NEW ZEALAND CAMPING 2013: DAY #8

Friday April 26, 2013

The windmills at The Farmyard Campsite

Putting my head between the curtains when I woke to check on the weather – it looked like another good day – the antics of the resident peacocks and peahens made me laugh. They were scrapping over a slice of bread which had appeared from somewhere – there was a list in the ablution block of the best food to give the animals – no wonder the pigs were disappointed yesterday when we turned up empty handed. The males would grab the morsels, clearly confident that with their glorious plumage and imperial strut, no one would deny them their right to eat first. “Nothing doing,” said the drab peahens, dashing in to snatch and grab and, unencumbered by a long and beautiful tail, outrun the peacocks.

Child Labour

The girls were excited about the prospect of their first donkey rides after breakfast, but before that they turned up for cleaning duties. These had to be strictly allocated and policed to prevent any demarcation disputes. Stephi had the rear of the van and Caroline the front and they did an excellent job, saving Gran’s (and my) knees.

We bid them all a fond farewell as they headed for their rides to be followed by their journey to Akaroa for their last night.  Matt gave Rab a big hug and thanked her for trying out the campervan experience – said he never thought she’d do it.. After dumping grey water and waste – no way were we going to leave the van in the condition we got it, we were off with plenty of time in hand. As I always say, boringly no doubt, before beginning a journey, I would rather sit for an hour in the departure lounge than turn up five minutes late to find boarding closed.

We were in two minds whether to take the longer, scenic route, to Christchurch  or the more direct route which we could time better, opting for the latter in the end. Since we had time in hand, we paused in Geraldine for Rab to pop into a shop that she had seen the day before – amazing how much time was spent shopping in this little village. On our way I spotted a wool shop on the side of the road – The Tin Shed. I was pretty certain we had stopped there and had bought two very fine jumpers on our way to Queenstown on our last visit, so, since we had time in hand, we popped in again. It had some lovely goods, none of which we bought, but all of which Rab examined, taking so long that we were up against our time limit once we got going again. Very nice people running the place.

Rab guided me back to the van premises like a homing pigeon but we had a bit of a surprise when we got there as dozens of vans queued for entry. We had assumed that handover would be a short action, but how long would all these take to process. We unloaded our luggage, leaving the keys in the van and hung about in the office, waiting our turn. While we were there we were surprised to see a food swap cupboard, sited near the returning van area. Great idea – people were encouraged to leave unexpired portions of their rations for newly arrived folk to take. It would have saved us a bit of time on arrival – and we would have had some Vegemite for breakfast.

In due course our turn came and I reported the chipped windscreen we had acquired near Duntroon. No worries said the lass. I also mentioned the state of the van – and suggested I might be reimbursed the $15.33 for the gas. Again, no worries, but also no apologies. Just a smile and there you go. By the time we were done the flood of vans had ceased almost completely – apparently there are ebbs and flows in just when the customers arrive which are difficult to predict.

The airport is not far away from the van depot and they took us around and dropped us off at what turned out to be very close to where we boarded the aircraft for Wellington, our destination. The only problem was that first we had to walk to the far end of the airport to book in and then walk back to the departure gate. The signage was not too clear and there was an automated booking in system that differed from the one in Australia and seemed to assume that you knew more than we did. A friendly airline employee helped us and pointed us to our destination. We only realised when we got there that we had not been through any form of security, a first for us for more years than we can remember. Presumably this is because the short haul flight we were joining simply could not be hijacked to any destination outside New Zealand because it wouldn’t have the range, but …..what of the other risks we are constantly warned about. We might have been aiming to blow up the plane with our shoes or our belts or our underpants.

The aircraft was a small propeller driven one – a DASH I think. I had assumed that it would be loaded from a front door and had booked the front row seats on the basis that I’d have some good leg room. Wrong! It loaded from rear doors, so we had to walk the length of the narrow  aisle to seats on the bulkhead – the worst position for me. Ah well, it was only 45 minutes, I could take it. And there were ‘light refreshments’ the chief steward told us. We duly were offerd a drink of water – you can’t get lighter than that. But it was refreshing.

We had some excellent views of the valleys and mountains of South Island as we flew north. 

The flight had some movement as we crossed the Cook Strait – the captain had warned us of this – which has a reputation  for being very windy with very rough seas. It became clear just why the flight and landing were so bumpy, as we stepped off the aircraft (we had to walk across the tarmac)  we were almost bowled over by a howling gale which  felt as if it had arrived straight from the Antarctic. 

Having made it to the terminal building we had another long walk – haven’t these folk heard of moving pavements?? – to collect our bags and find the rental car people. Everything in order there, including a GPS I had requested. “Why?”, asked my co-pilot, “We didn’t need one on South Island and we won’t need one here.”  So our cost was reduced by NZ$47.17 and they kept the GPS.

It was a very odd feeling when I first sat in the hire car – a Toyota Corolla because it felt as if I was sitting on the ground, with a very restricted view. Like a sports car almost. But I overcame those issues and heading out of the airport we had our first need for the GPS when, my fault, we turned right instead of left. We had downloaded a Google map to show us the way to the BnB we had booked for the night, and it showed great detail with street names etc. Problem was that we couldn’t see the names on any signs and what roads were labelled had different nomenclature to that which we were expecting.

The reason for my basic mistake however was that, when I had looked at the map last week at home, I had not realised that it was upside down. So I expected that the sea would be on my left as we exited the airport and turned appropriately. Of course it should have been on the right. But we were able to correct that – it is much easier to do a U-turn in a small car than a campervan – and head back up the highway. Our problems were not over however. Despite Rab’s best efforts and considerable skills we made three more errors before finally finding ourselves in the right place – Alexandra Road, which  curled up to the summit of Mount Victoria through some lovely  forested slopes with excellent views, although these were fading as night started to fall. Apparently this area was yet another LOTR site and there were signs up to tell us that.

Descending the mountain we spotted the very narrow turn off to Robieson Street, the address of the BnB. I was immediately confronted by a plumber’s van heading for me on the only remnant of road left because of all the cars parked on the road, all of which were also pointing towards me. Was this a one way road? Had we missed the sign? The plumber pulled into a small space and as I came alongside him I asked him if it was a one way street? “No, bro,” he said “Just a bloody narrow one!”. So on we went for a hundred metres or so until we spotted Robieson Lane on our right, which Rab said was the correct road to take. It was almost vertical and the houses were numbered erratically. We could not see a #1 and finally ran out of road, going through a large pair of opened gates onto an area paved with tiles with some orange plastic fencing warning us of the fifty foot drop on the right.

The u-turn we made was done with the same care that astronauts use when going to the toilet. Driving back through the gates we were able to see that the house next door was in fact our destination – Panorama Bed and Breakfast, #1 Robieson Lane, proprietor Peg MacKay. She gave us a very warm welcome and it was clear why she had named her establishment Panorama – the view from her lounge room was magnificent. She overlooked the Wellington Harbour and Fitzroy Bay and said she spent a deal of time watching the comings and goings far below. We had missed a large cruise ship, but saw the ferries coming in from Picton on South Island.

 

The ferry arrives from Picton

The only drawback to the house was that the guest accommodation was on a floor lower than the entrance floor and the staircase was very narrow. We usually leave our large case in the car when we are staying at BnB establishments, depending on a smaller case with our overnight requirements, but we had not done this, so I had to hump the large 20 kg/44 lb case down, a step at a time – the staircase was not wide enough to carry the case by my side. No great problem, but enough for me to feel a bit pooped by the time I had got both cases down. Rab was chatting to Peg, so I had me a little laydown – just ten minutes of relaxation using the techniques I had learned years ago from a wonderful yoga teacher.

Felt much better after that and joined the ladies upstairs where Peg offered me a glass of fine local Merlot and a snack of guacamole or avocado dip while I watched the passing show in the bay. She was a very interesting hostess – a little eccentric, as many BnB owners seem to be, but only too pleased to help with suggestions as to where to eat, what to see, what to do – we were staying two nights with her.

 

The sun set as we sipped our wine

Our first requirement was food – we had not had lunch and breakfast was a long way away in time and space – Geraldine, South Island. Peg’s suggestion was a fish restaurant down on the Oriental Bay, which was almost immediately below her house. Excellent food she said, but maybe difficult to get in on a Friday, but no worries – she knew them well and would make a booking for us. This she did, telling them we’d be there in about fifteen minutes.

Next thing was how to get to the restaurant. Her directions were a little vague for me along the lines of take the first road, sharp right, go on down, you can’t go wrong and you come out there (pointing to the end of the peninsula), then you come back here. Getting home was also simple – turn right on the first road off Majoribanks Street and keep taking the right turn options. Sounded a bit difficult to me – so how about a taxi? “Easy done, I know all the drivers and they know me – about $10 each way. I’ll call one now.”

Another glass of wine as we see the lights come on in the city, but no sign of the taxi driver. Eventually there is a tentative knock on the door and there stands Ablobolm  the cabbie from Eritrea who has parked his vehicle at the top of the lane and has been searching for the house for about half an hour. There were no street lights, so we grabbed our torches and puffed our way up the steep lane, with me narrowly avoiding twisting my ankle on a drain that ran down and across the lane, looking in the dark just like a white line.

It was interesting talking to Ablobolm about the difference in his life in New Zealand compared with Eritrea. He had no time for Maoris who he regarded as lazy loafers, living off the State and drinking their benefits away. He got us to the restaurant about an hour after Peg had called and agreed to pick us up in 45 minutes – we got his number in case that timing was not correct.

It turned out that there was no necessity to book at the restaurant and we were given a table by the window. The restaurant was somewhat limited and the food was OK but nothing to remember fondly. Rather like the food you’d get in a good RSL club back in Australia. It was fairly noisy with a bunch of Aussies throwing back the beers – which were rather nice - and breaking into a chant from time to time. I tried a Koi which was a dark beer.

It was pretty cold when we stepped out and waited for Ablobolm to show, which he did, right on time. He duly drove to Marjoribanks Street and driving along narrow streets reduced to one lane by parked cars, all the way and taking right turns including a last turn of almost 180 degrees delivered us safely to Panorama. Peg had the price wrong - $20 each way, but still good value.

We had a key and let ourselves in although Peg was still up and watching TV. She offered a night cap and a chat, but we were fairly tired after what had been quite a long day and retired to our snug bedroom. The lights below were so attractive that we decided to keep curtains open and drifted off to sleep just looking at the magnificent view and wondering how the family were doing in Akaroa.