Calling My Bluff

See what I did there? No? Ah well never mind.

The next port of call on our trip around the bottom of the South Island was literally the bottom. Well almost. Close enough to not matter.

If our destination of Invercargill gives you the impression of a Scottish themed location, that’s nothing compared to the journey from Lake Manapouri. Empty roads, towering mountains and lonely glens for all the world look and feel like Scotland. 

As for Invercargill, many streets in the city, especially in the centre and main shopping district, are named after rivers in Scotland. These include the main streets Dee and Tay, as well as those named after the Tweed, Forth, Tyne, Esk, Don, Ness, Yarrow, Spey, Eye and Ythan rivers, amongst others.

It will be no surprise then to learn that this part of New Zealand was inhabited by Scots - to the extent that traces of Scottish speech can still be heard in the local dialects. 

But it wasn’t the connection with northern Britain that brought us here. Nope, it was for the most southerly parkrun in New Zealand and arguably the world. Arguably because there is now a weekly event in the Falkland Isles. I’m not convinced that one should count. But I would say that though. It is probably one of most beautiful courses in New Zealand, short sections of paths and gravel trails all surrounded by trees and flower beds. And a nice and straight final 1km. Nothing like a simple and potentially fast finish. 

The other reason to come down this way was to head out to Bluff, the most southerly town in Aotearoa. There isn’t a lot to see in Bluff, although it is the centre on the New Zealand oyster industry. If that’s your thing. Yuk I say! I honestly don’t see the attraction in swallowing slimy gloop. Whoever convinced the general public to consider these to be such a delicacy should get an award. 

Passing by the few shops that constitute Bluff’s town centre and very soon you arrive at Stirling Point. Although this is it the most southerly part of New Zealand, it is the start (or end depending on your preference) of the long distance Te Araroa hiking trail. 

Stretching around 3,000 kilometres along the length of the country's two main islands between Cape Reinga in the north and Bluff in the south, it’s quite some undertaking and normally takes around three to four months to complete. Some years ago we visited Cape Reinga so with having visited the two end points, there’s only the bits in between to complete!

The scenery here is stunning, albeit somewhat cooler than we are used to. Deep blue ocean, white rocks and greenery combine to create a perfect coastal scene.

It’s one of those places that I am pleased to say we have visited, but there’s no real reason to reprint, unless of course one of us loses their senses and decides to take in the Te Araroa trail. Hmm, maybe next year. 

Doubtful Cruise

I’ve always held the view, rightly or wrongly, that cruises were the preserve of the über rich or the retired and on that basis they weren’t for me. But plans change and so, with the intention to give up regular paid employment on the horizon, I arguably fall into the latter category. 

So maybe, that is how I found myself onboard a vessel in Deep Cove dock in Doubtful Sound about to set sail on an overnight trip through Fiordland.

For those unfamiliar with the geography of New Zealand, Fiordland is a national park located on the southwestern coast of the South Island. Fiordland National Paek was created in 1952 and covering 4,868 square miles is by far the largest in New Zealand..

There are fourteen sounds within Fiordland and whilst at 25 miles long Doubtful Sound is not the longest, it is the deepest. At over 420m deep, be mindful not to drop your mobile phone because it’ll be a struggle to get it back.

Ahh, I know what you’re wondering….why is it called Doubtful Sound when it’s in Fiordland? That’s a really good question. Well, Doubtful Sound is actually a Fjord so it should really be called Doubtful Fjord. Why? Whilst a sound is usually formed by the action of the sea flooding a river valley, a fjord is formed by the action of a glacier - and that is what we have here. Or so we were told.. 

And why Doubtful. Like a lot of things around New Zealand, Captain James Cook had an influence in the name, or rather re-naming because it already has a name but that wasn’t European enough for the celebrated explorer. On his journey around the western coastline of the southern island of New Zealand, sometime around 1770, he observed what appeared to be a passage into the interior. As the prevailing wind direction was westerly, he determined that whilst he could sail the ship into the passage, he was doubtful he would be able to get back out again. The opportunity to explore inland was passed and the name Doubtful Sound allocated to the inlet. So there you go.

Righty-ho, back to the trip. It’s fair to say Doubtful Sound is not that easy to get to. Compared to the most popular excursion in Fiordland, Milford Sound, where a road takes travellers right to the dockside, Doubtful is a little trickier. First up you have to drive to the oddly named Pearl Harbour on the shore of Lake Manapouri. From there a ferry will take you across the lake to the imaginatively named Western Arm. This 45 minute trip would be worth the entrance fee alone. Surrounded by snowcapped mountains and deep green forest, the lake crossing is breathtaking. 

Once docked, it’s another hour by an unsealed road over Wilmott Pass to Deep Cove dock. Finally we’re in Doubtful Sound. And of course, you get to do it all again on the way back. At least it can be accessed by the general public. There are many others that are so remote that can be accessed only from the sea -  no roads or even footpaths So, with the amount of effort it takes, it’s no surprise that this is an overnight cruise. 

Not wanting to share with other people, we’ve got a private cabin for the trip. A lovely refuge from the hubbub with a private, albeit small, bathroom. And a great view of the outside world. We could, should the need arise, sit in our little space and watch the world go by. But where would the fun be in that - we’d miss the chance to take in the spectacular panaoramas and remark on just how odd other people are! Not like us, we’re normal!

The cruise is amazing, and definitely worth the effort in getting here, even if that is part of the fun. The remoteness means that there is less boat traffic and that in turn means there is less noise. And with it being overnight, there is no rush. After an hour or so we were at the Tasman Sea. Just in time to watch some seals lazing on a rock, and then turn around and head back to explore some more. For a place with the highest annual rainfall in New Zealand, we were treated to bright sunshine and calm seas. Wow!

We anchored overnight in Precipice Bay, enjoyed a three course meal before heading to our cabin.

Waking up in such a unique location was something special. Although the weather has changed to that more keeping with the region - yes it was raining - the fjords took had taken on a more gloomy but magnetic look. After another fabulous meal, we lifted anchor and started our journey back to Deep Cove.

There was just time for perhaps the highlight of the trip. The sound of silence. For a few moments, the ship engines were silenced and we just drifted down the fjord. The only sound was that of the waterfalls, the wind in the trees and morning birdsong. Words fail to describe the feeling. 

A few hours later we were docked back a Deep Cove and began our return journey to the main land. What an unforgettable trip with memories that are unlikely to be dimmed by the passing of time -  that would be impossible given the amount of photographs I took. 

Hahei Hi Campers!

The less charitable might call it a lack of imagination, but I prefer to call it tradition. Or at least it is now. Ever since our first visit to these shores we’ve made Hahei our pre-Christmas destination. 

Who would have thought that after our visit here on holiday in 2013, we would have returned five of the following nine years. Of the missing years, one time we were in the Galapagos and the others we had visitors. So, given free rein, Hahei is our pre-Christmas holiday destination. Something that we would never have contemplated in the UK. I’m shivering at the thought!

Saying this from the relative comfort of knowing that the forecast is for settled weather, we’ve had a fantastic time every single year we’ve visited. And what a way to unwind into Christmas.

New Zealand’s campsites, or campgrounds as they are known here, make a holiday under canvas very easy. Almost all of them have a kitchen space to make cooking a doddle, barbecue areas complete with barbecues come as standard and all have defined pitches. None of this cram-in-as-many-as-we-can approach that afflicts some UK camp sites. Yes, looking at you Coniston Hall!

Hahei Beach Resort takes comfort and convenience one step further - there is a bar, pizza place and burger joint on the premises. It really couldn’t be easier.

As this is our last summer at Christmas - we’re returning to the UK next year - we’ve pushed the boat out. Not only do we have a nice new tent, but we’ve also gone for an electrical hook up. Posh I know. Whilst being able to charge gadgets is a convenience, the real game changer is having an electric kettle. Astonishing that such a common household appliance can have such a groundbreaking impact. Tea practically on tap!

Our other move towards luxury is the addition of camping beds. My word what a difference. Aching backs from sleeping on the floor are no more and climbing into bed takes camping to another level. It’s almost glamping. It’s almost like being at home even.

And the tent? It’s wonderful. With it being inflatable, gone are the days of messing around with poles, a few pumps and it’s up. Admittedly we were worried that a strong wind might propel us into the air and carry us off to Fiji, so it’s well anchored to the ground. We hope. Not that there is any sign of strong winds. 

Yes the outlook is for a fantastic week of relaxation, sun, swimming and perhaps the occasional visit to the bar.

The End of the Line

Avid readers of this admittedly increasingly sporadic blog will know that I am somewhat dismissive of New Zealand’s attempt at a passenger rail service. 

In fact calling it a service is as far from the truth as one could possibly get. So what is there? As far as the main urban areas go, there is a little bit of a passenger service in the Wellington region and obviously Auckland had a reasonable network - when it is running that is. Quite how Auckland Transport and KiwiRail get away with cancelling train services almost every weekend and during most of the public holidays is beyond me. I can’t think of anywhere else in the world where the transport operators would be allowed to curtail passengers services of the country’s most populous city on such a regular basis. But they are and they do. Frequently. So a city of around 1.5 million people is without a train service each and every weekend and over the four week holiday period..

And what about inter-city services? Well there aren’t any. Not at a frequency that you could call a service. The nearest city to Auckland is Hamilton and admittedly there is a train ‘service’ that connects the two metropolises. It runs twice a day but only once on a Saturday, if you’re lucky. And speed? Well it is some way off a high-speed service. The 120km trip takes just under two hours. An average speed of a little over 60kph.  

There is another service in the north island but that is geared more towards tourists and the terminally patient. A trip from Auckland, the largest city, to Wellington, the capital, can be completed by train. But only on a Monday and a Wednesday, taking over 11 hours to complete and costs around $300. Time and cost aside, it is worth doing once, as we have, but it’s not a commuter service. Not by a long shot.

The other two long distance services are in the South Island and, with us finding a free weekend at the start of the summer, we decided to try them out; the Coastal Pacific and the Tranz Alpine. Or to put it in geographical terms, Picton to Christchurch along the east coast, then Christchurch to Greymouth via the southern alps.

 If time and budget was unlimited one could, in theory, jump on a train in Auckand and travel the length of the North Island to Wellington. Catch the Inter-Islander ferry and continue the journey southward by rail from Picton.

We didn’t have the time so we took a flight from Auckland to Blenheim in Malborough to pick up the Coastal Pacific scenic train. Relying on a flight connection to catch the only train of the day was a gamble but we needn’t have worried…..the flight was on time and the train was late. Ah well. Quite how a train could be late only one hour into a six hour journey is a question for another day.

Grumbles aside, it was well worth the effort. It was a glorious day with great views out across the ocean as the train wound its way down the coast, often so close that sea spray would douse the windows. 

If the first day was stunning then superlatives wouldn’t be adequate for the second day of the train. The train westward out of Christchurch is unassuming - mostly light industrial buildings on the outskirts of the city and then the expanses of flat farmland as the train crossed the Canterbury Plain. So far, so-so. 

Then, once the train entered the foothills of the alps…oh my word! What a dramatic change. Snow-capped mountain peaks towered over narrow glacial valleys. Bridges crossed steep ravines, with tumultuous turquoise rivers hundreds of metres below. Staring transfixed out of the carriage window I never wanted it to end. 

But end it must because Greymouth in the west coast is where the line ends, at least for rail passengers. Another victim of New Zealand’s ever shrinking rail network. So the only thing to do was to grab a bite to eat, get some provisions for the return journey and head back the way we came. 

And, if I was feeling particularly introspective, that could be a metaphor for life. Time to turn around and go home. The end of one journey and the start of another. Maybe I’ll write about it one day!

Northern Sights

Although this is our fourth visit to the fair city of Oslo, it’s been nearly twenty years since we last visited. I am honestly staggered by that. How did that happen?

Our first visit was way back in 2001 when a friend in work recommended it as a holiday location and gave us contact details of a travel company that specialises in Scandinavian travel. Saw it, booked it and…..you know the rest.

It was a big trip, or so it seemed at the time, and for the first time we felt like adventurous travellers - heading off to unknown lands across the North Sea. Crazy really to think that a future escapade would take us to the southern hemisphere. Admittedly we didn’t stray to far from the capital city. After catching up with a friend who lived there, we caught the train to Flåm and spent a gorgeous week at the side of a fjord. It was idyllic. As well as the fantastic scenery, boat trips and hiking, I got the chance to buzz the QEII in a little boat. 

Setting out to buzz the QEII

The aforementioned QEII

It was all over far too quickly and after visit to Bergen by catamaran we were back in the airport to fly

back home.

We were back in Oslo just a year later for the same friend’s 30th birthday and then a couple of years later for his wedding. It did seem like Oslo was becoming our second home.

Yet then there was a gap. A large one by anyone’s standards. So when the opportunity arose - more on that in a minute - to return, how could we pass up such an opportunity? 

Airlines’ pricing algorithms are a mystery to me, and I suspect a lot of others. We were looking for the most cost effective way to get back to New Zealand from Switzerland when it became apparent that it was cheaper to first travel to Scandinavia and then depart a few days later, rather than a direct route. Odd but true. So with that in mind, a weekend in Oslo seemed like the perfect end to our summer sojourn around Europe.

As well as seeing the beautiful city 20 years later, it also gave us a chance to catch up with some friends from the UK and of course our whānau resident! 

As usual when we visit Oslo, the weather was glorious with warm and sunny days and long light nights. The beer, wine and conversation flowed with ease. It was good to spend time with friends we haven’t seen for a while and soon the intervening years dissolved away in tears of laughter. As well as revisiting old haunts we found some new favourites and generally had a relaxing and enjoyable time.

I’d forgotten just how friendly and helpful Norwegians are and I reckon that they would give Kiwis some stiff competition as the most accommodating hosts. No offence New Zealand, just saying!

As I leave Oslo again, I am determined that it won’t be such a gap to my next visit and I look forward to exploring more of this fantastic country. There’s so much more to see and I know we’ve only scratched the surface.

Like Clockwork

I realise that, as I am typing these words on a train to the airport, this could all come back to bite me but surely the Swiss transport system is one of the wonders of the modern world?. 

We left a small mount village at 05:40am and caught the 06:00am bus. Which as admittedly left two minutes late. This wasn’t the fault of the transport system, but instead an issue with a passenger  who decided to arrive at exactly the departure time and then continued to debate the price of the fare with the driver. Quite possibly the most annoying person we’ve come across this holiday. If this scene has payed out in the UK then the driver would’ve closed the doors in the late comer’s face and waved as they drove away. Equally, if this has been a scene from New Zealand then…. actually it wouldn’t have mattered because there wouldn’t have been a bus in the first place and even if there was, it would’ve either been late or not turned up at all.

Minor passenger related glitches notwithstanding, the bus caught up the lost time, despite the route being a tortuous, twisting and narrow road down the valley and arrived at the train station on time. That didn’t stop me giving the late comer a hard stare as we disembarked. I felt much better.

Ten minutes later we were on the train speeding north towards Bern and are expecting to arrive at the airport at 09:15, making two changes on the way each with only five minutes to make the connection. Who would’ve thought that fast and frequent public transport set make for a fast and efficient transport network? 

Express inter-city trains connect to regional trains that then connect to local trains. These then connect to trams, mountain railways, cable cars, buses or boats, depending on the desired destination. When viewed from high up in the stratosphere it must look like a well orchestrated ballet. It’s magic - except it isn’t really. So how is it done…..sorry excuse me, we are arriving into Bern and I have to go and change trains.

…..where was I? Ah yes, how is this done? I recall reading an interview with a Swiss transport network representative who was responsible for planning the timetable, and he was slightly dumbfounded when he was asked that very question. “Well, you plan one week and then repeat it across the rest of the year”’ was the simple and perhaps obvious response. Could it be as straightforward as that? It makes you wonder doesn’t it.

[post blog note - arrived at the airport at exactly the planned time. Shame the flight was an hour late leaving 🙄]

¡Viva España!

If truth be told, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a holiday in Spain. Although I had been here before, one three fleeting occasions, I really didn’t know what to expect.

My first visit to Spain was as part of a package holiday in 1989 to Salou, celebrating the end of our A-Levels. The big debate at that time was whether to pay extra for a flight or just stick with the basic package and take a coach all the way to the southern coast of Spain. What a choice. On one hand a more expensive but much quicker travel option, and on the other a gruelling two day road trip and ferry crossing.

Thankfully, common sense prevailed and we took the coach option. Why waste valuable beer money on a flight when you could drink all the way on the coach? Obviously really when you think about it. Two weeks in the resort of Salou, or more accurately ten days by the time the travel is deducted, wasn’t exactly the best introduction to Spanish culture one could’ve hoped for. It’s no exaggeration to say they there were more English in the town than locals. Bar a change in currency and improved weather there was little difference to being in England.

The second visit was a few years later as part of a month travelling around Europe by train. This time we headed to Pamplona from southern France to participate in the running of the bulls festival. A great plan, except we were a day late. I can’t recall if our journey took longer than planned or whether we just had the wrong date. I suspect the latter. Disheartened, we spent the day at the station chugging back Rioja, eventually catching a evening train to Barcelona, where we immediately changed trains and headed back into France. Actually it was probably for the best. I’d hate to think what might have happened if we had arrived on the day of the festival. Getting chased down streets by ill tempered animals would’ve ended badly for us I suspect. In actuality the worst that happened to us was a sore head from too much vino and a slight embarrassment from decorating the outside of the train carriage. Let’s move on…..

I did get another chance to visit Barcelona in 2003 when we visited for the weekend to celebrate a family birthday. It was a fleeting visit and not really enough time to do the city or country justice. Oh, and it rained almost the entire weekend with the sun coming out just as we headed back to the airport.

So this time we were going to do it properly and spend nearly two weeks travelling around and meeting up with friends (and local guides!)

And what a time we’ve had. From the moment we arrived into San Sebastián, to the final few hours in Madrid, Spain has put on a show; the glorious weather, (arguably too good) beautiful cities and delicious food, wine and beer. The fact that I speak virtually no Spanish didn’t seem to matter, not like in a neighbouring country I won’t name. Everyone seemed pleased to meet us and wanted to help us enjoy our visit.

It has certainly whet our appetite for the country and I am absolutely sure that we’ll be back - but maybe when the weather is not quite so hot! 40 degrees is a novelty at first but it soon becomes a challenge. Thank goodness for the slight coolness of the coastal resort of Cádiz.

But a return is for the future. For now we bid adiós to the Iberian peninsula and head for the cooler mountain air of Switzerland.….