CarolineAbbott.co.uk: Carrie's blog

I can’t believe I’ve come to more or less the end of my time in New Zealand. In the last six weeks, I’ve stayed in 20 different towns, driven 5,015km, or 3,116 miles, and formed countless memories. I can understand why so many people I know want to live here. It’s like Britain, only it’s not over-populated and it’s got mountains, much nicer seawater and some amazing wildlife (which, unlike in Australia, isn’t particularly dangerous). I’ve had an absolutely brilliant time and one day, I’d love to come back. But now it’s time to think about Australia; I fly from Christchurch to Sydney tomorrow.

On Tuesday, March 27, I took the long route towards Christchurch as there were a couple of places I wanted to visit because of the name – Caroline Bay, for example – but for various reasons, I didn’t get what I wanted from the detour.

It was my last full day with Greg, so I took the opportunity to visit Banks Peninsula, which I had been told was very pretty. It was. I drove to the postcard-perfect little town of Akaroa but didn’t stay very long because I needed to check into my hostel in Christchurch before reception closed.

When I got to Christchurch, New Zealand’s second-largest city, it was a bit of a challenge to find the hostel because some of the streets I wanted to drive down were in the zone that had been closed off since last year’s earthquake. The YHA hostels were closed, but the staff in Dunedin had suggested I stayed at the BBH hostel The Old Countryhouse.

I went for a walk around the boundary of the ‘red zone’, right in the city centre, and I was moved to tears, seeing the devastation and thinking about the impact it had on people. There were still flowers and messages tied to the metal fences surrounding the zone. Further out, there were houses-beyond-repair being torn down and cracked pavements all over the place. One building that was in ruins still had the New Zealand flag flying from its roof, like a show of defiance against nature. I came across a team of people demolishing another building and joined the small crowd that was watching from the other side of the road. “That was the convention centre,” said a Kiwi standing next to me, matter-of-factly. “It was a fairly new building.” The digger pulled down a wall, and the ground shook.

I thought that would be the closest I got to knowing what an earthquake felt like, but that night, just after 3am, my bed started to shake as if it was a washing machine on fast spin, and something near the window, or perhaps it was the window itself, started to rattle. The aftershock lasted for just a few seconds.

“Don’t bother going to Christchurch,” several people had said to me on my travels. “It’s been totally destroyed.” My flight departs from Christchurch, and I was looking forward to visiting my friend Alina, who I hadn’t seen for five years, but even without these reasons, I’m glad I came here, as the information I’d been given was an exaggeration. There were still lots of things to see and places to go, from the botanic gardens, which were both lovely and extensive (you would have to pay to see gardens that nice in the UK), to the cinema and pubs such as cosy Pomeroy’s, which offered delicious food and live music. The mall created from shipping containers was bright and colourful, and inspiring.

The Lake Tekapo area is famous for its clear skies so on my second night I drove towards the middle of nowhere to see what the fuss was about. After a possum-dodging mini-adventure, I turned off the lights, got out of the car, and said “WOW!” out loud, even though there was nobody to hear. I was impressed by the night sky in Milford but this was something else. It felt like you could see everything there was to see, without the need for a telescope. I lay against Greg and stared up at the Milky Way, Mars, and what seemed like billions of stars. I even saw a shooting star, so I made a wish. Whether or not it comes true remains to be seen. It was so dark I couldn’t tell that I was next to a field of cows until one mooed so loudly it made me jump. Then I heard voices coming from the nearby farm, and I actually thought I might be shot at, so I left quickly and headed back to town.

On Sunday, March 25, the new driving laws came into effect, but these didn’t bother me as I drove to Lake Tekapo because they’re what I’m used to in the UK.

The hostel in the village of Lake Tekapo was yet another with an amazing view from the lounge. The lake was an unusual shade of bright blue because of the ‘rock flour’ or sediment in it. I can’t have gone for more than half a dozen days without seeing the sea or a huge lake; it’s going to be strange when I get back to the UK. I’ll miss constantly having mountains in the background too.

The village was so small it took less than an hour to wander around, even with a bit of shopping. I passed some time playing my new favourite game, Pictionary, with some guys from Holland and Sweden. I did pretty well, but I know the others were at a disadvantage because English wasn’t their first language. I can’t remember their names because, as I was Carrie and one of them was Barry, the others got new names such as Harry, Larry and Gary.

On Friday, March 23, I headed to Mount Cook but stopped for lunch in Oamaru. I went to see the blue penguin colony but most of the birds were at sea. I saw a few in their nestboxes. They were only about 25cm tall – they’re the smallest of the world’s 18 penguin species – and they were quite cute.

When I got to Mount Cook Village I knew the weather was going to be bad for the next couple of days, so I had to go and see the country’s tallest mountain (from the other side) straight away. I only had time, before it got dark, to do the two-hour return walk to Kea Point. Mount Cook was partly hidden by cloud, but for the next two days it was totally invisible, so it was better than nothing. Mount Sefton was easier to see and just as impressive. As I walked at the foot of all the mountains, I felt small. I know what you’re about to say – “Carrie, you ARE small” – but I mean REALLY small. It was humbling.

As forecast, it started to rain very heavily, and the mountains were lost from view. The hostel was busy, as nobody wanted to be outside – including a few sparrows that kept pinching your food even if you only turned your back for a second. Despite my umbrella, I got soaked when I went to the Visitor Centre, which had lots of information about mountain climbing and a souvenir shop.

As the heating in our dorm didn’t seem to be working, Hazel from Somerset, Aukje from Holland, and I made use of the hostel’s free sauna. Then we wanted to watch a film on Hazel’s laptop, but there wasn’t any space in the lounge, dining room or TV room, and someone in our dorm was trying to sleep, so we went back to the sauna and sat in there with the door open, to the amusement of the hostel staff.

Dunedin, the second-largest city on the south island (but only about the same size as Exeter), was pretty scruffy, and it felt more like Britain than New Zealand. In places like Wellington and Wanaka it wasn’t uncommon to see people wandering around barefoot; but you wouldn’t do that here because before long you would tread on broken glass. I was uncomfortable about having to leave Greg parked in front of a car with a smashed window. There was a condom packet on the pavement, and as I took out my bags I was watched by a young man sitting on his garage roof playing a guitar and a middle-aged woman sitting on a dilapidated sofa in her front garden. The hostel had character. It was a century-old former hospital, with heavy wooden doors and creaky sunken stairs. But even in the hostel, there were posters warning you that there were thieves around.

I was in the hostel lounge when Bambi (Kowoon, from the hostel in Queenstown) walked in, which was a nice surprise. We had breakfast together. I’ve bumped into people I first met elsewhere in the country several times now.

I paid a visit to Baldwin Street, the world’s steepest residential street according to the Guinness Book of Records. It’s 350m long and at its steepest, the slope is 1 : 2.86, or 35 percent. My heart sank when I saw it because it looked even steeper than I’d imagined, but I’d told myself I was going to walk it, so I did. I was overtaken by a taxi full of middle-aged women who got out at the top and watched me climb the last part. “Your hamstrings must be burning,” one of them said to me, as I made a beeline for the water fountain. I told them getting a taxi was cheating. The views were great but you wouldn’t find me living in a street like that.

The Botanic Gardens were nice, but not nice enough to make me dig out my camera. Similarly, there were lots of old buildings such as the university and law courts, but the only times I stopped for photos were at the railway station, which was a pretty unusual building, and the cathedral which was next to the municipal chamber.

Dunedin was in the middle of a fringe festival so I went to a stand-up comedy night which was quite good. There were six or seven acts during the two-hour show. The funniest weren’t Kiwis, but an American guy and a Chinese girl.

My overall opinion about Dunedin changed when I saw the beach at St Clair, a 10-minute drive away. It was fantastic. I watched a couple of surfers and was gutted I didn’t have time to get in the water myself. But I was on my way to the Otago Peninsula, home to the yellow-eyed penguins and NZ sea lions which have put this area on the map.

I took the Highcliff road to Sandfly Bay, and the views were magnificent. But I only saw one penguin in the water and one waddling up the beach some distance away. However, there were loads of sea lions. Most of them were swimming in the water, which was so clear, they could be watched both above and below the surface. Two were at the top of the beach, not far away from me, and the larger one – which was massive – chased the smaller one into the sea. Some were lazing around on the rocks, and it was only when they moved that I realised they were there, as they were well camouflaged.

On my way back into the city, I picked up a hitchhiker for the first time, even though I have driven past dozens over the last few weeks. I thought it would be pretty mean to leave the young German girl on the peninsula as it was starting to get dark, and there wasn’t much other traffic around.

The quiet little town of Te Anau was just a stopover on my way to Milford Sound, but it had some quirky features and I hit the jackpot hostel-wise. I wasn’t in a dorm in the main building, but in a separate building, called The Cottage. It had its own bathroom, kitchenette, TV and DVD player, and although there was room for six people, I was sharing it with just two others. I had my best night’s sleep in ages – after I went out with Maria, 35, from Spain, to celebrate St Patrick’s Day. The staff at the first bar, The Redcliff, had gone to some effort for the occasion but it was virtually empty, and I felt sorry for them. We stayed for a drink and a game of miniature pool, and then we went to a bar called The Moose, which was packed. There was a good atmosphere and a live band which had everyone on the dancefloor. I decided to spend an extra night in Te Anau after going to Milford Sound, to avoid another very long drive.

On Sunday, March 18, I headed to Milford. It was supposed to be an extremely scenic drive, with lots of mountains covered by dense forest, but the weather was terrible and I couldn’t see far. The cloud made the place seem very moody and slightly other-worldly. Where the mountains were bare, I could see hundreds of thin waterfalls tumbling down, and they looked a bit like lightning bolts. The tops of the mountains were hidden by clouds and it seemed like the waterfalls were coming straight from the heavens. The traffic lights at the Homer Tunnel took 15 minutes to change. When I was able to pass through, it was a slightly unnerving 1200m drive. I stopped to see The Chasm but left my camera in the car to keep it dry. I got soaked to the skin as I did the short walk to see the roaring waters and sculpted rocks. When I returned the next day, with my camera, I was quite disappointed that most of the waterfalls no longer even existed.

I knew there was basically nothing to the ‘village’ of Milford except for the cruise terminal and a cafe/bar – the only one within 120km – so I decided to pass some time by going for a walk, despite the torrential rain. (There were 90mm of rainfall overnight. Milford is one of the wettest places in the world, with around 7m of rainfall a year.) The thundering waterfalls, particularly the 160m Bowen Falls, were spectacular, but only the closest mountains were visible. When my waterproof shoes gave up the fight, I went to the BBH hostel, Milford Sound Lodge, had a nice hot shower, and resolved not to go outside again. I spent the evening drinking wine and playing versions of Pictionary and Cranium with Jenny from California in the hostel lounge. It was fun, but we couldn’t persuade anyone else to join us, even though there wasn’t much else to do. It was in the middle of nowhere; there wasn’t even any phone signal. On the way back to our dorm, we realised the rain had finally stopped, and we went outside. I’ve never seen so many stars at once. It was as if we were actually up in the middle of space.

It was as if it went from winter to summer overnight. The sun was shining as I boarded the Milford Mariner for my two-and-a-quarter-hour Real Journeys cruise. Unlike the previous day, the famous 1682m Mitre Peak could be seen, but Bowen Falls, while still impressive, seemed much tamer than before. As I’ve found to be the case with New Zealand’s most stunning spots, the sandflies were a pest. According to Maori legend, the goddess of death was afraid humans would be so entranced by the beauty of Milford Sound, they would forget their mortality, so she introduced sandflies to remind them not to linger.

The whole fiord, all 16km of it, was breathtaking. Rudyard Kipling called it ‘the eighth wonder of the world’, and while I haven’t seen the other seven, I wouldn’t disagree with him. The mountains, with their vertical sides (they had been carved by a glacier… the early explorers should have called Milford a fiord not a sound… sounds are created by river erosion, not glaciers, apparently), were imposing. It was only when a ship or kayaker was directly underneath that you could fully appreciate how massive they were. There were lots of huge waterfalls, in some of which rainbows could be seen, and we also saw some seals and bottlenose dolphins, which was lucky as the latter are only seen two or three days each week. As we drew right up to one waterfall, Ryan, from Real Journeys, went to the tip of the bow and got drenched as he collected a jug of water. Those of us who wanted to could drink the water from the waterfall. I thought it tasted more or less the same as tap water. All in all, it was an awesome cruise.

When I went back to Te Anau, it felt like going home. I had the same bed in The Cottage. I didn’t need a map to get around, and even the people in the petrol station and supermarket recognised me and had a chat. I was invited to play football with a bunch of guys from various European countries, and it felt really good to kick a ball around for the first time since I left Exeter two months ago. Then I had a girlie night in with Aude from France and Lisa from Minnesota, the only other people in The Cottage, and we ate Cadbury’s chocolate and watched a DVD. It was a perfect day, but as I lay in bed I couldn’t stop thinking about friends and family back home, especially in light of some recent sad news. I am enjoying myself, but I am missing you.

I’m just about to leave Queenstown, having been at the YHA’s lakefront hostel for five nights which is the longest I’ve spent in one place since leaving the UK. I’ve had a brilliant time here but I’ve spent a lot of money, and it’s time to move on. By mutual agreement, I’m leaving Silvia behind. We parted on good terms, after going out for a lovely meal with our Korean roommate Kowoon, and she gave me one of her bracelets to remember her by.

The first thing we did when we arrived on Monday, March 12, was go to Fergburger, as I was told to do by various friends who’ve already been to Queenstown. They wouldn’t tell me what a fergburger was exactly; they just said: “It’s the best burger you’ll ever eat.” Therefore, in my mind, a fergburger was a burger made from a native animal called a ferg. But of course it wasn’t, and I chose a Cockadoodle Oink – a chicken burger with bacon as well as the usual salad bits plus avocado, in a toasted bun. It was so big it had to be held in both hands, and it was so filling I’m glad I didn’t order fries as well. Was it the best burger ever? Absolutely. I went back the following day for a beef one.

Queenstown Gardens were nice, and I was impressed to see they contained a frisbee golf course. In fact, I’d missed an open tournament by two days, which was a shame as I might have been tempted to enter. I was surprised that many of the shops in town, particularly those catering for tourists, were open until 11pm, and I bought a few small souvenirs. The waterfront had a great atmosphere, and there was always a busker or two, with anything from a violin to a piano.

I decided to go to the top of the mountain to see the views over Queenstown, and I took the hour-long trail beside the gondola. I couldn’t believe how steep it was. It was hard work. I spent the entire time praying there was a cafe at the top. Fortunately, there was. After having a drink and appreciating the view, I took the gondola back to the bottom. It got me there in five minutes and it was the best $14 I spent that day.

Queenstown is a mecca for adrenalin junkies. The second-best thing I did this week was go paragliding from Coronet Peak. It’s not possible to see the town from there, but it was the highest point around that you could go from, and the views of the mountains called The Remarkables were, well, remarkable. I went with a man called Omar, who was originally from Venezuela. He thought I would find paragliding tame compared to skydiving, but I enjoyed it. It was like the second part of a skydive but if you were lucky you could go up as well as down. When Omar was preparing the equipment, I thought it looked just like a big yellow kite. Taking off was as easy as walking off the side of the hill. Omar let me take control for a bit. The flight lasted for 13 minutes, and photos were included free of charge. Omar was very kind and also put the videos on my disc – as well as his phone number.

The best thing I did this week was the Nevis bungy jump. At 134m, it’s one of the highest in the world. The site was a 45-minute minibus ride from the town centre, and during that time I got increasingly nervous. When we passed another bungy site, the driver said: “Look, there’s the bungy bridge. You’ll be jumping from three times that height.” The cable car ride to the jump pod, suspended over the river, seemed to take forever – there was certainly plenty of time to think about how high up I was. The French girl who jumped just before me looked like she was going to be sick. In the jump pod, the music was so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think – which was the idea. Once the staff had prepared my equipment, I shuffled to the ledge. There wasn’t really time to look around; with a “three, two, one, bungy!” I launched myself into the air for eight seconds of freefall. It’s a totally different sensation to the freefall of a skydive, because you’re so close to the ground. It was mind-blowing. When I got back to the hostel, everyone wanted to see the video. Yvonne and Eva squealed so much I wondered what they would’ve been like if they’d been the ones jumping.

The Queenstown nightlife lived up to its reputation too. I had some quality times out as well as in, with Eddy from France, Chen and May from Israel, Sam, Dan and Darius from Australia, Stuart from England, Silvia and others. I liked the World Bar, where they served cocktails in teapots, and Altitude, where the music was good. The hostel had a good TV room with comfy beanbags to sit on, but the grumpy hostel man kept sticking his head round the door to check for “inappropriate behaviour” as he called it.

I won’t ever forget my time in Queenstown.

When I had been planning my route around the south island, I failed to notice that the line on the map between Franz Josef and Mount Cook was a footpath across the mountains, and not a road. Therefore Wanaka became our next destination.

The YHA hostel was fully booked for the first night – and so were the next three hostels I rang – so we checked into the Matterhorn South hostel and moved down the road to the YHA hostel for the second and third nights. The latter, named the Purple Cow, was much nicer as our dorm had its own kitchenette and bathroom.

On our way south, we took a small detour to visit the beautiful Lake Matheson. It took about an hour and a half to walk around it, and we took plenty of photos of the lake and its reflection of Mount Cook, New Zealand’s tallest mountain at 3,755m.

Wanaka’s selling point is its own lake, though the town is also surrounded by mountains. It was surprisingly busy for its size, and it emerged that the reason was that it was hosting an A&P (agricultural) show that weekend. It was the local equivalent of the Devon County Show.

Silvia and I walked around the town and had a drink near the lakefront before moving on to the Irish pub where we played pool, listened to the live music, ate steak and Guinness pizza and got free Guinness baseball caps. I also had a drink with Xinchen from China, who was our hostel roommate. Xinchen had come to Wanaka to sell handbags at the A&P show, and she gave me her spare exhibitor’s pass so I could get in for nothing.

The highlight of the A&P show, for me, was the Jack Russell Race, which was hilarious. I nearly missed it, so I wasn’t in a good position, but I saw around 60 dogs being lined up by their owners, ready to chase after a dead rabbit being dragged by a man on horseback. However, when the race began, although some of the dogs chased the rabbit, most of them ran all over the place in excitement. The organisers were still announcing lost and found Jack Russells over the loudspeaker half an hour later.

Wanaka is perhaps best known for its quirky attraction Puzzling World, which I had promised the STA Travel rep I would visit, although I didn’t attempt the maze. It featured a large display of 3D hologram pictures, including some amazing ones done with multiple exposures. The Hall of Following Faces freaked me out. It contained 168 faces of seven different famous people including Albert Einstein, Nelson Mandela and Winston Churchill. It wasn’t just their eyes that followed you as you walked around the room – they seemed to turn their whole head in your direction. In the Ames Room, you could be a giant one moment and a dwarf the next, and then see the effect on screen afterwards. In the Tilted House, water seemed to flow uphill, and it messed with your mind. There were optical illusions all around the premises. It was a fun place.

In the hostel, I met Michaela, 28, from Germany. She knew, without me even having a shorthand pad out or asking a hundred questions, that I was a journalist. She said she could tell by my body language. This left me even more mystified than Puzzling World.