A Wrong Turn on the Right Coast?

Welcome back folks, to the Magically Kurious Mystery Kruise of Matt & Kelcy! When last we left off, the pair were in New Zealand. Well, nothing's changed there. In today's episode, our adventurers will discover a cafe where everything is for sale (except the proprietor), they'll dip their toes back into big city life (and nearly drown!), narrowly escape to a secluded east coast peninsula, Smaug will vomit on top of a mountain, we'll be transported back in time to Victorian Era Otago, and Matt will break into a hostel for a bag of food! This is the episode you don't want to miss! (There will be, and likely have already been, some episodes that you do want to miss...but not this one!)

After we came down Arthur's Pass, a few days ago, we only had a rough plan sketched out of where we wanted to go over the next few days. After a full day of driving and deliberating, we ended up in Methven. When you don't have much of a plan, you end up in places like Methven. Apparently, the town hustles and bustles in the winter time, being positioned at the foothills of a handful of major ski fields in Canterbury. Not so much in March. This time of year, the town feels like a place where you often just catch the shades closing of every window you drive by, or a curtain just dropping, or a door just closing; the kind of place where you'd expect to see a three-legged dog chasing tumbleweed, or pass someone with white eyes sitting outside an abandoned gas station who says peculiar and ominous things when you walk past, like “The water's turning foul again!” or “You can't escape what's coming!”

None of these things actually happened, but the place was creepy. In fact, nothing of much interest happened there, but we did find a very interesting cafe. It was really more like a thrift store where you could get fancy coffee and delicious food, but the place is an intriguing find from our travels, so here's some pictures. To no surprise, the folks here don't like when you take pictures, and after we snapped these, they shouted “No pictures, please! The water's turning foul again!”

Since we were so close to the big city of Christchurch and needed to pick up some supplies, we decided to spend the morning doing some shopping. We found a huge shopping complex that had everything we needed. However, after a few months of living in a place where you have to order your groceries on the internet, a visit to consumer's paradise was a torment that nearly claimed our souls. Having dozens of option makes the weight of a decision, like which canister of camp gas to buy, nearly unbearable. But after a few hours of shopping around, we settled on a 280 gram bottle of Primus Propane/Isobutane Mix. Sure, it boils water alright, but maybe the 250 gram MSR blend would be boiling water better. Maybe...

After that exhausting affair, we were ready to get back to a simpler life. We had enough time in the day for the 1.5 hours drive to Akaroa, at the end of the Banks Peninsula. We quickly made it out of Christchurch and soon found ourselves on a steep and windy road, with occasional views down the mountains to a number of different bays leading out to the sea. The skies were fairly cloudy, so the views were limited, but dusk was nearing, so our main priority was finding a place to rest our head for the night. After driving through town and finding most places full, we headed for a farm hostel outside of town. Upon inquiring, we were told a few “stargazers” were available and were invited to check them out. We followed a trail from the reception office through a small patch of trees to a steep hillside dotted with stargazers, A-frame huts that stood about 42 inches from floor to center beam, outfitted with plexiglass skylights above the end where your head was supposed to go. Granted, a pretty fun idea for budget accommodation, but we have a tent, so we continued our search (after a quick inspection of the outhouse) and eventually found some luck.

The next day, we decided to take our time, cook some breakfast, leisurely explore the harbor town and learn a little about it's history (Very briefly, it was established by French explorers and traders in the early 1800's, French flags still fly all over the village, and some of the descendants of the original settlers still reside here.). We had a beautiful sunny morning to enjoy some short walks in the area, and decided to hit the road and continue our journey south around mid-day. We began heading north out of town on a steep scenic route. A few loose sheep were obnoxiously running in the road ahead of our car, because sheep believe that cars run on sheep blood, and as we slowed down to wait for an opportunity to pass them, we noticed a small white cloud pass us. Uh-oh. We finally passed the poor terrified sheep, and soon after noticed a similar white cloud coming from underneath the front of the car. Well, neither of us are car doctors, but we both agreed that a few important pieces live under the front of most cars, so we pulled over quickly.

The white smoke continued, so we quickly exited and soon found Smaug gurgling and throwing up all over the side of the road. We were a little bit embarassed, and curious how late Smaug had stayed out the night before. Since she didn't catch on fire, we decided the coast was clear to turn around and roll down the hill back into town and to one of our least favorite places: a mechanic's garage. Few people inspire more fear and shame than shifty mechanics. No matter how much you think you've learned about vehicles, they seem to have an innate ability of immediately sizing you up, figuring out what you know, learning what you don't know, and than explaining how that part you've never heard of isn't functioning properly on your car, and if you don't take care of it soon, you and everyone you love will die a horrible death. Fortunately, we weren't doomed for this sort of experience. After a few “hmmms” and “uh-ohs” and “this could be bad news,” we learned that we only had a ruptured radiator hose, the fix would be relatively cheap, we'd just need to hang around an extra day while the part came in from Christchurch. A bit of a headache, but these things happen, so we made the most of it and enjoyed a beautiful bonus night next to the sea.

Our car was healed and ready for the road just before lunch time the next day, so we were finally ready to leave the Banks Peninsula, after a brief pit stop in the old whaling village of Little River. Today, we were going to camp in the Waihu River gorge, just outside of Geraldine, a small farming community in southern Canterbury. We enjoyed a pleasant and uneventful day. Geraldine is a quiet town with a cool old movie theater that shows a different movie every night, and a wonderful produce market where you can buy locally grown everything for next to nothing. There was nothing creepy about the town, and nothing blew up in our car, so we considered the day a huge success.

Next stop was Oamaru. We didn't really know anything about it, but our guide book said it was a hot spot that couldn't be missed, so why not? As far as New Zealand cities that we've been to, Oamaru is probably a little bit larger than average, but not by any means a big city. The city sits right on the coast, and is home to blue & yellow penguin colonies. The residential areas are beautiful, spread out on rolling hills that lead down to the ocean. The highlight of the city is the historical district, a few square blocks of 19^th century buildings that are actively being preserved. The appeal of this area is not merely the condition of the structures and the European aesthetics they lend to the city (which in itself is a unique site in NZ), but the community has also made tremendous strides to preserve the original trades of the city, and artisans can be found practicing skills and producing goods using means and technology that dates back over a hundred years or more. In one shop, a resident cleans raw wool, spins it into yarn, dyes it and makes gloves, hats, scarves and sweaters from it. Next door, a milliner uses the same raw wool to make custom hats. Across the street, a cooper makes barrels, which in turn are used by the distillery at the end of the block to age whiskey. The town even has a book binder's shop; we think that's where you can take your dog to get a fancy haircut. In many of the shops, the workers still wear Victorian-era garb. Our favorite site was the Grainstore Gallery, an impressive display of the creative talent of some local artists who clearly draw a lot of inspiration from their city.

Adding to our enjoyment of the quirky place was our hostel, which was really just a house, and our hostel host, who was really a human fireball. When we showed up to inquire about accommodation, no one was home, and the backdoor was open. When we called the number on the door, we reached an out-of-breath woman on her cell phone, who quickly told us that she had a room available for $570. After an awkward pause, she changed her mind and said $70, and that we could just walk in the house and grab the room key from the door. Later that day, within a few minutes of checking in, she came by our room, briefly introduced herself and told us to come get in her car so she could show us where to find penguins. As we learned from our parents, it's rude to say no to strangers, so we quickly got in her car with a few other guests as she whizzed us around town. We were supposed to be out for five minutes; we were gone for half an hour, but we received a unique local perspective of a unique town.

The next day, once we were back on the road and a few minutes out of town, we realized we had left all of our groceries in the refrigerator, so we decided to turn back for our precious food. When we arrived, again, no one was home, but all the doors were locked, and there was a note on the door saying that the house was taking a night off from being a hostel, and to try one of the other places in town. We gave our host a call, and she was once again engaged in her favorite activity of walking her beautiful sheepdog, Laika, named after the first dog in space. After we explained our dilemma, she told us that the bathroom window should be unlocked, and that there were plenty of chairs in the backyard for us to construct a ladder to get in. Why didn't we think of that in the first place? After a successful recovery mission, we hit the road for another night of camping en route to Dunedin.

And that's pretty much all there is to tell now. Except for a few minor events. Our faithful station wagon, Smaug, is currently (we hope) resting beside the Pacific Ocean next to a seal and penguin colony, refusing to come to life. Unlike most parts of the world, seals and penguins in New Zealand don't colonize around service garages. Not anywhere close to them, really, and this annoying trait of these seaborne pests has hurled an inconvenient wrench in our journeys. But where are we, you may be asking, if our car is immobilized in a gravel parking lot at the end of a gravel road several kilometers away from the highway which is many many more kilometers away from the nearest town? And what the heck is a kilometer?!? Well, we know how much our mothers love cliffhangers, so...stay tuned until next time!

Never Trust A Festival

We're back on the road again! Two days ago, we loaded up the wagon completely for the first time since Christmas. To make things easy on ourselves, we set an easy-to-reach first day destination of Hokitika, about a 2.5 hour drive north of Fox Glacier. We know how terrible we are at ever getting anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, so we decided to not be overly ambitious. And thankfully so, because we made our grand exit about 4 hours later then our target departure.

Stuff like this may be why we're always late for things.

Our tentative plan was to check out the Wildfoods Festival in Hokitika, hike around the Hokitika River Gorge, and camp at one of the area's many beautiful lakes before heading up to Arthur's Pass National Park the next day. When we arrived in Hokitika, the Wildfoods Festival was in full swing. While the festival is supposed to be a celebration of the creative use of locally sourced foods both wild and farmed, it's more like New Zealand's Altamont. If you want to give youths an excuse to drink a month's pay in a few hours, dress up in bizarre outfits with no relevance to the event and make some impressively bad decisions, just throw up some tents, bring in live music and throw the word "Festival" on the end. A town could create an annual gathering of quilting, baking, apple-bobbing and scripture reading, call it the Wholesome Convention, and never have a problem. But the moment the organizers threw up a stage and started calling it the Wholesome Festival, a drug-and-booze-fueled bacchanalia would be born, attracting hitchhikers from around the country. Sadly, we forgot the camera in the car, which is probably for the best.

Needless to say, we're cheap and boring these days, so we decided to remove ourselves to a more peaceful and free environment. We'd read about the Hokitika River Gorge a few weeks before leaving Fox, so we decided we'd have to check it out if we were passing through.

After about a 45 minute drive around seemingly endless farm land and a short hike down a handful of switchbacks, we arrived at a swinging bridge spanning a beautiful rocky gorge carved by a strangely blue-shaded river. Much of the water we've seen in New Zealand is brilliantly colored, and this water is no different, but the coloring was less like the crystal clear blue mountain rivers we've seen on much of the West Coast, and more like the candy flavor Blue Raspberry. Still, the gorge was a beautiful side trip, and now it was time to find a place to test out our new tent. To hopefully avoid any crowds from the festival, we stayed a little ways outside of town at Lake Kaniere, which turned out to be a beautiful spot to spend a night outside.

We wasted no time the next morning packing up and hitting the road for Arthur's Pass. This national park rests in the high country of the Central South Island, surrounded by mountains, along the main route from Christchurch to the West Coast. The drive only takes about an hour and half from the west, so we made it up there pretty quick.

Kea: The Grizzly Bear of Arthur's Pass!

We explored around the area a little bit, looked into where we could stay, and struck gold with a hostel called Mountain House. This place provides the same typical lodging as most hostels (shared bathrooms, kitchens and common areas), but the units are split up into several separate cottages and outfitted with wood burning stoves. 

Since we had plenty of daylight left, we set out to explore our hiking options, and decided on a walk called the Devil's Punch Bowl (we didn't have enough time to hike Satan's Silver Drawer, and Krampus's Linen Closet was closed for trail maintenance). The Devil's Punch Bowl trail is a fairly short and steep hike up to a viewing platform near the base of a 430 ft waterfall. The whole area is covered with hikes that range from a few hours to several days, but since we're still missing a few necessary items from our backpacking collection, we'll have to come to the area later in our travels to more thoroughly see the area on foot.

That's about all for now! After a night in the mountains and a beautiful sunrise over Arthur's Pass, we're back on the highway today, passing some alpine farm country, fun rock outcroppings, and nearing the east coast as we make our way to the Banks Peninsula and Akaroa!

A Hut by the River

As you can all tell, we haven't had a heck of a lot of free time for keeping everyone updated this last month. February has flown by as swift as a Pipipi, and now the time has come for us to bid farewell to Fox Glacier. But before we depart, we want to take this opportunity to tell of some of the special friends we've made here, our wonderful bosses and hosts here in Fox, Marlene and Alan.

These two are true West Coasters, as Marlene was born in Hokitika, and Alan has lived in Fox for over 40 years, after relocating here across the Southern Alps from Dunedin. Marlene is self taught master chef who used to work for Mt. Cook Snowplanes, a company that operated flights that would carry guests to the snowfields around New Zealand's highest peaks, before they relocated to the other side of the mountains. Alan is a jack-of-all-trades, who's worked as a postman, an engineer, a bushman, and a professional possum trapper. About ten years ago, they started operating a hotel & restaurant here in Fox, and about ten years after that, Kelcy & Matt showed up on their doorstep. Who can say how long our paths have been serendipitously intertwined, but we consider ourselves exceptionally fortunate to have had the chance to meet them.

Since our first meeting, these two have taken great care of us, providing us a wonderful place to live, offering us extraordinary flexibility in our work arrangement, and just making sure we've always had everything we needed while we've been here. But like anyone who owns their own business, what they enjoy most about it is getting away from it. This has to be especially true in the world of hospitality. On one such day last week, Alan was feeling a little antsy, and felt like getting away for the afternoon to his own slice of paradise, their hut on the Paringa River. And being the remarkably nice guy that he is, he invited us along.

The conversation was a little bit strained on the way, not because of any lack of familiarity among us all, but because the inside of a late-70's diesel Land Cruiser is about as conducive to conversation as the inside of a jet engine. But after 45 minutes of rumbling down windy Highway 6, we arrived at the tell-tale deer skull that marks so many hidden treasures the world round.

We turned onto a one-way gravel road that, after about 25 minutes, ended at the Paringa River. Only, we were supposed to be going to a hut (which we hadn't really worked out what exactly that meant), and there were no structures, inhabitable or otherwise, within sight. Well, our curiosity was quickly assuaged as Alan hopped out of the truck, locked in the hubs, and plunged us all into the river. We're not generally accustomed to vacation homes that can only be reached by jet boat or amphibious truck, but we were certainly intrigued in seeing how the Kiwis like to get away from it all.

After a few bends in the river and little bit of island hopping, we arrived at exactly where we were told we'd be going: a hut. Alan handmade this idyllic getaway for him and his gal using an old trailer bed. It's equipped with everything necessary for a comfortable trip to the river: a foam bed, a kitchen, a card table, a bathroom (complete with a heated shower), and a covered porch. Recalling the considerable lengths we had undergone to reach this spot, we were a little curious as to how he had managed to move the trailer to a small cleared patch surrounded by jungle and river on all sides. "With me Fordy Fordson!" he explained as he opened up the adjoining garage to reveal a beautiful old tractor, which must have been constructed with the same skill, reliability and seaworthiness as a late 70's Land Cruiser.

We spent a little while enjoying the peace and quiet of this secluded spot, while Alan showed us the deer trails through the bush behind the hut, or the channels in the river where you could catch trout and salmon, depending on the time of year. He treated us to a couple of beers while he did a bit of yard work, and soon we had to load up and head back to Fox.

At a glance, this tale recounts an ordinary day in rural Westland, a few acquaintances taking a break from work to get out and enjoy some sunshine. But something subtle also occurred, as someone who barely knows us and bears no obligation to us decided to share with us not only something that he made and treasures, but his time as well. And this is the kind of consideration and kindness that these two have shown us since we first walked through their door, which is greatly appreciated by a couple of Yanks a long way from home.

So with a pinch of sadness, a lot of excitement, and all the gratitude we can summon, we bid farewell to Fox Glacier!