A week in Reefton
I spent my week in Reefton with my mum mostly hanging out, writing the previous blog post and playing guitar. We did a two-day walk from Black's Point up to Kirwins mine and back down to Boatman's Road. The first day turned out to be considerably longer than I'd anticipated, and my knee complained a bit and was swollen and complained a bit on the way out. However despite being short on humor on the second day, I made it without incident and it was a fantastic tramp.
Fond memories include: seeing Forch on his first day of retirement; surprising Kate in the supermarket; getting to the top of Kirwins; getting to the van from Kirwins.
A week in Christchurch
After my week in Reefton expired I took the van and the boat east to Christchurch. Basically this time was reserved for hanging out with Max and Rowena, and for revisiting old friends. Max wanted to see how the dhingy floated, and decided it would be a good idea to row it to Quail Island and back. It wasn't really, but after a lot of rowing we got there and back again without catastrophy. There was an old computer science study group meetup, Sean's bachelor party (where I got lost in town, only to be found by the FCC lads, only to be lost again), and a bring-your-own-roadkill pot luck event (aka Pot Doom) which Marissa put heaps of effort into organising (big thanks!). I shot a young deer grazing Max's orchard, which was perfect timing for our Pot Doom event. I visited Marissa & Sagar, Jay, Ella, Luke & Brett & Jill, the Brights, and Eleanor & Mark during that week not to mention a good chat with Sel.
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Row, row, row your boat madly across the bay | Meat is murder... |
Shaky Quaky Christchurch
We were fine. The house is a swiss-style log chalet, so it just wobbled and flexed. Even the foundation was fine. A few glasses were broken and some shelves were emptied out on the floor. But otherwise? All was well. We lost power but had candles. We had spring water from the hill. The chimney was metal, not brick so we could light the fire. We even took in four refugees from Lyttelton whose houses ceased to exist. We were all quite shaken though - particularly from the aftershocks during the night. Many of us slept in tents out on the lawn. Max just said everyone was crazy, and slept in the house. I spent the evening in the little hut up on the hill.
Lots of strange co-incidences. I was in town the day before the earthquake, doing a last round of catch-ups and running errands. Maik and Zoe sent me a text saying they had just hitched a ride from Oamaru to Christchurch. I offered to pick them up from Burnham and visited a friend until they arrived. The net result is that they ended up being out at Bergli when the quake hit, rather than in the CBD. Zoe had a big asthma attack later that evening. Out of caution we drove her to the Christchurch public hospital, by which time she was fine. So we went for a walk around Hagley Park, ate at Burger King in the CBD and walked around the cathedral and gave $10 to a druggy spinning a fantastical story. We remarked how quiet it was. The next day it was all gone.
My grand scheme was to fly from Christchurch to Wellington on the day of the quake to see Queens of the Stone Age. However, Mother Nature said NO. The airport was closed, so I sent a text to Thomas saying he should sell my ticket. He replied that the QOTSA concert was postponed till tomorrow. There was still hope, so I rose at 5am the next morning, drove with Maik and Zoe to Kaikoura, hitched to Picton (I was picked up by a shaken up guy who's holiday home in Redcliff had had a cliff land on it), caught the Interislander across to Wellington, dropped my stuff off at a backpackers, showered and rushed off full of enthusiasm to St. John's pub to meet Thomas and Tanja at 4:30pm. Only to learn that the concert had been cancelled. So after several beers and a dirty gin martini later ("shaken, not stirred" was my running gag for the evening) I was drunk enough that it didn't really matter. Almost as good.
North
Thomas headed south the next day. Tanja and I went north. We hitched to Palmerston North and were picked up by a tattoo artist who had wonderfully colourful ideas on some of the big questions in life, involving magnets, fibonacci sequences and Mayan calendars. His knowledge of tattoos was awesome, and he told us heaps of really interesting stuff. His theological theories could have used a little more... research. And he gave me a dice! I will use it often.
Palmy North is a bit of a rural town. Not much happening. We entertained ourselves playing guitar and drinking beer in the backpackers with our Swiss and Austrian roommates.
Hitching from Palmy was probably the hardest bit of thumb-work I've done. We had to walk for ages - I was carrying a rediculous amount of gear, which was a) heavy, and b) my own stupid fault - to get out of town. One woman picked us up and took us to the next minor town. Her dog Shadow loved licking faces (bearded or no), and she had a learners license. Meh. She dropped us at a good spot and we waited. After having no success, I brought forth the guitar, sat on a rucksack and played while Tanja thumbed us a ride. The presence of the guitar was an instant success, and I had but finished one song and we were on our way with an old tractor driver from Napier. When we asked him what there was to see in Hastings, he shook his head and said "Nothing. Sorry." Well he dropped us at Rush Monroe's ice cream place. We played guitar in the town centre with some local kids and stayed at a backpackers full of fruit pickers (it was picking season).
Other fond memories include: Mr. Scratchy; corrupting Tanja with marmite; and the grumpy guy at the internet cafe.
Team Spork
BJ and Claire arrived in Hastings. I had previously hosted BJ in Zurich, and after we realised we'd both be in NZ at the same time we decided to meet up somewhere. And here we were! BJ had his mandolin with him, I had my guitar. There was space for Tanja and I in the back of the car, and we had our own tent. Even my luggage fit. Don't you love it when plans just work? We went to the Tim O'Brian concert there, where we discovered Mr. Cackle. Wow. I have never seen anyone so completely oblivious to their own annoyingness. Think pushy, egotistic, over-enthusiastic, super-talkative and shouting-loud all at the same time. And completely unaware. Did I mention he could cackle? Was truly a sight to behold.
Tim O'Brian was absolutely amazing, by the way. Played every type of bluegrass he could think of on mandolin, fiddle and banjo, backed by a guitar and an acoustic bass. Awesome.
When our sporks combine...
On day two we drove to Taupo and stayed on Rieds Farm, a free campsite funded by local rate payers. It had mowed lawns, toilets, picnic tables and a river. Great times.
White water rafting was next somewhere north of Taupo.
Then the drive through the Forgotten Worlds Highway to New Plymouth. We passed through a "town" (according to the map) called Marco. I found a sign, and being the respectable tourist that I am, climbed it for a photograph. The weather packed in, so we stayed in a backpackers and hit the thermal spa the next day. Good call. I think my favourite memory in New Plymouth was BJ and I jamming outside the pub as we waited for our fish & chips. A cop approached us in mid-song, stopped and said "You boys should put out a hat". Chur.
Next day it was on to Wanganui, by which time the rain had eased. We camped in the campground and went kayaking the next day on the Wanganui river for a few hours. The rest of the team were headed to Wellington. They dropped me in Bulls and, aside for a broken spork (plus a few sundry backpacks), I hitched northwards alone.
Favourite memories include: 3x rush munroes; BBQ in hastings; the "meh" factor; action sandwiches from the back seat; being scolded by BJ for our collective musical ignorance; being bitch-slapped by a passing tree; jamming by the ocean in New Plymouth; sleepless sunrise haka on the beach at Wanganui; asserting burp-master status; crazy restaurant with 40min wait times and an empty till.
What an amazing holiday so far.
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