Onward Ho!

13/03/09

We are up and busy relatively early this morning as we have to pack our things up and do all sorts of things before we head off onto the next stage of our travels. There is a frisson of busy tension in the air as we parcel everything away and head out with Katka to get some vital shopping. We end up in a local version of happysnaps and as we wait I discover, thanks to Nick who has disappeared below one of the desks, that there is a little screen tucked under each of the photo booth stools, presumably for keeping children occupied, which it manages beautifully; I join Nick on the floor and we watch a bit of Finding Nemo until everyone is ready to go!
I spot a Dick Smith techie shop up the stairs and remember that I have relatively little space for photos on my very last memory stick… I dash in and find a 4GB one this time. Then I amuse the assistants by realising just how many more photos I am likely to take, combined with what a bargain I have just bought, and run back in again in a welter of handbag, coat and hair, to buy another one! I think they are mildly confused…
One thing I am noticing here in Kiwiland is that when anyone says ‘Have a nice day…’ they actually mean it, not like the hollow, irritatingly perky, self-satisfied and throw-away style beloved by the Americans and catching on in the UK. The Kiwis actually hope that you’ll have a nice day, and, when wished something like that, I usually hope they will too!
Katka, Andrew, Nick and I find the car again and scramble in to go and pick up Glen. There is a finely tuned mission going on here – we are to be dropped off, while Glen is collected so that we are close enough to the station and they are close enough to their next port of call… It’s close but we manage it! There is a moment of tearful goodbye, but we are each soon off in our separate directions, having had a lovely time in Wellington. I have realised though, as we head for a bus to the airport, that even a mere 48 hours around a toddler leads to a sort of brain-switch. I have simplified my conversations into shorter sentences and simpler words and concepts, and find myself watching for things like steep steps and accidents waiting to happen; I voice these (despite the fact that I know Andrew is a perfectly capable adult human male) and also have to bite and quell rising tellings-off of various kinds as they rise to my tongue. I begin to have a vague inkling about how difficult it must be to become a mother whilst retaining the same happy-go-lucky persona everyone knows… Must come with practice!
We find our bus to the airport, after some nibbling of Watties and pie crisps (a brilliant idea!) and much anxious squinting at passing vehicles of the right colour, size and shape. We heave our bags on board and sit anxiously – we are rather close to the wire but I think we’ll be ok… Andrew is less convinced and goes a slightly peculiar shade of worried grey...
I notice as we sail through Wellington that they seem to like their corrugated iron structures around here – nothing seems entirely permanent and it gets everywhere, buildings, artworks, street sculptures, you name it they’ll have made at least one of them out of corrugated iron! We pass through the first CBD I have seen in NZ which really warrants the name. The shopping and financial centre here is large and a little like London in some ways. Kirkaldy and Staines Ltd department store reminds me vaguely of Selfridges or Fortnum and Mason as we pass – there are flamboyant displays of their wares in every window and the frontage looks decidedly vintage. It’s rather nice and it would have been nice to have a look around had we been able to spend a little longer here… Maybe next time!
:)
I notice the typical ‘Sweet as’ and ‘Aye’ (pronounced as a drawled ‘Eh’) are much in evidence on this trip – a nice, earthy, amiable way of punctuating a friendly conversation, even between two strangers. Things are much more relaxed Down Here. I like it! There are fern designs all over the place in New Zealand, and Wellington is no exception. Even some of the bollards around buildings are aesthetically shaped with the characteristic curled twist at the top. We pass two Flight Centres (hello!) and I feel once again reassured by my choice of agent (and no, they’re not paying me extra, this is a genuine opinion!); we also pass a café which looks as though it might be worth a look – there are some contented-looking punters and the large sign reads simply, ‘Mr Bun Café’. Nice.
Ooh… Bun!
I desperately need a new notepad – this one is very nearly full and I keep having new ideas!
We reach the airport uneventfully (and as it’s not a glorious day, without too much wistfulness!) and just in time! We have cut is a little fine, owing to all the traffic and earlier kerfuffle, but we reach the baggage check-in with no trouble and fortunately the girl there, while not the most hyper-efficient of ladies, is at least relatively organised and very nice. She scrambles elegantly over various baggage aisles to get to her supervisor to check something (while we quietly panic) but is soon back, stepping carefully over conveyor belts in her smart shoes and pencil skirt, with labels and things. She weighs our bags and I get out my credit card before she’s even opened her mouth – Yes, I KNOW I’m over my baggage limit – I’ve got too many bags!
Actually, to my credit – I have exactly the same number of bags I began with and most of them are only a tiny bit heavier than they were when they started out… But this is a small flight hopping between North and South Islands and it will transit onto an even smaller one within the South Island between Christchurch and Queenstown. Ergo, they don’t allow much baggage anyway. So there!
We pelt upstairs to departures in the knowledge that they do at least know we’re here now! And we make it with just the right mount of time to find the right gate and get into the queue. We get into the aircraft with a sigh of relief and stow various bags and things, then I settle myself next to the window with Hex (my laptop’s not going to be able to shake that Pratchett-inspired name now!) and begin to scribble.
I look out as we take off. I’m getting much better at taking off now, it bothers me far less than it did – I don’t make crescent-shaped claw marks in arm-rests, people’s fingers, back of seat in front or my own leg any more! This one is smoother than most and I peer at Wellington as it disappear below then look away. Then I look back again only to find that we have completely left the land behind and there is nothing to be seen but sea! The runway is extremely close to the shore! I’m glad I didn’t know about that one before we took off – maybe that’s why the pilot was so careful as we lifted… I spend the next hour or so happily typing away, until interrupted by the well-heeled young ladies bringing snacks and things. We are allocated a little packet of strange savoury snacks, a tiny packet of sweets and a free drink each. Andrew and I add these to the sandwiches we made before we left, and have a perfectly passable lunch. In what seems like no time at all, in reality an hour or so, we are touching down at Christchurch. It seems like a nice airport and we have a little while to explore as we wait for out transiting flight to Queenstown. I plan out where I think I could catch a few winks of sleep when I am here by myself on my way to the USA!
Looks clean and comfy – could be worse, could be like Heathrow… ;)
Our flight is delayed as it is late coming in so we wander around and find a little flower stall, a newsagent, a music shop, a VERY expensive merino shop (a sweet little short strappy vest with little flowers on costs the equivalent of £60 – I think I’ll pass thanks!) and a little octagonal stall with many sweeties and chocolates… Mmmm… :) Eventually, after about an hour’s wait, it is here and we are called to the gate, which is basically just a little glass box without even any security. I guess their philosophy on internal flights is that the only people on it will be locals popping over for tea with Auntie Maude or backpackers and hikers hoping to stay Auntie Maude’s son’s hostel to do some serious walking, sleeping and eating… Neither of which are noted for being candidates for explosive exits… We see our plane and walk across the tarmac to it. It looks quite flimsy, with its little wings and propellers… This is only the second propeller plane I’ve been a passenger rather than a sightseer on and I’d forgotten how noisy they were! It trundles across the tarmac and gives out a great oily grey belch of smoke out of the propeller I can see before we take off! It is wobbly and noisy, juddering and jilting a little as it hefts itself up into the atmosphere but it’s not too bad. It seems to have stopped belching out oily smoke too, which is a bit of a relief! I am in seat number 13, and it’s Friday the 13th… It must be a good time and seat to fly – it’ll be lucky!
I hope.
Eek.
I wonder if that explains the empty seats around us; it is not a full flight by any means. Still, that makes for a more contented flight to my mind! We sweep along, wobbling a little, particularly when the ground changes sharply and soaring peaks slice into the air, changing our path slightly and making me unconsciously tighten my seatbelt across my already clamped-in hips. The view is worth being shaken about like a small toy for though.

The mountains below look like the carunculated hide of some great, slumbering, reptilian beast, green and grey-spotted, peaked and ridged, dotted with snow here and there and matte-brown in the sun in parts… The lakes, which appear here and there in dips in the great peaks, are so very blue. The pilots navigates his tiny plane with its precious cargo of people carefully over this somnolent, silent, unexplored landscape and we are soon nearly there. The pilot now has a really tricky bit coming up. To get to Queenstown runway, he will have to bring the ‘plane around to the correct side.
Right between the looming mountains.
I feel humbled by and grateful for his skill and small in the face of so much natural majesty. The plane descends and the massive, trackless mountains begin to pass on either side of us, seeming close enough to touch, but below us, I see the tiny shadow of the hard-working aircraft skimming over the ground far below. We are still very high and have to circumnavigate a few more snow-capped peaks before we are there! This is truly a remote and glorious place to go – I am enchanted and we haven’t even touched down yet – it all looks so fantastically wild! The jagged mountains (for mountains they most definitely are) are beautiful, soaring above pure blue waters and green-dotted slopes, looming over everything with their distant snow-capped peaks. We corner low around the base of a particularly large and green one and hit turbulence so we bounce lightly moments before we land – that was unexpected, though the pilot still landed well, so I guess he was ready for it! I am still staring entranced out of the window as the seatbelt light is turned off – I can barely tear my eyes away from the beauty of this place – and we are here for a few days! Glorious, jagged, glacial peaks tear the fluffy clouds at their peaks to shreds as I watch; the sky is incredulously blue and the torn clouds wisp whitely away high above…

It is warm and bright when we emerge from the airport, which feels rather more like a nice, large, carpeted station, and we are lucky enough to find, in our aimless and open-minded wandering, a shuttle going the right way. It is only a couple of dollars more each than a regular bus, is huge and airy, has only five other people in it, goes just the right way and is being driven by a lovely Northern English chap who seems happy to help us with our luggage. Funny how it seems to be people from Northern England seem to end up settling in New Zealand… I can see why they’d want to.
I’d want to too!
Nearly there – wheee!
Annoyingly, my knee has just decided to go ‘spang!’ and begin to hurt as we get out of the shuttle bus on a quiet, leafy main street (just as we arrive in a town noted for its many exciting and sporty activities – Grrr!). However, I decide to ignore it as much as possible and hope nothing explodes – it went away of its own accord last time after all… :P
We find Alpine Lodge, which owns Turner Lodge, where we are staying, and the chap behind the tiny counter in the small, brown reception is very friendly. He has a very indeterminate accent and after a bit of (wrong!) guessing, he tells us he is from Wales, but has been here a while. He has sun and wind-tanned nut-brown skin and a massive crop of fading black hair which stands out in all directions in excitable frizzy ringlets. He shows us where to go and gives us the keys, leading us along the fresh and welcoming street in the late afternoon sun, dappled through people’s trees. Up some stairs, my knee complaining vigorously and through another door and we are in our room. It’s a nice little corner room, clean and airy, with a blue bed and a little TV with a mind of its own – not that we’ll have time to watch it anyway! It also has an eccentric toxic-green bathroom suite and a tiny cupboard next to it. It has space enough inside for one boot and stretches all the way up to the ceiling. We contemplate piling our boots in a tower on top of one another, simply so we can use the cupboard, but decide that it would be too much bother, and leave them in the little hallway instead!
We investigate the kitchen briefly and decide that there is sufficient equipment here to cook with and shoot off to find the supermarket. Well, Andrew shoots off, I hobble after him. There may be time to go and play with the luge in the late evening sun if we are quick…
I have also found a beautiful bead shop not two minutes’ walk from Turner Lodge.
He he…
:D
I confess I am distracted and Andrew kindly offers to fetch dinner and meet me back here… Very forbearing! It is a lovely little shop, well-stocked, wooden-walled, with a friendly (Brummie I think) assistant and lots of local things like Paua shell as well as the ubiquitous Swarovski this and Venetian that.
While I am lost in the Bead Shop, Andrew finds the supermarket, not too far from our hostel, and finds pasta, sauce, pork chunks, vegetables and bacon, as well as snackage for the following day. We get back with our haul of food and beads and meet some of the other people staying here. There is an earnest couple, who are friendly and excited about Queenstown, and a couple of ladies in their 50s who, while not in the first flush of youth any more certainly seem to be exuding a healthful and eager feel – rather like a couple of schoolteachers who’ve been let out to play. They head off on their own errands and Andrew and I are left on our own to inspect this vast kitchen and living area as we put things away – we decide to go luging first though!
We head off up the hill in the evening sun towards the Luge! I’ve never been on one of these before, but I am assured that it is fun…
The view on the way up to the Luge entrance is stunning – Queenstown lake is still and cool and reflects the gigantic, slightly snowy peaks which climb regally above it.
We pay for our Luge trip and climb into a cable car. We watch the mountain creep away under us, green, clean and fresh. We get out at the top, have our hands stamped and hop onto an open ski-lift. The cool air brushes my face as we are lifted into the sunshine near the top of this hill. We spot a ‘camera point’ and ignore it this time… We’ll pull silly faces at it on the next run! After all, you get five goes… Cool and sunkissed, we scamper off the lift as it swings by the stop for the luge and carries on to complete its circle and go down again.
We put our tickets in the gates and are allowed through to be given our luges. The staff, even at this late hour when they’ve probably been working for a good while and we are the last ones here, are still perky and friendly, which impresses us both. Again, I think the Kiwis are a friendly lot; they don’t seem to be a grudging or rude nation and are invariably welcoming. The cynical would say that’s because tourism is one of their largest industries, but I prefer to think that that it’s partly WHY tourism is one of their biggest industries!
Anyway – as this is our first luge of the day, we are given a short tutorial on the sleds themselves and pointed towards the easy slope. A luge is basically a little, flat bobsled with wheels and antennae-like handlebars. Pull them towards you a little and you lift the parking brakes away from the surface, moving you forward with the momentum of gravity, pull them further towards you and you engage the travelling brakes, which slow you down as you hurtle. So, helmets on, legs out, feet nestled into the footplates, we set off on our tiny wheels!
Andre is far more confident than I am and I see him careen off down the mountain with a yodel of glee – I follow a little more sedately, trying to get used to the feeling of being so very close to the road whilst hurtling around corners on which I can only just control my bounding, sliding steed.
This is fun – I yodel too!
There’s a slight bump and I fly over it, only just touching the luge with my bottom and another corner presents itself – I chicken out and slow down to corner, rather than risk flying over the edge and having an exciting, but brief and painful trip to the bottom of the mountain!
Zooming under a bride, there is another camera stop – I am concentrating too hard to get a decent shot on this one and I corner rather too vigorously into the little lane at the bottom. Ah well – Next!
We go down the easy one a second time, and I nearly manage to keep up with Andrew this time… Big one next!
This one is rather more exciting, especially as the sun is almost down now, so the shadows are long and the light low and in my eyes…
There is a large slope to get you started on this one, which we both fly down, happily. There are also some large and unexpected bumps halfway around – I see Andrew fly over them, bounding along in front and I brake slightly (chicken!) but bound over them too – luge leaving the ground, me hanging on defiantly by the handlebars…
Corners!
Bumps!
Curves!
Angles!
Bridge!
Speed!
Wheeee!
Wind in hair, sun on cheeks, glorious views all around and joyful cry on lips…
And it’s all over at the bottom as we grin at each other and hop on the lift again to make sheep’s eyes at each other for the benefit of the lift camera.
He he…
We do it twice more and I’m almost as fast as Andrew by the time we finish as I have become more familiar with the luge and stopped being a chicken around the corners and over the bumps.
That was fun… We decide to do it again if time allows but there are so many exciting things to do in Queenstown I doubt we’ll have time!

We investigate the kitchen as we wait for things to heat up and cook. It is very 1970s. It is clearly old and much loved – the sofa and cushions don’t match, but look very comfy anway, the carpet is fluffy brown shagpile and there is a big bean bag in the corner by the video-player! The curtains would not look out of place in a 1970s Argos catalogue and the lights are placed in a rather peculiar way – it looks almost artistic, but also rather as if someone put one of them in, then kept deciding it needed more, just after he’d put the previous one in. It works anyway!
The only new thing in the kitchen seems to be the microwave. The hob is elderly and electric (we stare at it resolutely NOT boiling our pasta and rant gently as we are hungry!), the oven looks safe, but the door drops two inches when opened so has to be rammed back speedily but carefully to make sure it is closed… The randomness, however, has only just begun – I love it – and clearly every other guest has too; it feels loved.
I inspect cupboards. We have one set of sharp knives on the surface, but the cupboards and drawers are another story. In one I find a mismatched but full set of cutlery. The one below it contains a plastic spife, a straw, some dust, some sellotape and two super-soakers. The crockery cupboard is full of ill-matched but nice china.
And a kilo bag of unhusked sesame seeds.
I find another cupboard on the far side of the cooker by the dining table and wonder if it contains tablecloths or something.
Nope.
It is full of things which may have been left there by a well-meaning mum after a small, girl-child’s birthday party out here. I particularly like the strawberry-flavoured stickers…
Another cupboard on the far side of the room, below some useful guidebooks, is clearly having a chuckle to itself as it is hiding, with a fair degree of success, the remote controls to the video, the TV and the stereo…
I also hunt for salt and oil, of which there are none. Who needs salt and oil when you have a super-soaker and strawberry stickers??
;)
This place is cosy, comfy, fun, clean, friendly and well-loved.
I like it…
Dinner is good, despite the lack of salt or oil to cook it in and afterwards we spend a fruitless but intrigued, hopeful, nosey and entirely happy five minutes searching for non-existent tea bags.