Southbound

After the beauty of Picton and Marlborough Sound, I was reminded how visually stunning this country is and made a minor alteration to my schedule. Rather than take the bus to Christchurch, I took one of New Zealand's three passenger train routes. The price was markedly higher, but the thrill of taking a train never gets old for me. Furthermore, I saw the size of the hills around Picton and I wasn't sure I wanted to risk motion sickness for the second consecutive day after the ferry ride on Monday. So I awoke early enough to wander around Picton for a few hours – it's hard to get lost there – and booked a train ticket to Christchurch for the early afternoon.

The train ride, once again, forces me to use the word “beautiful” or “stunning.” I'm going to have to invent new words to describe New Zealand, because there are only so many adjectives in the English language that refer to natural beauty. In any case, the ride took us past the township of Blenheim (Blen-um, not Blen-heim) and along the Pacific coast to Kaikoura. All of these places are names I recognize from stories other travellers have told me, but nothing compares to seeing them in person. Kaikoura is known for its aquatic wildlife, so whale-watching and swimming with dolphins are both popular activities, and seal colonies line the train route just north of town. It also lies at the foot of panoramic, snow-capped hills that make it a live postcard.

But I was not staying in Kaikoura, and the remainder of the trip was no less enjoyable to watch fly by the window. This train even had an outdoor viewing car, something I'd never experienced before. A honeymooning American couple sat across from me after Kaikoura, and our conversation made me feel like a long-term New Zealand resident – not a bad feeling at all. Hopefully I made their vacation a little more enjoyable.

My stay in Christchurch was brief but pleasant. I did not manage to see the earthquake-damaged city center because I was busy enjoying the hospitality of my former flatmate Marcus and his family. His father took me on a quick tour of the University of Canterbury and the CBS arena, the only remaining large audience venue in the city. Christchurch is an extremely flat and well-landscaped city (it's nicknamed the Garden City), quite different from the hills and natural reserves of Wellington. I wasn't able to form a very detailed impression, however, because I was quickly hopping on a bus to Dunedin to take me closer to my destination of Central Otago's farms and vineyards.

The bus ride passed through Canterbury's southern plains, which are the only large flat areas in the entire country, I believe. There were always hills visible in the distance, however, and south of Timaru the route began to rise and fall gently (much more gently than the Interislander). All manner of livestock were munching away at the grass as we passed: sheep were the most prevalent, of course, but there were plenty of cows and quite a few deer. When I was young, seeing a deer by the side of the road was a cause for excitement because wild deer are known for being skittish. In New Zealand, the deer are all domesticated, and it continues to baffle me.

I arrived in Dunedin in the midst of a downpour, but my friend Bernie's dad met me rather quickly and before long I was at dinner with his entire family (except Bernie, who's in Wellington). As much as I like to avoid generalization, I think it's fair to say that Kiwis are a pretty hospitable bunch. I'm now planning to stay in Dunedin until the weekend and head out to Alexandra on Sunday, hopefully to find a job harvesting fruit.

Remember how I said I'd write more often once I left Wellington? 

At the railway station in Kaikoura.

The outdoor viewing car - I wanted to see this guy to drop his iPad over the edge so badly.

The most significant earthquake damage I saw in Christchurch.

But Wait, There's More!

Part of the reason I've been writing less recently is that I've been in the same place since I've been in New Zealand. I figured it was about time to see the rest of this country, so yesterday was my last in Wellington. My time in Wellington ended on a day of incredible wind gusts and a light sprinkling of rain, much like the day I arrived. That wouldn't be worth mentioning except I arrived in the dead of winter and left in late spring – the weather is one thing I will not miss about New Zealand's capital city. After a rough sleep on the couch in my apartment (having sold my mattress), I awoke to clean my room and do what remained of my packing. I've left two of my three pieces of luggage in Wellington with a friend, so everything I have is now in one bag. It's a camping backpack with a removable shoulder bag, but we'll call it one, even though it weighs almost 22 kilograms. I walked through town doing my remaining errands with the weight of a four-year-old on my back, getting used to stabilizing myself when Wellington's gale-force winds tried to knock me over. Four months in the same place has softened me a little, I'm sorry to say – another month and I probably wouldn't have been so keen to leave owing to the weight of my luggage.

The errands finished, I stopped in at work for a goodbye breakfast (really a second breakfast, but who's counting). My boss gave me a ride to the ferry terminal and before long I had checked in my massive bag and begun waiting for the Interislander to take me to the South Island. The weather began clearing as we lined up to board. It had been a while since I travelled by water and if Wellington's winds are any guide, the Cook Strait must be one of the roughest commercially travelled waters on Earth. For the portion of the voyage that was on open water, I rested on the upper viewing deck, mostly keeping my eyes closed and waiting for the knot in my stomach to loosen. Almost every wave was large enough to make the ship rise and fall noticeably, and my stomach did a lot of the noticing. Fortunately, my goodbye breakfast stayed where it belonged, and I was sitting in a great place to view the oncoming scenery of Marlborough Sound. That is, until everybody else realized where we were, and gave me a great view of human posteriors.

Feeling less fragile once the strait was behind us, I realized that I should take the opportunity to the see the famously beautiful Marlborough Sound for the first time (I've seen human posteriors before). It was pretty stunning. It was like a combination of Canada's west coast, the North Channel of Lake Huron, and Iceland's fjords – although it's probably just easier to say it was like Marlborough Sound. I guess I was expecting this ferry route to be fairly straightforward because people talk about it as if it's a highway between the two islands, but it is not a route for amateur navigators. Once in the Sound, the random scattering of islands makes finding one's bearings all but impossible without practice. It was like a larger version of the islands I used to navigate between in the North Channel of Lake Huron. After an easy first hour in the harbour and a difficult second hour in the strait, the sound was an excellent reward. The approach to Picton was magnificent.

I spent last night in Picton, which could hardly be more different from Wellington. Where Wellington's streets were packed with pedestrians and cars, Picton hardly even has crosswalks because it's so easy to cross safely owing to the lack of traffic. Where Wellington's supermarket is open until midnight seven days a week, Picton's supermarket is open until 8. And where Wellington's downtown is packed with bars, cafés and nightspots, Picton seemed to have shut by the time I arrived at 6. On the other hand, where Wellington's hills were covered with houses, Picton's are almost too steep to build on safely. Where the ferry leaves Wellington surrounded by cruise ships and industry, it arrives in Picton seeming a little out of place. If I thought I had a sense of New Zealand as a whole, I was wrong. I'm glad I left Wellington when I did. 

I was surprised to find that there is actually a train service from Picton to Christchurch (my next destination). It's more expensive than the bus, but it's one of only three intercity train services in New Zealand, so I almost felt obligated to take advantage. But before I leave Picton, here's a few photos from yesterday.

From the ferry, before departing Wellington.

Approaching the South Island.

The beginning of Marlborough Sound.

Approaching Picton.

From the shore in Picton, watching this morning's ferry depart.

Politics, Kiwi Style

There's an election coming up in New Zealand, and the campaign has picked up steam since the World Cup finished. Last night there was a meet-the-candidates event at the community center in my neighborhood, which I realize I haven't mentioned much. It's called Aro Valley, and is pretty well-known as an area full of free-thinking, alternative hippie types. A few people practice Falun Dafa (don't ask me what it is) in the park on my route to work, there are yoga classes in the community center, and the basketball court is more often used for bicycle polo, popular among the fixed-gear bicycle crowd (read: hipsters).

So it's no real surprise that Aro Valley hosted its own meet-the-candidates night. Thinking myself familiar with this sort of thing after hearing the late Jack Layton speak once at Queen's and attending multiple similar events throughout my life, I decided to attend a pub quiz rather than a political discussion. I was surprised to read about what I missed in the next days' paper - water guns! You can check out the whole story here.

The End of The Beginning

As I have written previously, I tend to write less the longer I stay in one place. That's the only excuse I can offer for the gap between this post and my last. Especially with the end of the World Cup, things have started to become fairly routine here, within a broad definition.

In my view, major sporting tournaments are more fun at the beginning than at the end. There's still so much to come, and surprises can happen at any time. Furthermore, there are so many games being played that a boring game doesn't remain long in the memory. As the tournament progresses and the games become more pivotal, the remaining teams inevitably sacrifice creativity for reliability. Thus we get tight and suspenseful, but objectively unexciting play.

All this is to say that my excitement over the World Cup waned a little in the knockout stages, which began immediately after my last post. With games only on weekends, rugby had a much smaller presence in my life. That's not to say I didn't enjoy the quarterfinal weekend, which saw Wellington packed beyond belief with supporters and players from South Africa, Australia, Ireland, and Wales. Nor is it to say that France's 9-8 semifinal win over Wales didn't drive me absolutely insane with frustration. But the All Blacks' win over France in the final was, for me, more depressing for what it ended than exciting for what it achieved. It didn't help that the amount of pressure heaped on the men in black meant the win was more a source of relief than of ecstasy for Kiwis - although anyone on Wellington's Courtenay Place after the game finished might disagree.  

So now the opening act of my time in New Zealand is coming to a close, as I plan to pack up and move down to the South Island. The weeks since the close of the World Cup have been a bit of a blur - there have been a few pub quiz victories, my flatmates' final recitals (clarinet and viola), and a busy and entertaining work schedule. You can expect more frequent posting from me in the near future, as I'm heading to central Otago for the cherry harvest and should find plenty of new and exciting things to write about. But for now, here's a few photos of the past five weeks.

In the Te Kopahou reserve.

A sea lion, right along the waterfront.

People lining up for the All Blacks' victory parade. I had to work.

Genius advertising.

In Island Bay...summer's coming!