Mike's rambling travel updates - from the hidden pubs and country lanes of the UK, to the never-shrinking list of "must-see" destinations in Europe and beyond.
There’s a lot to be said for having little to no expectations about a destination. Whenever you visit an icon like the Taj or the Pyramids, you have the possibility of reality not meeting your dreams.
But, Stewart Island was on the other side of the spectrum. I heard it was pretty with lots of birds, but that was about it. This left me in a position to be pleasantly surprised at every turn.
Uva Island was no different. It’s a unique natural heritage site, whose isolation by water has limited the epidemics of rats and other foreign animals spoiling the native ecosystem. Just recently, it was pronounced ferret and mostly rat-free; a major accomplishment.
What does that mean for the tourist? It’s a joy to just wander around. From lush rain forests that appear as they would 300 million years ago, to the constant bird calls, Uva is gorgeous – plain and simple.
I caught a motorboat out in the morning, and had a few hours mostly to myself, completing a circuit of the trails.
The grey skies and heavy foliage made both seeing the birds and taking pics hard, but you could definitely hear them:
… the layered plants were a blast to take photos, although I was kicking myself for not having a tripod.
The highlight though, was the common waka bird. Basically a very wild chicken, these native birds take curiosity to a new level, often walking right up to you, even up and over your shoes. The biggest challenge was trying not to scare them by laughing at their antics.
I had an hour to myself on the beach – with more waka and other local birds, plus a surprise of yet another great rainbow. Again, during the high season, it would be packed – but I had it all to myself. Perfect.
The threatening skies finally opened up so I beat feet back to the boat pier, and headed back to Oban. Forgoing the boring walk on the paved road, I had a great hike back along the coastal trail. After so much walking, beers and some hearty sausage and mash was just the remedy, then it was time to turn in, to head back up to the mainland and Dunedin.
New Zealand is amazing. Pure and simple. From beaches to glacier to volcanoes, it’s got almost every type of landscape you can think of, and few more unique ones besides. Stewart Island is a last treasure of unique Kiwi-ness… an island sanctuary for so many of the country’s threatened species like the kiwi and a whole heap of other animals and plants.
I headed down there after Dunedin – my previous trip I had checked out many of the classic NZ sights, and something about the southernmost island intrigued me. So, giving a Dave and Drea a break from too much sustained Hawkins cheesiness, I got into Invercargill the night before. Today was ferry time…
… alas, there was one small problem. Invercargill isn’t a big city but somehow I got confused about meeting the bus. A ridiculously friendly (like so many Kiwis) barber helped sort me out and called the tour company. The bright side was that I had time to grab an amazingly good raspberry frosted, cream-cheese filled muffin and a cappuccino at a local café. Starbucks could learn a few things!
The ferry ride itself was a stroke of luck. Stewart Island is reached across a strait that normally is really really choppy. And, (manly cough) while I’m as tough as the next guy, uh, my tummy ain’t. So I was already thinking that I might turn a few shades of green.
But, it all worked out and we pulled into Oban, the tiny town of 350 that’s the main settlement. Again, the off-season worked to my advantage – I was able to get a single room in the nice South Sea hotel for hostel prices. With a harbor view, and the town pub downstairs, I was set for some serious chilling out.
The first day was pretty relaxed – I ended up hiking to the local observation point, and even with the foreboding green skies, Stewart Island is a really pretty place.
A pub dinner and beers went down well – the pub has a very small town vibe; it was funny listening to the locals, as they grumbled and joked about the other inhabitants.
The next day, I had a bit of a lie-in before embarking on my slightly over-ambitious cycling/hiking trip. The plan had me renting a mountain bike, then heading out to the west coast trailhead for a few hour walk.
No problem except for two things. One – my biking legs were very out of shape, and two – Stewart Island is deceptively hilly, with constantly rolling terrain by the coast. And a bonus number three – I miss SF’s hill workouts; London’s flat terrain really don’t provide a challenge.
That all led to me being very very beat, very quickly. But, it was all worth it – I had a good time exploring a local coastal inlet, with loads of ducks and other birds…
Then, passing several small groups of houses and beaches, I got to the trail. And gorgeous it was – winding its way along the coast, with a constant chorus of bird calls.
The trail started at a massive chain sculpture, symbolizing the ancient Maori story of Stewart Island being the anchor for the big land canoe of NZ.
A 45 minute walk took me to Little River, where I relaxed with a picnic lunch and a book before being chased off by some truly irritating sand flies.
On the way back, it was funny – I was feeling good at getting out of doors and some exercise, until I got passed by a bus of middle-aged hikers I had seen on the trail, who had smiles tinged with pity as they took in my near-walking pace.
Out of shape and out of gas, I turned in the bike four hours early, and then checked out the town… which amounted to a cool t-shirt shop that had the unusual operating hours of being open from 1-2:30 daily.
The afternoon brought an amazing rainbow – I was pretty excited and told the hotel staff. They were distinctly underwhelmed; I guess with all of the clouds and rain, they’re a daily occurrence.
Another pub dinner and beers, then it was time to turn in – the next day was a trip to the Uva Island bird sanctuary, bright and early…
I got my dates mixed around a bit and forgot something...
Before our Naseby adventure, Dave, Drea and I headed over to their neighbors for a EuroTrash party. The Kiwis do love their costume parties (oops - fancy dress parties in local parlance) so we had to give our best shot... as the ever so artsy "French Mustaches":
(Costumes and amazing paper cigarette holders - courtesy o' Dave)
A guys' weekend. Time away from the civilizing influences of the womenfolk.
Right - I know what you're thinking. Craziness... unbridled rude behavior with bad jokes, belching and a general reversion to near cave man life.
Uh... let's just say our trip was the exact opposite. (Well, there was a fair amount of belching. And the odd fart, but that was about it.)
Dave planned the weekend, arranging for me and his friend Tom to roll up to Naseby, a charming small town in the mountains about 2 hours out of Dunedin. After almost convincing Drea to abandon the wedding preparations to come out, we hit the road around 9, and had a good drive through some of the smaller towns and the many (many!) sheep pastures that dot the New Zealand countryside. It was one of those drives that even if it wasn't on every tourist's list, was even more special in that I really got a sense of the South Island well off the tourist trail. My favorite current analogy is that it is a lot like Northern California, with the snow-capped Sierras looming behind... but even prettier.
On a geekiness level, day 1 was probably an 8 out of 10. We got set up at our cabin, where I was promptly assaulted by the owner's cute kids with wooden swords.
Then, it was a quick stroll around the town, where we found the local curling and ice luge establishment. Seriously. Strange but cool combination.
We lucked out and were able to get an hour in on the luges - where I had a remarkable lack of success. The main goal is to not hit the wooden sides and cruise, somewhat under control, to the finish. I never really got that, bashing up against all the sides and drawing some giggles from the watching womenfolk. Insult to injury? Dave and Tom were pretty dang good, and then the 10-13 year old volunteers proceeded to zoom down without a care in the world.
Somewhat humbled, we rolled back to town, grabbed a sandwich and killed some beers at the local cafe, then headed into the hills for some disc golf - NZ style.
Forget the nice chainlink baskets that most SF disc golfers are used to... this was considerably more rustic, and fun. A typical hole? "Throw around the big tree, then throw it under the no parking sign 100 meters down the road." Good times - with the highlight being Dave's disc oh so nearly falling down a big crevice, which he then promptly made an amazing shot to win the hole and a beer wager.
Then, exhausted from our manly exertions, it was time to head into town for a pub dinner.
Well, first, there was a trampoline that simply HAD to be used...
Once we got into the pub, it was all about good beer, surprisingly good gastropub style food... and Settlers of Catan.
Let's just say we got some bemused looks from the staff and locals. One stout girl even grunted, and opined "I'd rather go huntin'" We weren't in cosmopolitan Dunedin anymore...
The next day was more of the same... we got to try the exhilarating, heart-pounding inducing sport that is curling. For those of you who don't know, imagine a larger game of bar shuffleboard, played on ice, with each player pushing 20lb rocks with handles to hopefully land within a series of circles for points.
Now, all heckling aside, it was actually really fun, and surprisingly difficult. The margin of error between falling far short, or going too far and banging the outer barrier is verrrry slight.
Plus, for fun, we were shown how to do the cool slide/release maneuver... Dave, alas, was never quite able to stick the landing:
The other funny bit was that the NZ Youth Championships were going on beside us, so there were teams of surprisingly intense teenagers who actually knew what they were doing. To the onlookers in the gallery above, let's just say there was a very clear talent drop-off!
Another round of disc golf, then it was back to Dunedin. Our journey was slowed slightly by a herd of sheep, that flowed around our car without a hitch. My favorite was this free spirit - who stubbornly decided to go his own way, and went up and over his buddies...
The rest of the day was pretty relaxed - I had another amazing burger at Velvet Burger (Grilled mango and chili sauce of all things), then caught the shuttle to Invercargill... way, way south, in order to catch the morning ferry to Stewart Island in the morning.
Invercargill... doesn't really have a lot to recommend it besides as a transport junction. It's the furthest large town in NZ, and faces Antarctica a long, long long ways away. Not a whole lot going on - the social life seemed to revolve around boy racer cars and loud music. But the plus side? I had a hostel room to myself at Sparky's then a surprisingly good spicy pizza before turning in...
