Jane picked me up at the airport bless her. I am invited to a 21st birthday bash. Apparently 21st birthdays are big deal here, after that it is all downhill! The weather is ugly, cold and rainy with a curtain of fog descending on the city. I spend the day bucking up some wood and stacking it by the fence then I start working on the stone walkway to the basement. Before I know it the ladies have all the party gear ready, it is Jane's good friend Tessa's daughter's birthday a blended family celebration and I am the interloper. I volunteer to be the camera guy and float around taking picts most of the night. Of course the party is located at yet another house on a hill. I have never seen so many houses perched on hills in my life. According to Jane most people wear running shoes to negotiate the steep inclines and change into their party shoes when they finally get to the house. The party is fun, but I am tired, tomorrow I will be back in Martinborough to do some writing and of course biking.
The wknd is behind me, Sunday was declared a non-writing day. It is a dreary Martinborough Monday, dull and overcast, after all it is winter here what did I expect. I head out to the bank to check on my dwindling finances. The Akoroa trip was a little more costly than I expected so it will be a week of bike riding and writing, or so I think. As I step out of the bank I run into good ole galloping gums.
He has his arms crossed and is glaring at me. "And where is your helmet?" He inquires trying to look stern faced.
"I know I'm supposed to wear it, but I'm thumbing my nose at the coppers." I reply.
A impish grin lights up his face. "I'm proud o' ya mate that's the way ta do it."
Before he even takes a breath he launches into another bloody story. I am trapped again only this time I convince him to go to the pub where I shout him a beer while he yammers away. I drift off in the middle of the story and drink most of the small jug of beer. Tomorrow I am invited to the Potter's (my hosts) for dinner. I gaze around the pub while Tony talks it is fairly busy for an afternoon early in the week. My molar aches and then the pain subsides, I choose to ignore it. Tony finally winds down and I excuse myself we part company and I head back to the flat. I feel tired and out of sorts. I make myself a quick dinner on the hot plate and attempt to watch tv, with only two channels, one rather fuzzy, there is not much to watch so I catch up on some journaling. I use a saline rinse to try and calm my throbbing tooth and down wash down a couple of pain killers with a glass of wine. It is obvious my tooth will need some attention, I am unsure what to do there is no dentist in town the nearest toothenheimer is 20 k away. Oh well tomorrow is another day I'll figure things out then. Kiaora.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The postman's farewell
We finished the postal outport tour by stopping at Robin's house and picking up his Japanese exchange student. We finish the tour with some picts of Akaroa ending up in town for a late lunch at the fish and chip shop by the waterfront. After a good nosh of trans fats we bid each other adieu with the promise I will send the picts as soon as possible.
I am pretty tired the hopping in and out of the van all day has been draining. My last shot is a pair of gum boots parked by the door of the grocery store. I had seen this at the pub, if your boots are too dirty they are left at the door and you walk around in your sock feet. Kiwi's are such neat people they respect each other's property. I hike back to the hostel and collect my things. The bus picks me up outside Chez La Mer (the hostel). The driver is still wearing her annoyed look when she lectures me about returning to the bus on the right day. She was looking for me at the tourist booth, rigggght I'll bet she looked for about 30 seconds hah hah. I had a great time in Akaroa as the bus slips through town I leave behind memories of my bike rides, the postman, and of course my french amigo, I wonder where he is? The little french village has been replaced by rolling terraced hills that run down to fertile valleys. The sun is setting when I get back to Christchurch and Base X also known as party central. Hmmm the same young folks are still on the same computers as when I left two days ago.
I dive into a lamb curry and a beer at the hostel pub, heavenly and priced to sell at $12 for the pair. I set my alarm for the following morning as I have to catch the shuttle to the airport. It's cheaper to fly than to take the train or the ferry. I can't sleep so I head downstairs and Skype Dad at home I spend most of the time looking at the top of his head as he hasn't quite got the Skype thing mastered yet. It is amazing I can talk to anyone back home for free and it feels like we are in the same room. Cool. One of my upper molars tingles a bit, a warning of what is to come of course I pay it no heed and finally fall asleep. Good night.
I am pretty tired the hopping in and out of the van all day has been draining. My last shot is a pair of gum boots parked by the door of the grocery store. I had seen this at the pub, if your boots are too dirty they are left at the door and you walk around in your sock feet. Kiwi's are such neat people they respect each other's property. I hike back to the hostel and collect my things. The bus picks me up outside Chez La Mer (the hostel). The driver is still wearing her annoyed look when she lectures me about returning to the bus on the right day. She was looking for me at the tourist booth, rigggght I'll bet she looked for about 30 seconds hah hah. I had a great time in Akaroa as the bus slips through town I leave behind memories of my bike rides, the postman, and of course my french amigo, I wonder where he is? The little french village has been replaced by rolling terraced hills that run down to fertile valleys. The sun is setting when I get back to Christchurch and Base X also known as party central. Hmmm the same young folks are still on the same computers as when I left two days ago.
I dive into a lamb curry and a beer at the hostel pub, heavenly and priced to sell at $12 for the pair. I set my alarm for the following morning as I have to catch the shuttle to the airport. It's cheaper to fly than to take the train or the ferry. I can't sleep so I head downstairs and Skype Dad at home I spend most of the time looking at the top of his head as he hasn't quite got the Skype thing mastered yet. It is amazing I can talk to anyone back home for free and it feels like we are in the same room. Cool. One of my upper molars tingles a bit, a warning of what is to come of course I pay it no heed and finally fall asleep. Good night.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Acrophobics beware
The scenery is stunning as Robin wheels the van up and down the coastal roads. The postal truck creeps along the one lane roads barely touching the edge before it drops off to the jagged shoreline below, a mere 500 or 600 metre drop of death. The odd farm or coastal home cling to the hillsides. Off in the distance the snow capped peaks of the South Island Mountains frame the rustic picture of a typical N.Z. post card view. It seems that every curve in the road reveals a different scenic landscape. Sheep and cattle dot the coastline pastures, zig zag paths allow them to traverse the otherwise inaccessible hills.
I shudder and can't look down as we careen close to the gravel strewn edge of the road. One minute we are roaring up a hill and then careening down the other side in an almost roller coast like ride. The odd church or community hall are the only disruption to an unending vista of scenery. I snap away with my camera, Robin graciously stops to allow me to grab shots which I will later share to help promote the postal tours. In Decantur Bay we stop for tea (also known as lunch). Robin spreads a table cloth, a thermos of tea and some home made scones, out on an ancient picnic table. The Bay provides a stunning backdrop for such a scrumptious snack. Life is good I feel truly blessed. The air is pure and clean, the sun is shinning and Robin proves to be an amiable host chatting about life on this beautiful island, I am envious.
The next leg of our journey takes us deep into some very remote farm country. I am disappointed, I haven't seen any sheep yet, the quintessential N.Z. scene. Robin tells me we may not see any at all as farmers have turned to raising cattle for bigger profits so sheep aren't as plentiful as they once were. A few moments later we round a corner at the top of a huge hill, the road is jammed with sheep two border collies race the circumference of the flock corralling and cajoling their charges. We sit and watch the scene as the farmer on an old 100 CC motorcycle arrives to chat up Robin, I climb out of the van and snap away.
Our next stop is a small church perched like a swallows nest on a cliff. Robin delivers the mail and I take more pictures. I get back to the van and Robin is chatting with a strange looking chap on a quad, he has a white haired mullet with a balding pate and mutton chop moustache. Each knuckle on his fingers is tattooed when he smiles half his dental work is missing. This is Norm the "possum hunta" a man before or after his time. It turns out that possums are running rampant in the N.Z. countryside and blokes like Norm trap and kill them for the farmers. Norm gets a good price for the hides and a better price if he plucks the fur that is then mixed with wool to make winter garments. We bid Norm adieu, just as we are getting into the van a young farmer comes around the corner on a small motorcycle towing two calves in a cage with the mother plodding along behind. He is frustrated with the old cow as it is his second trip down the mountain this week "to retrieve the awld bugga". I laugh recalling my own childhood days on the farm chasing wayward cows.
Off they go up the mountain, the motorcycle chugging with the calves held prisoner in the cage and mom reluctantly following. The cow refuses to let us pass swerving in front of us each time we try to sneak by, her large posterior forming a black and white wall. Robin chuckles "You're certainly getting an eyeful today mate some days there's no one on the route."
We bob and weave up and down roads like a punch drunk boxer. Auld Joch waits patiently by his mailbox he leans on Robin's window when we stop at the mailbox. "Ya forgot me pills yestaday, I rang up the chemist to tell em ya know." He smiles revealing a few missing teeth. Robin hands him his prescription and I am reminded how important mail service still is here. Robin shakes his head and smiles the old bloke sure missed his pills. At the next curve we drive up to a tree trunk mail box looking like something out of Winnie the Pooh. As we pull up the mailbox a younger woman comes out of the house and presents Robin with an upside down mini ice cream cake. "Crikey just what I need for my cholesterol" He puts the cake on the console of the van to be consumed later when I am not looking.
I am struck by the relationship Robin has with the people on his route they are his people, kind hard working country people - the best. I am reminded how we are losing rural populations to the city New Zealand seems to be no different than Canada. Another tiny village and back to the roller coaster ride as we round a turn the ocean is played out before us a spectacular vista that stretches as far as the eye can see. We pass a dusting of snow on the side of the road, I do a double take. "Are we up that high?" I inquire.
"Oh yes mate as a matter of fact school had to be cancelled the other day, the kids were really disappointed"
He laughs "but the mail got through" He winks to reinforce the message.
I shudder and can't look down as we careen close to the gravel strewn edge of the road. One minute we are roaring up a hill and then careening down the other side in an almost roller coast like ride. The odd church or community hall are the only disruption to an unending vista of scenery. I snap away with my camera, Robin graciously stops to allow me to grab shots which I will later share to help promote the postal tours. In Decantur Bay we stop for tea (also known as lunch). Robin spreads a table cloth, a thermos of tea and some home made scones, out on an ancient picnic table. The Bay provides a stunning backdrop for such a scrumptious snack. Life is good I feel truly blessed. The air is pure and clean, the sun is shinning and Robin proves to be an amiable host chatting about life on this beautiful island, I am envious.
The next leg of our journey takes us deep into some very remote farm country. I am disappointed, I haven't seen any sheep yet, the quintessential N.Z. scene. Robin tells me we may not see any at all as farmers have turned to raising cattle for bigger profits so sheep aren't as plentiful as they once were. A few moments later we round a corner at the top of a huge hill, the road is jammed with sheep two border collies race the circumference of the flock corralling and cajoling their charges. We sit and watch the scene as the farmer on an old 100 CC motorcycle arrives to chat up Robin, I climb out of the van and snap away.
Our next stop is a small church perched like a swallows nest on a cliff. Robin delivers the mail and I take more pictures. I get back to the van and Robin is chatting with a strange looking chap on a quad, he has a white haired mullet with a balding pate and mutton chop moustache. Each knuckle on his fingers is tattooed when he smiles half his dental work is missing. This is Norm the "possum hunta" a man before or after his time. It turns out that possums are running rampant in the N.Z. countryside and blokes like Norm trap and kill them for the farmers. Norm gets a good price for the hides and a better price if he plucks the fur that is then mixed with wool to make winter garments. We bid Norm adieu, just as we are getting into the van a young farmer comes around the corner on a small motorcycle towing two calves in a cage with the mother plodding along behind. He is frustrated with the old cow as it is his second trip down the mountain this week "to retrieve the awld bugga". I laugh recalling my own childhood days on the farm chasing wayward cows.
Off they go up the mountain, the motorcycle chugging with the calves held prisoner in the cage and mom reluctantly following. The cow refuses to let us pass swerving in front of us each time we try to sneak by, her large posterior forming a black and white wall. Robin chuckles "You're certainly getting an eyeful today mate some days there's no one on the route."
We bob and weave up and down roads like a punch drunk boxer. Auld Joch waits patiently by his mailbox he leans on Robin's window when we stop at the mailbox. "Ya forgot me pills yestaday, I rang up the chemist to tell em ya know." He smiles revealing a few missing teeth. Robin hands him his prescription and I am reminded how important mail service still is here. Robin shakes his head and smiles the old bloke sure missed his pills. At the next curve we drive up to a tree trunk mail box looking like something out of Winnie the Pooh. As we pull up the mailbox a younger woman comes out of the house and presents Robin with an upside down mini ice cream cake. "Crikey just what I need for my cholesterol" He puts the cake on the console of the van to be consumed later when I am not looking.
I am struck by the relationship Robin has with the people on his route they are his people, kind hard working country people - the best. I am reminded how we are losing rural populations to the city New Zealand seems to be no different than Canada. Another tiny village and back to the roller coaster ride as we round a turn the ocean is played out before us a spectacular vista that stretches as far as the eye can see. We pass a dusting of snow on the side of the road, I do a double take. "Are we up that high?" I inquire.
"Oh yes mate as a matter of fact school had to be cancelled the other day, the kids were really disappointed"
He laughs "but the mail got through" He winks to reinforce the message.
Closer to the South Pole
One of the very civilized aspects of New Zealand is the ability to travel the country by air relatively cheaply. I flew to Christchurch from Wellington for $55.00 which is cheaper than the train or any other mode of transport.
I am back to hostel living for the South Island trip staying at Base X, which turns out to be party central in the South Island or at least Christchurch. I wander the city and take in some sights. It is Monday night also know as Quiz Night in the local pubs. I meet a couple of Aussie chaps and we shout each other a couple of beers. When I attempt to leave the larger of the two grabs my arms and shames me into staying for another beer, I reluctantly agree, after all national pride comes into play and I don't want them to think Canucks are wimps. His mate regales me with stories of huge crocs and ventures as far as to offer that Steve Irwin was a distant friend of his. I manage to slip away when they are distracted, a wave and a smile and I am out the door. After a day of walking the city I grow bored of CC so I book a bus tour for the next day to Akaroa a small french fishing village on the coast at the edge of an ancient volcano.
The hostel in town is lovely, a small house with a guys and gals dorm, and they have bikes so I decide to stay. The bus tour is a day tour only and my disappearance causes some angst for the bus driver. Oh well as I am cycling through town the tour bus passes me, the bus driver frowns and the sweet little old Scottish ladies that I befriended on the trip down wave from the windows. Goodbye ladies have a pleasant trip. Later that night I meet my roomies at the hostel, a young Frenchman from the south of France and an even younger German kid. Adrian the French kid verbally harangues me wanting to learn more English . He tells me last night he slept in a tent in a farmers field only to be rudely awakened at 6am when the farmer almost ran over his tent. I open a bottle of wine and suddenly roomies come out of the woodwork like roaches when you turn off the light. I share my wine and we share stories laughing and comparing notes. Adrian wants me to hitch-hike with him to Dunedin. I explain that I am going with the postman in the morning to deliver mail to the out ports. Of course Adrian invites himself along, I try to explain that there is no room but he smiles and pretends not to understand. I toss him an apple from my back pack. The German kid, Adrian is lying on his side listening to our exchange. Adrian looks at his phone and asks me what the word "cawdles" means in English. I tell him there is no such word but he spells it out, C-U-D-D-L-E-S and I tell him it is a term of endearment and a good start in communications with a woman. He smiles and sits up in his bunk. Suddenly I feel like George from "Mice and Men". Adrian assures me as I turn out the light that he is going with the postman in the morning. He tries once again to entice me to hitch. At his insistence I turn the light on again and he shows me a sign which reads "If you give me a ride I will share my cookies". "We weel get lots of rides to Dunedin Steve you go with Adrian yes". He assures me it works every time, I tell him I will sleep on it, I turn the light off again and we all fall asleep.
The gentle ping of my alarm wakes me and I hit the shower. Damn, no towel, the one thing I forgot so I use a hand towel and my t-shirt to dry. Adrian is up and heads to the other bathroom and shower, a perfect time to slip out and meet the postman. Just as I head down the street I hear a voice and turn to see Adrian rushing to catch up. It is a cool morning ( 2 or 3 degrees C) a light frost paints the ground as the sun struggles to appear from behind some clouds. Robin the postman is already loading the mail when I arrive with a nice warm scone fresh from the oven and cup of green tea I sit on the steps and wait enjoying the early hour, the peace and tranquility of the small village sipping my tea.
Adrian waits for Robin who flatly turns down his proposal to join us. "Sorry mate Steve is taking some pictures today and we have no room". Adrian smiles and waves goodbye to me a few moments later we pass him standing at the side of the road displaying his cookies sign, waving a bag of oatmeal cookies at cars as they pass. I feel a slight twinge of guilt but know that he will be fine, he smiles as we pass. Robin is around my age a friendly face hidden under a carpet of salt and pepper beard. He is a grandfather a few times over, he and his wife have a contract to deliver mail, he also is the local school bus driver (the postal van doubles as a school bus) and he takes tourists on his route. I am advised to do my seat belt up as in N.Z. the driver is ticketed if the passenger doesn't wear a seat belt. Later on the trip I will see the wisdom of requiring a seat belt, N.Z. roads rarely go in a straight line anywhere twisting and turning through mountain passes that would scare even the most stalwart mountain goat. I have this sinking feeling that my fear of heights will be tested today. We spend the rest of the day traversing roads etched along the edge of a six million year old volcano. The seat belt clicks in place and I get my cameras out ready to grab some of the most spectacular scenery the island has to offer.
I am back to hostel living for the South Island trip staying at Base X, which turns out to be party central in the South Island or at least Christchurch. I wander the city and take in some sights. It is Monday night also know as Quiz Night in the local pubs. I meet a couple of Aussie chaps and we shout each other a couple of beers. When I attempt to leave the larger of the two grabs my arms and shames me into staying for another beer, I reluctantly agree, after all national pride comes into play and I don't want them to think Canucks are wimps. His mate regales me with stories of huge crocs and ventures as far as to offer that Steve Irwin was a distant friend of his. I manage to slip away when they are distracted, a wave and a smile and I am out the door. After a day of walking the city I grow bored of CC so I book a bus tour for the next day to Akaroa a small french fishing village on the coast at the edge of an ancient volcano.
The hostel in town is lovely, a small house with a guys and gals dorm, and they have bikes so I decide to stay. The bus tour is a day tour only and my disappearance causes some angst for the bus driver. Oh well as I am cycling through town the tour bus passes me, the bus driver frowns and the sweet little old Scottish ladies that I befriended on the trip down wave from the windows. Goodbye ladies have a pleasant trip. Later that night I meet my roomies at the hostel, a young Frenchman from the south of France and an even younger German kid. Adrian the French kid verbally harangues me wanting to learn more English . He tells me last night he slept in a tent in a farmers field only to be rudely awakened at 6am when the farmer almost ran over his tent. I open a bottle of wine and suddenly roomies come out of the woodwork like roaches when you turn off the light. I share my wine and we share stories laughing and comparing notes. Adrian wants me to hitch-hike with him to Dunedin. I explain that I am going with the postman in the morning to deliver mail to the out ports. Of course Adrian invites himself along, I try to explain that there is no room but he smiles and pretends not to understand. I toss him an apple from my back pack. The German kid, Adrian is lying on his side listening to our exchange. Adrian looks at his phone and asks me what the word "cawdles" means in English. I tell him there is no such word but he spells it out, C-U-D-D-L-E-S and I tell him it is a term of endearment and a good start in communications with a woman. He smiles and sits up in his bunk. Suddenly I feel like George from "Mice and Men". Adrian assures me as I turn out the light that he is going with the postman in the morning. He tries once again to entice me to hitch. At his insistence I turn the light on again and he shows me a sign which reads "If you give me a ride I will share my cookies". "We weel get lots of rides to Dunedin Steve you go with Adrian yes". He assures me it works every time, I tell him I will sleep on it, I turn the light off again and we all fall asleep.
The gentle ping of my alarm wakes me and I hit the shower. Damn, no towel, the one thing I forgot so I use a hand towel and my t-shirt to dry. Adrian is up and heads to the other bathroom and shower, a perfect time to slip out and meet the postman. Just as I head down the street I hear a voice and turn to see Adrian rushing to catch up. It is a cool morning ( 2 or 3 degrees C) a light frost paints the ground as the sun struggles to appear from behind some clouds. Robin the postman is already loading the mail when I arrive with a nice warm scone fresh from the oven and cup of green tea I sit on the steps and wait enjoying the early hour, the peace and tranquility of the small village sipping my tea.
Adrian waits for Robin who flatly turns down his proposal to join us. "Sorry mate Steve is taking some pictures today and we have no room". Adrian smiles and waves goodbye to me a few moments later we pass him standing at the side of the road displaying his cookies sign, waving a bag of oatmeal cookies at cars as they pass. I feel a slight twinge of guilt but know that he will be fine, he smiles as we pass. Robin is around my age a friendly face hidden under a carpet of salt and pepper beard. He is a grandfather a few times over, he and his wife have a contract to deliver mail, he also is the local school bus driver (the postal van doubles as a school bus) and he takes tourists on his route. I am advised to do my seat belt up as in N.Z. the driver is ticketed if the passenger doesn't wear a seat belt. Later on the trip I will see the wisdom of requiring a seat belt, N.Z. roads rarely go in a straight line anywhere twisting and turning through mountain passes that would scare even the most stalwart mountain goat. I have this sinking feeling that my fear of heights will be tested today. We spend the rest of the day traversing roads etched along the edge of a six million year old volcano. The seat belt clicks in place and I get my cameras out ready to grab some of the most spectacular scenery the island has to offer.
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