don’t know the other one’s IM. I get lucky and actually talk to my daughter. I hear her voice through the typed words. It hurts, but I wouldn’t change a thing, except to have complete wireless access whenever I want it.

Off I go onto the street with one small suitcase, a computer bag and a small back pack trying to tie up loose ends. After pursuing wireless internet access with Votophone and Telecom without success, making a withdrawal from my NZ account, taking a few more pictures and stocking a few grocery items, I begin the search for a rental car still on foot. All the cheap ones are located along one particular street not too far from the hotel I’d stayed at. The second place I stopped changed the price three times while I was there. One place advertised $15 a day right at the counter, but when you pinned him down, he admitted that that was only during low season and it’s now high season. About the fifth place I went to was a woman who explained all my options. This wasn’t the cheapest place by only $2, but definitely seemed the most trustworthy. I have to say, I was a lot more nervous getting behind the wheel than renting the car. One drives on the opposite side of the road in NZ.

I have never been so grateful to follow traffic in my life! If being on the opposite side of the road isn’t enough, try going 120 km/h with cars right in front, behind and immediately beside. Oh! And did I mention there are virtually no shoulders on the roads. But the radio is playing the familiar sounds I here at home, I think of my kids again, smile and stay focused on not needing the extra insurance I refused. Still, around every bend, every incline, looking down past the shoulders that are not there, but offer exquisite views,  my camera peers out the window to capture the Kodak moment.

After an hour or so of this, I spot a sign for one of the wineries I saw reviewed while coming to NZ. It’s closed, but the scene is lovely; rolling volcanic hillsides covered with pale green grasses, dotted by deep green foliage and old fences. This is a good place to just rest and attempt the lunch I hadn’t had yet. A truck pulls up and parks beside me. I hope they don’t mind my presence. Instead, I discover the heart of NZ. Out they come and start a conversation. Within 15 minutes, I watch the cows be put to a new pasture, am invited for a picnic supper on Omaha Beach and have an offer to spend the night. 

This couple is over the top. I mean this in the most respectful and awed way. I have never experienced this kind of hospitality before, not even in China, which set records for friendly in my rather extensive amount of travel through the years. Omaha Beach is family friendly with shallow waters extending for a good distance. It is skim board heaven, which made me think of my kids once again, and our summers at our cottage, also on an island. I meet the rest of the family. They are clones of the parents. We have steak, lamb, beer and home made fish cakes I am still dreaming about.

There are very strict laws about drinking and driving. I don’t know what they are, but they need to be considering you can’t go more than 15 feet without a major switchback in the road. Even Rte 1, their major motorway, where there is one lane each way, occasional pass lanes and you can be at speeds in excess of 120 km/h without shoulders and no guard rails has more twists than Chubby Checker.

I return with these delightful people for dessert, continued conversation and a bed for the night. And what a view in the morning!

After a hasty breakfast and an attempt for some contacts, I’m heading north again. I believe that we need to try to see through each others eyes in order to get a view point other than our own. As I drive, all I can think is how much I wish all of you could see through my eyes. I can give descriptions, offer photos, tell stories, but this place is truly to be experienced with all the senses.

You have to really really want to come here to endure the trip. Wake at 4:30am. Airport at 5:45. Tearful "Goodbyes."7am flight. Arrival in Chicago at 8:45 their time. 3 hour layover. 4 hour flight to LAX. 7 hour layover. I don't want anymore peanuts or mini snacks. I didn't want them to begin with. I may never want them again. A search for real food, real air and real exercise begins. All of this being periodically interrupted with searching for the internet. 
The Tom Bradley International Building houses most of the international travel. Air New Zealand isn't included, but that's actually a good thing. It allows me to walk outside. This should mean fresh air. What was I thinking? This is the LA airport afterall. The selection for food is better. The tuna lover's Sushi plate is actually reasonable and the view at the Tom B. building is way better.  Did I mention I brought my electrostim unit? Heaven. 
Back to the main terminal. Only 5 1/2 hours to go. With about an hour left before boarding, I spot a fellow using his laptop with internet access. I want that. One inquiry and within minutes the problem is solved. I now know how to hack airport wireless. My new friend lives in Auckland and is on my flight. There are no coincidences. I feel relieved for no reason.
We finally take off for an 11hour 50 minute flight. Add it up. Hence....my original statement. Air NZ ia quite wonderful. Pleasant attendants, free movies and short films on all kinds of topics. I watched everything on the different areas throughout NZ. It's beginning to make sense. Did I mention free wine with dinner? Best of all, I had three seats across to myself. I actually got to sleep. 
When I awoke, it was still dark. Biggest fear is that you've slept for an hour and you have 9 more hours of flight. I didn't. Shortly after I started "The Bourne Ultimatum," ( I can't remember how to spell that) they announce breakfast.
30 minutes after breakfast, we were landing. My new friend stopped by to ask if I'd like a ride to the city. Let's see...it will cost about $65 NZ dollars to take the bus to my hotel and I have no NZ dollars...that would be a '" yes".
The airport is lovely. A little drug dog sniffs away at everyone. Of course, we all want to pet it, but that would interfere with his scenting job, so they really frown and look mean at you for about a second to keep you from the dog. One fellow did get busted for apples. Seems they are very serious about biohazards. This includes foods, but also camping equipment that has recently been used. They don't have alot of dangerous insects or vermin, and they like it that way. Gee.
Two more new acquaintences. Tomorrow I get a cook's tour of Auckland, but at the moment, a shower is priority.Post shower, banking and accessing the internet are next. After numerous tries, it's back to the hotel, money arranged, but still no internet. The hotel charges a day rate of $20 for internet access. In the meantime, the incredibly friendly desk lady offers her own computer in the back office. These people are over the top in nice. I mean that. So as not to take advantage, I email two people who will then contact everyone else that I am, indeed, arrived and safe. 
I am now becoming acquainted with internet cafes. It is this relationship that I am currently employing at the expense of my lungs. The smoke is choking, but the sounds of foreign chatter and laughter, mostly Asian, not Kiwi, is fun. Access in other parts of the country may be much harder. We'll have to see.