The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 2)

Since leaving the Northland, the weather has been as mixed as one might expect in Scotland, with the nights now so autumnally chilly that we spend most of them, thermal-adorned, firmly clutching our newly purchased hot water bottles.   But, whether rain or shine, New Zealand has been continuing to reveal itself as the postcard-perfect beauty that we glimpsed during our first week, and since then we have been working our way down through the rest of the North Island.  Over the course of two weeks we headed to the Coromandel with its breathtaking beaches and hippy towns, and from there drove South to visit the real Hobbiton (Matamata) and Lake Taupo, out of which we did the 20km Tongariro Alpine Crossing and climbed live volcano Mt. Ngauruhoe, better known to most as Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings.  (In case you hadn’t managed to work out for yourself that Phil and I are fairly passionate fans of Lord of the Rings, I admit now that we are and suggest that those at home should expect a trilogy marathon on our return having now seen the incredible places of beauty in which these movies came to life.)  Next came the delightful art deco charms of Napier, sun swept wineries in Hawke’s Bay and finally ending up in windy Wellington.

Wellington is a surprising capital, for though it lies, essentially, in the middle of the two islands, it is really no bigger than a large town.  But what Wellington lacks in size she certainly makes up for in quirky character, and the culture, creativity and personality of this place undoubtedly pack the big-city punches.  And it seems that the best way to experience it is to be found, unexpectedly, in a mug.  Coffee is a Wellington institution and considered as of much importance as the art galleries, museums and other worthwhile sights, maybe even a little more.  Much of our experience of the city came from selecting where to have our next cup, and the hours that followed spent reading, chatting, observing and, of course, drinking the crème de la crème of coffee.  (As far as I am concerned, Wellington is home to the world’s best coffee, and I will believe it so until I taste otherwise.)

Scattered amongst the coffee houses are old-fashioned cinemas, artsy boutiques, beautiful bookstores and colourful houses that speckle the city’s many hills.  There are more vintage shops than you could shake a stick at, and I am forced to resist the urge to ditch my jeans and jumper for something to satisfy the fashion-deprived art student within.  Oh how I miss my wardrobe and not having to adhere to the 25kilo rule.  The only one of us getting any kind of a makeover was Gooch the Uke, who we took her to be restrung at “Alistair’s Music” on cool Cuba Street, only to discover that Alistair was, as well as being exceptionally helpful, from Dumbarton.  So some Glasgow reminiscing was had while Gooch traded in her nylon’s for something a bit less plinky-plonky, and the world proved itself, once again, to be not quite as big as it sometimes feels after six months of searching.

The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 1)

We arrived at Auckland airport full of great expectation, for New Zealand had been the country on our itinerary that we were excitedly anticipating more than any other.  Fully expecting to have to find our own way into the city, it came as a lovely surprise when we were met there by one of our friends from university, who has recently emigrated here with her husband (an old flatmate of Phil’s).  In an unlikely and wonderful coincidence, another uni friend was also visiting NZ from Japan, and leaving the following day, so our first night was spent having dinner at Auckland harbour, tasting our first New Zealand wine and catching up with old friends.  Strangely, it felt almost like we’d arrived home, rather than in the furthest possible place from it.  In the days that followed it rained relentlessly and so, while our nights in Auckland were spent in the welcoming company of our friends, the days were mostly spent spending money on a new, weather appropriate, wardrobe, for while cotton sun dresses bought in Thailand were suitable for sunny Australia, New Zealand is a land of four seasons, the warm ones of which are most definitely over. 

Even prior to our Oz road trip, our plan had been to hire a campervan and tour both islands in an attempt to see as much of New Zealand as possible in the time we have.  As we would be doing so throughout Autumn and into Winter, we decided to invest in a considerably more luxurious van with indoor cooking facilities, so to avoid any of the “cooking outside in torrential rain” incidents that occurred, on a couple of occasions, in Australia, and undoubtedly would here.

We headed first to the Northland (of the North Island) in the hope of glimpsing any remaining sunshine that the Kiwi climate had to offer.  Writing this on our fifth day, I can already say, without any shadow of a doubt, that, though we have only glimpsed a mere fraction of its glory, New Zealand is, by far, the most staggeringly beautiful country that I have seen in all my life. (And, as I’m sure you will have gathered from previous blogs, I have seen many beautiful things over the preceding months.)

And it seems that the rumours are true; New Zealand is remarkably, unmistakably, like Scotland. Sometimes I am truly amazed at their likeness, and take comfort in the familiarity of it.  I adore my homeland, and believed I would struggle to find anywhere in the world more beautiful, but Scotland is the Primary One art project, as New Zealand is the art school final degree show masterpiece.  It is, in a word, magnificent.  The grass is greener and more luscious, the hills more rolling and abundant, the sea more sparklingly turquoise and, so far, the sky more vividly blue.  Driving has never been more pleasurable, though it takes us hours to get anywhere on account of us stopping frequently to take photos!  Over the brow of every hill (and there are many, many hills) is yet another breathtakingly stunning panoramic view that stretches as far as the eye can see, many of which have had us audibly gasping in awe or, on occasion, squealing with delight.

During our time in Australia, I finally read (having found it, a rose among thorns, in our Singapore hostel) “The Chronicles of Narnia”.  The depth to which it moved me was startling, and I kept wondering why it had taken me so long to get round to it.  In New Zealand, I feel as though I have been transported (by campervan, not wardrobe) into that magical land, the scenery around me being like something that, I thought, did not actually exist but for in fairytales.  The line between reality and the depths of my imagination feels suddenly very thin, and I worry that my mind might go into overdrive in its attempt to savour and store away every view; every treasure.  

Of course, New Zealand’s unspoiled, majestic beauty has not gone unnoticed, and this fairytale-esque land has, unsurprisingly, made its way onto the big Hollywood screen in recent years.  But blessedly, any tourist surge that might have occurred as a result of its new found fame seems to have been lost somewhere amongst it multitude of vast, open, beautiful spaces.  Even when following the “beaten track”, there will be little along your way to indict the presence of anyone else other than a handful of friendly locals and an extraordinary number of sheep.

Roadtrip!

Our roadtrip adventure began with our getting lost on the way to pick up the campervan.  Not the most promising start!  The campervan, as we discovered after a few wrong turns and harsh words, was basically an ancient heap of junk disguised as something more appealing with a “Yosemite Sam” mural graffitied across the side of it.  The first drive, though just from the rental shop back to Mandy and Chris’s, was a truly terrifying experience (though more so for me, the passenger, than for driver Phil, who after many months without practice was a little heavy footed on the accelerator).

After a few more wrong turns and some panicked screeching, we eventually emerged from Brisbane, and as we rumbled down the sunny highway with the wind in our hair and the radio blaring, it began to feel far more like the roadtrip experience we had been envisioning.  We headed north to our first destination, Noosa, and spent our first night in a rest stop provided by the Queensland government.  Essentially a free campsite, rest stops are perfect for travellers on a budget and come equipped with all the amenities that one might need – apart from a shower.  Those who know me well, my mother in particular, will know how I feel about washing my hair.  It must be done daily, or else the day is doomed to failure, for the simple reason that my hair will look terrible, so I will feel terrible and this will be reflected in a grouchy disposition.  So, on day one of our adventure, after a surprisingly good sleep in the van, I was up at 5am washing my hair with a saucepan full of cold water.  (Surprisingly, this prospect appeals to me more than that of not washing it!)  The reason it was 5am was that we were heading off, at 6.30am, on a tour of Fraser Island, a beautiful island on the Sunshine Coast comprised entirely of sand.  Though usually tightening the purse strings, we decided to treat ourselves with this trip; a little reminder to ourselves that we are, after all, on our honeymoon (extended though it may be). 

The journey to Fraser Island was exceptionally bumpy as the roads are, in fact, the beaches, and as we were being tossed around like a salad in the back of the monstrous 4WD bus-jeep that was our transport for the day, I had time to contemplate how astonishing the island is.  Though it can be explained with science, it strikes me as one of creations marvels; a little experiment by a creative God, who saw that it was good but, for His own reasons, chose to do it only once.  The island is uniquely absent of earth; it has been formed, over time, purely from sand and broken down plant matter, yet on it lives an astonishing abundance of plant life in the form of rainforests, dense and towering, broken up only by crystal clear freshwater lakes.  We visited the most famous of these, Lake McKenzie, and enjoyed an hour swimming in its sparkling water and sunbathing on the white sands that surround it.

Our next day was spent in and around Noosa’s stunning coastal national park, reading on its golden beaches and finishing off with a delicious gelato – all in all a good day!

I could write you a day to day description of our time spent driving down the Brisbane to Sydney coast, but I would doubt you’d have the time to read it and quite honestly I don’t think I could do it the justice it is worthy of.  The freedom that the campervan gave us was truly exhilarating, and the experience has placed Australia as a serious contender for our favourite place on our travels so far.  Following Noosa (to summarise) we visited the Eumundi markets, luscious green Maleny, Brunswick Heads and the infamous Bryon Bay (which, on arriving, was experiencing a bout of torrential rain and we couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about.  Fortunately the sun soon came out and suddenly we understood...swam with sea turtles...fell in love a little bit.)  We spent Easter in the delightful hippy town of Bellingen, basking in its delightful atmosphere and in the sun on the banks of arguably the most beautiful river I have ever seen.  Finally we headed to Newcastle and the Hunter Valley to spend time with friends and discover a new appreciation and understanding of wine.

The time flew by so quickly and suddenly we were back in Sydney.  Our time in Oz ended with the Royal wedding, and on our final evening we got dressed up as best as one can when travelling (me more so than Phil thanks to Donna's wardrobe) for The Last Night of the Proms at The Sydney Opera House.  I don’t think I can quite describe how incredible an experience that was (I’m sure some of you can imagine), and, as it was a night to celebrate the wedding, we ended the trip in the great Australian icon feeling pretty patriotic and jolly proud to be British!