About 2.5 hours out of Melbourne, our plane crossed the west coast of New Zealand. Trapped in the aisle seat, I had to crane my neck over the large bodies of the people beside me to catch a glimpse of what this new place looked like. When I did manage to steal a glimpse over the breasts and under the chin of the woman beside me, what I saw amazed and surprised me. There was nothing but mountains as far as the eye could see. The tallest were snow-capped, but the majority were dark, grey and forboding. They seemed to go on forever. I guess I had envisioned green, lush forests and valleys where Frodo and Sam frolicked in the shire, but it looked like we were flying over the moon. This would be the first of many wonderful surprises the land of the kiwi would have in store for us.
As we began our descent into Christchurch, I was again surprised by what my sore neck could discern out the starboard window. After flying for no more than 30 minutes past the west coast of the country we were now approaching its eastern shores. I don't know why - but it never occured to me that we were going to be touring a country that was not only more remote but also so much smaller than the monoliths of Australia or Canada. I wasn't even off the plane and the enlightenment that comes with travel had already begun.
As we began our descent into Christchurch, I was again surprised by what my sore neck could discern out the starboard window. After flying for no more than 30 minutes past the west coast of the country we were now approaching its eastern shores. I don't know why - but it never occured to me that we were going to be touring a country that was not only more remote but also so much smaller than the monoliths of Australia or Canada. I wasn't even off the plane and the enlightenment that comes with travel had already begun.
Christchurch is a city of about 300 000 people situated midway along the east coast of the South Island. It sits right on top of an ancient volcano and is surrounded by low lying mountains with the larger peaks of the Southern Alps glimmering in the west. Said to be the most 'English" of New Zealand's major cities, the views coming in from the airport evoked Vancouver or Victoria with lush parks and comfortable looking homes lining the streets. It also didn't take us long to see our first rugby game, a school-boy tournament in a local park, reminding me just how rugby crazy this country is -the legendary All Blacks are one of their proudest achievements and exports.
Our journey was starting in Christchurch as we waited a day to meet up with Pat and Bill who had flown in to Auckland a few days before. From here we were going to spend ten days driving and touring the South Island while catching up on missed face-time over the last nine months. Our itinerary - expertly crafted by Lint - would take us to the west coast and the Franz Josef Glacier, down to Queenstown, further down to Te Anau and Milford Sound then over to Dunedin and back up to Christchurch to fly 'home" to Melbourne.
Not content to sit in our hotel all day, though the Heritage was palatial enough to offer that luxury, we scarfed down a sketchy but economically satisfying Subway sub and caught a bus to a local cable car. En route we sat near some ridiculously profane teenage girls who made me a little sad and reminded me that people can be rude in any country. Once at the cable car kiosk I was also reminded about the "island-time" mentality that exists here and in Oz. While empty cable cars headed up the mountain one after the other, the ticket guy was kibitzing with the customer in front of us for what seemed like hours. I had to breathe deeply and relax. What was my hurry? Where did I need to go but up the mountain? Still, I couldn't resist tap-dancing my credit card on his oh, so laid back counter top.
Our journey was starting in Christchurch as we waited a day to meet up with Pat and Bill who had flown in to Auckland a few days before. From here we were going to spend ten days driving and touring the South Island while catching up on missed face-time over the last nine months. Our itinerary - expertly crafted by Lint - would take us to the west coast and the Franz Josef Glacier, down to Queenstown, further down to Te Anau and Milford Sound then over to Dunedin and back up to Christchurch to fly 'home" to Melbourne.
Not content to sit in our hotel all day, though the Heritage was palatial enough to offer that luxury, we scarfed down a sketchy but economically satisfying Subway sub and caught a bus to a local cable car. En route we sat near some ridiculously profane teenage girls who made me a little sad and reminded me that people can be rude in any country. Once at the cable car kiosk I was also reminded about the "island-time" mentality that exists here and in Oz. While empty cable cars headed up the mountain one after the other, the ticket guy was kibitzing with the customer in front of us for what seemed like hours. I had to breathe deeply and relax. What was my hurry? Where did I need to go but up the mountain? Still, I couldn't resist tap-dancing my credit card on his oh, so laid back counter top.
Finally, we were on our way up amidst the sheep and the sunshine. And what a view! After a brief and mildy informative "journey through time" ride we ran about the giant ski lodge-like building loving the 360 degree view, some ice-cream, and the courage of a couple of paragliders who nonchalantly jumped off the cliff in front of us. A brief but bloody brawl between the two boys that left Colin with a nice bite-welt in his back brought the fun to a halt, but not before Lint managed to take advantage of an excellent exchange rate in the gift shop.
A spa and a swim and a few cocoa puffs the next morning were all that separated us from re-uniting with Pat and Bill. They were a teary-sight for our long away eyes and we celebrated with some local grub in a pub. That night we attended quite a good Maori dinner-show-zoo thingy where we were introduced to Maori culture, real kiwis and took at turn at the traditional Maori Haka. It's the dance the All Blacks do before each game and involves a lot of foot stomping, thigh slapping, eyebrow raising and tongue-sticking-outing. The boys and I distinguished ourselves nicely.
The next morning we loaded up the mini-van and headed for the hills, literally. Our destination was the Franz Josef Glacier on a route that would take us into the Southern Alps. It was 4-5 hours of driving but with the momentum of memories from Christchurch also packed in our heads we were keen to see just how else New Zealand might amaze and surprise us.
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