Hell turns to flashes of heaven on a breathtaking South Island bus journey. By Mary Kiley
When asked if I’d consider going on a 10-day coach tour of New Zealand’s South Island, my first reaction was: “Hmm… coach tour of New Zealand or trip to the ninth circle of hell… which to choose?”
I have nothing against New Zealand. In fact, I’d been keen to see it since falling in love with the scenery in Lord of the Rings. Granted, much of that scenery included Viggo Mortensen, but the stuff behind him also looked pretty good.
No, it’s just that I’ve never seen myself as a ‘coach tour’ person. I’m also not a morning person, I like to set my own schedule and drive. Of course, since I have a woeful sense of direction, this often leads to me a) crying b) swearing and c) miles from my destination. But, like the Maoris who’d paddled from Polynesia in their wakas 700 years before me, I put aside my fears and headed for the land of the long white cloud.
“Kia ora and welcome to New Zealand,” says the smiling customs lady. Or I imagine she does on days Border Patrol is filming. In actuality, she scowls because she can’t get my suitcase handle down and says it’s “bad luck” if it breaks.
After this inauspicious start, my trip picks up when our shuttle driver ferries us to our hotel through the pretty city streets of Christchurch.
I meet my fellow Value Tourists at the restaurant. Some have already been on the North Island leg, and one woman has suffered such bad motion sickness she’s considering going home. As I’m prone to queasiness myself, I wonder if I’ve let myself in for 10 days of abject misery…
Our coach driver Ken first explains the rotating seating system. I note that ‘nausea woman’ has decided to stay.
I take a seat as far away as possible.
Dropped off at the station, we board the TranzAlpine for a train trip across the Canterbury Plains. We cross the Southern Alps, goggling at spectacular gorges, rivers and steep hillsides dotted with sure-footed sheep.
Alighting at Arthur’s Pass, Ken drives us to Greymouth and the Jade Boulder Gallery. It details the Maoris’ fascination with greenstone and sells jade jewellery. If you’re into jade, it’s great. If you think jade looks like snot, well… s’not.
Next it’s off to Pancake Rocks – columns of limestone resembling pancakes. They’re pretty cool, but a shower sends us scurrying back to the coach for the journey to Hokitika.
Hokitika means ‘place of return’ in Maori and it seems we’ll have to return if we ever want to see anything of it as we depart in the dim light of dawn.
We arrive in Franz Josef, where I psych myself up for a helicopter ride. I’ve ditched the motion sickness tablets as they make me drowsy, but all thoughts of illness are banished as we soar up Fox Glacier and land in snow. I’m not keen on snow, but there is something awe-inspiring about walking on a glacier.
After lunch in Haast – ‘famous’ for making the world’s biggest whitebait patty – it’s on to beautiful Lake Wanaka.
With no early start, we’re free to do as we please. Active types can hire dinghies, bikes, aqua bikes or kayaks, or stroll around the delightful town and dazzling lake. We travel to the old gold mining village of Arrowtown. Here you can visit the museum, Mary MacKillop’s cottage, or the Chinese Miners Settlement. Or you can do as I do – go to the sweet shop and stuff your face with free fudge.
Then it’s on to Queenstown and our only organised group activity. My fellow travellers – who range in age from 28 to 79 – are friendly on the whole and there’s camaraderie as we board gondolas that take us up to the Skyline Restaurant for a sumptuous smorgasbord while taking in stunning Lake Wakatipu.
This adrenalin junkie’s utopia offers many different, exciting ways to kill or permanently incapacitate yourself. Because I don’t want to die, or worse, fail to file my story and not get paid, I skip bungee jumping and opt for the relatively staid activity of jet boating and (just about) live to regret it.
Jet boating, which involves hurtling at speed over shallow water, is not for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach. Our driver Jim is clearly out to scare us silly or make us sick. Half the trip he devotes to spinning us in circles, the other to driving full tilt at stationary objects – trees, rocks, bridge pylons – and swerving at the last second. By the end I am so green I’m actually afraid we won’t smack into a concrete column and die. My entire being is focused on keeping the contents of my guts inside me rather than on the outside of the other passengers’ waterproof capes. When it’s over, I stagger off and board the more sedate steamship TSS Earnslaw. Afterwards, I go back up the Skyline gondola to have a go at the ‘Luge Adventure’, which turns out to be a misnomer, but I guess ‘Fairly Tame Go-Karts’ wouldn’t attract as many people. Still, it’s good fun.
The NZ$35 entry fee for the Kiwi Birdlife Park seems steep, but after the keeper’s talk, it’s clear why they need every dollar for kiwi conservation – the birds are morons. They’re rubbish parents. It can take them several attempts to figure out if an egg is viable and then, as soon as the baby hatches, it’s kicked out of home! No wonder they’re endangered.
Queenstown offers more nightlife than any place we’ve been, but the early starts are taking their toll, so I retire early and miss the earthquake and murder which rock Queenstown that night.
Ken, who has an exhaustive knowledge of all things Kiwi, offers a running commentary about NZ’s geography, history, geology, Maori mythology, meteorology, vulcanology, zoology, ornithology, and innumerable other topics, which provides useful context for what we’re seeing, so we’re not just staring slack-jawed at rocks and rivers.
Convinced I’d be bored, I’ve brought books, DVDs and a fully loaded iPod, but so far they’ve remained largely unused. Today, however, suffering from information overload, I put the earphones in. Crowded House provides the perfect soundtrack for our trip to Te Anau, ‘gateway’ to Fjordland.
It’s a three-hour trip to Milford Sound, but when we board the boat it’s worth it. As we glide over glassy waters we’re surrounded by lofty peaks and cascading waterfalls, sociable seals and bashful penguins. My bad mood ebbs away – just in time for the return trip to Te Anau.
After a 40-minute stop in Gore, which is 39 minutes longer than necessary, we arrive in Dunedin. Wearing its Scottishness on its sleeve, it likes to think of itself as another Edinburgh which, aside from the filthy weather, it most decidedly is not.
Fortunately, the sun comes out as we journey to the Otago Peninsula to visit Larnach Castle, built in the 1870s and restored by its current owners. After an excellent guided tour, we are free to roam its sumptuous gardens before we’re whisked away for a tour of Dunedin.
After a slow start, with stops at Moeraki Boulders, and the extremely sleepy, possibly comatose, town of Oamaru, this turns out to be the best day, though it’s challenging as I’m running out of superlatives to describe the scenery. First there’s the azure perfection of Waitaki River, eclipsed by the breathtaking beauty of Lake Pukaki and Mount Cook. All I can think is: I’m so glad I have eyes.
We bask in the splendour of Mount Cook from the balcony of Sir Edmund Hillary Alpine Centre before heading to Twizel. The hotel manager provides clubs and we play some holes of shocking golf against a scenic backdrop.
We stop at the Church of the Good Shepherd on Lake Tekapo, which is so sublime I almost want to cry, then it’s on to the tiny town of Geraldine for lunch.
By the time we get to Christchurch, everyone has a slightly glazed look. At our hotel, Ken receives a well-deserved round of applause. Next day, I spend a pleasant final morning visiting the Botanic Gardens and revisiting the excellent museum before departing.
On the whole I enjoyed my coach tour. Sometimes I’d have preferred less talk, more action, but it was safe, comfortable, efficiently organised, informative and relaxing. I’ll savour my memories of that heavenly scenery for a lifetime.
Open Road January/February 2010
4WD
