My last morning in Wellington was very different from the first: I woke to blue sky and glorious sunshine – just right for one of the world’s most renowned ferry crossings. This was a journey I had looked forward to for some time and was something I had been determined to do: no flight here for me.
Everyone tells me how lucky I was to make the crossing on such a perfect day and I have to agree that it was probably the best sea journey of this trip as most of the others were completed in less than perfect weather (Remember the Hole in the Rock photos from the Bay of Islands?) Seldom before have I seen virtually every passenger on a ship out on deck for the final thirty minutes of a journey. This was definitely one to savour! And so it was that my journey through the South Island became stored in my memory as a series of ‘How Great Thou Art!’ moments, memorable for themselves and because they provided such forceful reminders of the amazing creation that is our world. As a teenager one of my favourite hymns was ‘How Great Thou Art!’.
O, Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hand hath made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
and hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
when I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,
and hear the brook, and feel the gentle breeze;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
My travels around New Zealand affirmed those beliefs time after time.
Steaming out of Wellington Harbour into the open sea of the Cook Strait, the ocean was blue as blue and calm as calm. The sun shone, lighting up the communities on the coastline and everyone on board tried to get to a position where they could see clearly and enjoy the changing scenery. The colours changed constantly from luxurious greens to shadowy browns with the greys and blues of the rocky mountains in the distance. There were fishing boats and pleasure boats enjoying the glorious day, too and the occasional commercial craft plying its trade. Sometimes as we passed a solitary house on the shore, I wondered how its owners managed to go about their daily lives – maybe they had no need to get to work or to go shopping, perhaps their livelihood came from the land or the sea and they had ways of being self-sufficient. Perhaps they conducted their lives online!
Honestly, Picton was much smaller than I had expected. Even so, I was grateful that the efficient baggage system made it possible for me to walk to the railway station without having to think about my suitcase: the camera bag was overfull and was quite enough to carry at that point! It was disappointing to find that the only food at the station or really nearby was a Subway outlet: we had moaned about them so much as we travelled the north island that it was a bit of a comedown to find that my first meal on the south island was a Moroccan chicken wrap!!! However, it was easy and actually not too bad!
The train was in on time and I was delighted to find that the windows were almost panoramic. Even better, my seat was in the car adjoining the viewing platform, making it very easy to move back and forth when there seemed to be good photo opps. The TranzCoastal is one of New Zealand’s most famous train journeys and is one of the most popular ways to get from the ferry terminal in Picton to Christchurch. I understand why!! The scenery is varied, constantly changing but with things of interest on either side – whether the ocean or the mountains, rivers, farms, or miles of Marlborough vineyards. The colours are rich as is the soil. There are sheep running away from the approaching iron monster and, from time to time, seemingly endless beaches, with seals basking on the rocks in the sun.
It’s really difficult to explain just how enjoyable this journey was: relaxing and stimulating all at once – and yet again, a reminder of the wonders of our creation. As we drew away from Picton it was possible to see the Marlborough Sound gradually receding into the distance. That was soon replaced by the vast expanse of ocean as we approached the famous whale watching area around Kaikoura. In the end, we didn’t manage to do that trip, there were too many other options! Yet again, I was surprised to see snow on the mountains. Just enough for my father to have said it was ‘calling for more’ as he used to in Scotland as the snows melted at the end of winter.
For me, there was also an element of anticipation as I was to be met at Christchurch station by friends of friends, people whom I had never met but who were willing to welcome me into their home because of a mutual friend’s introduction. That made such a difference! Just having a base, especially with people who know the island so well, made the whole experience of a solo traveller much more manageable. I was even luckier than that as they turned out to be a very generous couple, sharing their home and giving of their time and energy very willingly to this stranger. It reminded me of other welcomes earlier in the trip, but they had all been from people I already knew quite well. An added bonus was that their house, set on the cliffs overlooking Sumner Bay, had the most fantastic views which seemed to change every few minutes with the light. Sometimes the snow-capped Southern Alps were visible in the far distance, sometimes you could only see the beach below with its surfers and beach walkers.
The first day was New Year’s Eve and was to be my fourth city in as many New Years: London, Sydney, Edinburgh and now Christchurch. Each has had its own special feel: the push and pull of London, where we stayed just a short walk from the Thames and were able to walk over to the bridge just half an hour or so before the fireworks began, the warmth of Sydney with fireworks for the children at 9.00p.m. over the Opera House and the later spectacular show over Harbour Bridge, the rabble and coldness of a wintry Edinburgh with fireworks above the castle and Viking torches warming the Royal Mile. Although the whole of Christchurch was a little subdued because of the October earthquake and there was some discussion about whether the planned festivities would talk place in the Cathedral Square, they went ahead. We chose to stay and look out over the beach and the spit beyond it – and saw many small firework parties as groups welcomed the New Year together.
Both when Dave drove me back from the airport and when Lydia and I went into the city centre earlier in the day, I had become very aware of the effect of the earthquake – and was constantly hearing of aftershocks, such as the one that shook the city on Boxing Day and necessitated the double checking of repairs that had been done and of buildings already considered safe after the October quake. In many ways, this was another ‘How Great Thou Art!’ moment, especially as I had become so aware of the geo-thermal activity around Rotorua on the north island. We do not give our planet sufficient respect! Nor can we be sure what it holds in store for us.
The day in Christchurch was a reminder of ways in which cultures merge and are merged. Lydia and I saw the exhibition of pictures from Scott and Shackleton’s expeditions to Antarctica at the museum. Called ‘The Heart of the Great Alone’, the exhibition had been loaned by the Royal Collection and was accompanied by photographs of royal visits to Christchurch. The Antarctica photos were fascinating in that one set demonstrated photography as a fine art, with the photographer always looking for the image while the second was much more in the style of a photojournalist, recording events for posterity. Both Herbert George Ponting, travelling with Scott and Frank Hurley with Shackleton showed enormous tenacity: I dread to think how much their equipment weighed and how many images were lost because of damage or accidents along the way as well as those which had to be destroyed as there was not room for them to be brought back safely. It made my camera bag feel very light!! We had lunch at a stand serving lovely, unusual sandwiches where the owner and her husband were Glaswegians who had been in New Zealand thirty years but whose accents would still be at home in Sauchiehall Street!
New Year’s Day saw me setting off in my newly-hired bright red Mazda 3 saloon. Leaving the house at about 10.00a.m., I had no real plan for my route around the island, but was setting off in the general direction of Queenstown and planning to be in Greymouth to board the TranzAlpine on 10th/11th January. My flight to Melbourne was booked for 13th: the only fixed point in the itinerary now.
I had been given careful directions for getting out of Christchurch and had been warned about the need to make sure I always had water and a snack of some kind in the car: roadside cafes are scarce and even petrol stations few and far between in this country where there are probably still more sheep than people. Along Highway 1 I drove, past farms and villages,passing signs for Elgin next to Hampstead, through Ealing to Rangitata where I had been told to turn off the main road and head for Geraldine and then Lake Tekapo, possibly aiming to get to Mount Cook for the night. I had, however, reckoned without it being a holiday weekend! The roads were fairly busy and the tourist spots overflowing… but that didn’t stop me doing the things that I really wanted to.
From our first day in Auckland when we happened across them in a souvenir shop, I had pretty well decided that I would like to buy a lambskin jacket for those cold British winter days I’m so looking forward to (Hmmm???? Really??) Looking through some brochures early in the morning I had come across an advertisement for the Red Tin Shed and decided to look out for it. It sounded as if they’d have a stock of just what I was looking for and, not being in a tourist hub, their prices might be reasonable. So as I turned off the main road just beyond Rangitata I began to scan the signs and soon was rewarded. While it wasn’t quite what I was expecting and had a limited stock, the salesperson was lovely, showing me all they had to offer and suggesting that I check out their suppliers in Dunedin. She was also a font of local knowledge, advising me to head up to Lake Tekapo rather than aiming for the coast: the weather was good and there should be some lovely views. She was so right and I am grateful that she took the time to talk about possibilities with me.
By now I was feeling peckish and wondering what had happened to the home cooking of which New Zealanders are so proud. Then I came to the town of Geraldine and was spoilt for choice for places to eat. I chose one with a lovely courtyard whose menu was varied and a bit different from the norm. It was almost full with families and tour groups and the food was delicious. Strangely, I can’t remember much about what I ate during this time when I travelled alone. Perhaps because there was no discussion of the merits and demerits of different dishes, perhaps simply because I didn’t pay so much attention. I can remember the bad meals way more than the good ones!!
There’s more to come – just not tonight! It’s already 3.00a.m.!!!
Living the Journey 