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.
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