The Sound and the Fury

Hello. I am aware that the things I am telling you happened a long time ago. You may not be. I could just not say this and leave you believing it all happened yesterday but it is not the truth and the truth will set you free. Feel free to believe this did all just happen if you wish but if you want an edge of reality, the date range of the following is Wednesday 3rd March to Sunday 14th March. One day my blog may catch up with my journal. One day my journal may catch up with my life. I endeavour to achieve real-time blogging in more than the abstract and the conclusion.

Picking up where I left off, we left Liz and Rob’s (Tom’s parents) with a new tyre and a new steering column and set a course for the most visited tourist attraction in New Zealand – Rotorua – most visited due to it’s volcanic activeness – bubbling lakes, steaming vents, sulphurous smells and the like. We paid to see nothing, having visited the most active volcano in NZ (White Island) and feeling smug about seeing all the volcanic tricks close up. We would only be there for an afternoon – the smell of overcooked eggs was close to unbearable at times. Lake Rotorua is large and in the part by the town, white. Like a huge saucer of milk for some kind of Japanese-city-destroying radioactive cat freak. Along the shore were bubbling mud pools and steam vents too small to earn the honour of a fence and viewing fee but which we photographed eagerly. We saw black swans and were choked in clouds of icing sugar from an exuberantly dusted apple turnover. We collected Robert the German hitchhiker on the way to our next destination, the lakeside city of Taupo. Just outside of Taupo we took a detour to visit the Huka Falls which the Lonely Planet promised were free. How do the French say it? Incrediablé. A meaty gorge 15ft wide and deep, full of brilliant-blue water churning as insanely as a flea-tormented dog in an emotionally unstable washing machine. It is said that 200,000 litres of water dribble over the stumpy waterfall every minute – or at least that’s what I remember. Robert was impressed. Driving over a hill into Taupo we were greeted with a view of Lake Taupo with a backdrop of the Tongariro mountains – Mordor!! We ditched Robert and found out about a free campsite nearby. The Book of Wonder provided another weeks’ worth of meal ideas and we set off for the nearby Pak ‘N’ Save to buy buy buy. The first of the meals was beef stroganoff. We know how to camp.

The following day we decided it would be a good idea to hire bikes and get out and about. Turns out we both had a different image of what a day biking might look like. Hannah thought ‘Ah, how lovely, we shalt hire dainty bicycles with tinkling bells and woven baskets for freshly baked goodies and wildflowers we collect along the way as we bicycle in a genteel fashion along the quaint Kiwi boulevards’ Adam thought ‘Sweet, we can get our filthy hands on a couple of mean off-road beasts with phat treads for wicked dirt trails through the wild alpine forests. I bet I can go faster down the steep and root-ridden narrow tracks of death. We is gonna get wasted, innit’. Unfortunately for Hannah, she did not mention the vision she had been aspiring to until they were both deep in the forest scraping down an impossibly steep gradient with the brakes squealing as they tried to pretend they were not centimeters away from a 50ft plunge of pain. As Hannah dreamt of baguettes and bicycle clips, Adam secretly enjoyed himself ((though he felt bad that Hannah’s dreams had not been realised) and also a little scared). Back in town Adam kindly bought Hannah a milkshake in KFC to make it up to her.

Beef and camembert calzone for tea, again cooked on a camping stove, with smores for pudding. You are so impressed. In the morning I fell onto my bum into the river running through the campsite attempting to collect water in a saucepan. We then ate banana porridge. YES! That day was IRONMAN day – people from all over the world come to Taupo to swim 4.8 km, cycle 180 km and then run 42 km. People lined the streets clapping proudly – those too weak or too lazy used plastic ‘clappers’. There was electromagneticism in the wind. Such handsome bikes… It was a full-day event. We popped into warehouse and bought Hannah a torch and a ‘mega pack’ of baby wipes, which was actually reasonably mediocre. The day was spent meandering from crowded roadside Ironman enthusiasts to the shops of Taupo relishing the opportunity presented by the Ironman-spectator engorged pavements. After finding and using a BOGOF coffee voucher we found ourselves at the finish line just as the MC was psyching up the plastic-clapper-clad crowds for the arrival for the 2010 IRONMAN champion by tossing free hats and inflatable bananas into the throng. I would have had one if the guy in front of me hadn’t been. As the champ rounded the bend onto the final straight and the MC screamed like a frenzied baboon, everybody dutifully joined in, went wild, threw their exaggerated bananas into the electrified air and earned their free hats. The victor was Cameron Brown and he was triumphant for the 9th successive Ironman – a new world record. Clearly a relative of mine. Red Thai curry for dinner.

Went to Taupo Baptist in the morning and were warmly welcomed by Wendy who turned out to know the lady whose house I am currently typing from – Joan Davidson from Spreydon Baptist in Christchurch. Wendy went to Spreydon 14 years ago and gave us some contacts/people to look out for and put us in touch with the office as we told her we were hoping to go there for a month or two to help out in any way if they’d have us. Hannah spent the afternoon stewing apples. We sent an email to Spreydon the next day warning of our imminent visit. Outside the internet café we met a pair of wrinkled and compact travelers who had been on the road for 9 years and told us of every free and secret campsite from Taupo to Wellington (where we would be catching the ferry to the South Island). That evening we stopped at one in a small ‘town’ Hunterville which we would never have noticed without the direction of the wrinklies. It was a beautiful little spot full of some of my favourite trees – beeches, acers, walnuts, limes, sweet chestnuts – like an old arboretum planted to make us feel at home, lovely. Our route from Taupo had taken us past Mordor along the ‘desert road’, a barren expanse surrounding an old snow-capped volcano. Bean burgers with cheese, crème fraiche, tomatoes, sweet chilli sauce and a fried egg for dinner. Apple crumble for pudding. Just before bed I saw my first possum.

The following day we arrived in Wellington. First impressions were of confusion, crowdedness and wires. We exited the centre and set about looking for a place to park up for the night, dubious and fretful. We drove around a beautiful peninsula and stopped at the Chocolate Fish Café for a coffee/icecream. The place was full school chairs and tables and we were given no chocolate fish. Further around the coast we found a beachside parking space nearby some public toilets. When more campervans turned up we felt secure. Hannah went to talk to the occupants of one van who turned out to be a lone French girl Aureile (pronounced, “Oh, really?”) who was also heading south. Sentences, paragraphs and contact details were exchanged and she promised to use us as a base in the UK. As evening slid over us a crowd began to gather on the beach. Before long we guessed they were Christians – they wore bright clothes, were all ages, chatty, happy, one had a trendy beard and a book under his arm and hugs were dealt whenever someone new arrived. Turned out to be a baptism in the sea! We were encouraged and went to sleep contented. Hannah arose early for a jog and a swim in the sea as the sun was rising. Superb. We spent the day exploring Wellie beginning with a trip to the Te Papa museum – basically the Natural History Museum. After peanut butter and plum jam sandwiches outside the art gallery we wandered the town exploring bookshops and trailing people with good looking icecreams. It was Writers and Readers Week and we had heard about a poetry recital at a theatre that evening (free, of course). We bought chocolate-dipped icecreams at the theatre and sat in velvet-covered VIP seats near the stage. Over an hour or two 5 famousish poets read 4 or 5 poems each. We pretended to understand and enjoyed the experience. Steak for dinner as we chatted to Frenchy.

We awoke at 6am, made sandwiches and took off for the ferry. As we sat in one of the lines of cars waiting to board I was convinced we would end up in France. On the 3 hour ferry ride we watched the landscape of the North Island drift away as we approached the Marlborough Sounds of the South Island – an area of fjords and islands – a maze through which the ferry must navigate. The steep hills on either side of the ferry were home to isolated farmhouses only accessible by boat or mountain goat. The hermits living there cut off from society, many without electricity still, entirely alone but for the thousands of ferry passengers passing each day only a km or so away but utterly unreachable. Arriving in Picton, we disembarked. We would be staying with Rob Cleland’s sister (Tom’s Aunt) on her farm that night but had 5 hours to kill by eating painfully delicious Dutch pastries packed with cherries and joy. The time that didn’t fill was spent in the library, where I managed to read an entire (short but brilliant) Louis De Bernieres book ‘Red Dog’. A windy windy road along fjords led us to the farm and house of Sharon and Chris, set upon a hill with a glorious fjordland view which they had moved into only three days before. They very kindly gave us a bed in the guest house – with it’s own lounge and bathroom! We have stayed in some seriously great B&Bs!! Great people, whom we assured we did not defecate on roadsides.

In the morning we took our first tentative steps South. A similar landscape to that of the Stellanbosch winelands of South Africa, absolutely magnificent. We stopped at ‘Vinery Village’ and enjoyed tastings of incredible black sambucca, icecream sauces, chutneys, vinegars, cheese and (from a stern Nordic saleswoman) two slithers of fudge from our two flavour choices. I felt invigorated and alive. There was also a quilting shop (not an unusual sight in NZ) where Hannah bought some delightful fabric scraps. Another German hitchhiker named Chris later and we found ourselves driving alongside some dramatic coastline, hoping for a glance at a whale. A pretty and pretty long drive with tunnels through cliffs which brought us to Kaikoura (roughly halfway to Christchurch). If you are in NZ, Kaikoura is the place to go whale watching. It cost $150 each and so we didn’t. The weather was looking a little unstable and there was a chill in the air – we decided we would have a cooked lunch and maybe sandwiches for tea, incase it rained later on. In a car park we set a pan of pasta boiling. Kaikoura was supposed to be in the shadow of a chain of majestic and imposing mountains but we saw no evidence of them – a blanket of grey cloud dominated the sky – we could be in a town floating on the sea for all we could tell. The clouds were getting darker and as I sat on the car’s backseat leaning out to stir the pasta we heard a rumble that could have been a lorry but sounded like thunder. Then I felt a splash that felt too big to be a raindrop but too cold to be from the pan of boiling water. Before long it was clear something significant was about to happen – lightning flashes, thunderclaps, raindrops like water balloons. At first the rain was sparse and we willed either the storm to pass or the pasta to boil. Our will was not the Lord’s. When marble-sized hailstones began to plummet, we closed the doors and left the pasta to itself. The flame guttered and spat in the wind and the pan took a beating but physics was on our side and the flame stayed alight. I took a beating each time I opened the door to check whether the pasta was cooked, much to the amusement of the guy in the driver’s seat of the car which had pulled up next to us to avoid driving in the storm. He happily pointed out our plight to his amused wife. A gay time was had by all. Once done, the pan and stove were hauled into the car and dished up. The windows steamed up in seconds. It was intense under there – I was convinced the already cracked windscreen would cave in under the pounding it was taking and bury Hannah in the front seat. A window was wiped and we gazed out at a new world – previously warm and summery, now white, arctic and sparse. I was eager to look around – Hannah predictably less so. We put on our macs and stepped out into the freezing rain, our fingers instantly rendered useless. Joining the rest of the startled population of Kaikoura in a café, we attempted to warm up around thankfully large coffees. That is until the water started to pour through the ceiling and everyone was kicked out before the building collapsed. We had read in a leaflet that there was an Irish pub nearby where campervans could park for free. It turned out to be true. We sat in their car park reading and designing quilt patterns pretending we were warm before going inside for a delicious and deserved dinner of warm breads and dips.

We arose early in the morning to make the most of a gloriously clear and fresh day. The previously non-existent mountains were suddenly very existent. Colossal. Spectacular – possibly the best sight so far. The previous day’s storm had kindly perfected them with a dusting of snow. Unbelievable that something so immense could be concealed by water vapour to the extent that you wouldn’t believe it was there. From now on, water vapour beats rock. We visited the peninsula where there was a seal colony inhabited by one sleeping seal. We climbed a hill to begin the walk of the peninsula and were rewarded with a gut-wrenching view of the mountains (the Southern Alps) stretching across NZ and dropping suddenly into the sea with just about enough space for a road along the shore. It was so great I even did a sketch. I was desperate to tuck into a Toblerone.

Back on the road we stopped briefly at a café where everything looked delicious and nothing was bought. The remaining 3 hours to Christchurch turned out to be 2 hours, which was nice. We had arrived. Little did we know then (though we hoped) we would still be there two months later. Once again we were anxious about where we would find to sleep that night and popped into the i-site on Cathedral Square in the city centre but were told with a secretive glance that they ‘didn’t hold that information’ so once again we felt like we were being naughty by sleeping in our car! After a coffee we set off for the coast to find somewhere to park, looking out for campervans and toilets. Before long we found a spot in a place called ‘Sumner’ alongside a windswept beach. A council lady turned up in the carpark and we thought we would be thrown in jail or executed. God, however, was just preparing to implode our expectations once again and the kind lady asked us to fill out a survey about Freedom Camping for which she would give us a $10 petrol voucher! She informed us there were no by-laws about freedom camping and it was perfectly legal. The council was looking to understand the minds of campers and figure out a way to make visitors and residents (who are rightfully concerned by the few campers who use the verges as toilets) both happy. It was a chance for us to suggest things such as a map of public toilets/cheap overnight parking/more helpful i-sites! We slept comfortably reassured that night.

The next day was blisteringly hot and Sunday. We intended to visit Spreydon Baptist, the church we had heard about from Anthony Watt, a speaker at Soul Survivor last Summer. He spoke about living as a redemptive community of faith, learning to love God and each other and we were eager to have a chance to see how they were outworking it as it is something we are keen to explore back in Southampton.

What happens next is a brilliant beginning to a new chapter in our trip – although I feel like I should let anyone who has made it reading this far have a break and maybe continue in my next installment as I fear this is already a much too long one. Hang on, word count… Yep, pretty long …but not the longest…

We are missing everyone and looking forward to seeing your glowing entities in a couple of months!

Brownout.

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