Our first day on our own was a big one, because we had
resolved to drive to the very northwest corner of the south island, the
Farewell Spit. Although not terribly far distance-wise, this was a trip over a
mountain range with huge cliffs and hairpin turns that made me feel woozy and
nauseated. Being in a land of ferns and flowers was novel enough that I stayed
in a great mood.
The Farewell Spit is an extremely long peninsula of sand and
dune grass that extends out into the sea above the South Island. We
contemplated the end of this spit, but unfortunately/fortunately the majority
of it is closed to the public, leaving only a few walking trails around the
base of the peninsula accessible. We crossed the peninsula, to the western
coast of the island, and hiked to a place called Wharariki Beach. The beach is
a pristine set of white sand dunes and rocky cliffs that you reach by passing
through a hilly pasture of scattered sheep. Classic New Zealand! We spotted
several seals on a large rock in the water, and I waded out to photograph them
and also a few interesting looking maroon scallop-shaped creatures attached to
the rock. Although the beach looked like a wonderful place to sit and relax and
watch the sun set, we had to get on the road to ensure we got back over the
mountains before dark, which would have been extremely treacherous.
We stayed in a small and very pleasant beach town called
Motueka, in a cottage near the water, a B&B that rented out only one room.
The room was fantastic, decorated rather whimsically to bring to mind a forest,
with natural wood everywhere, a billowing sheet decoratively hung from the
ceiling, a shower with rocky walls and plants.
The next day, we got up early and enjoyed a hearty breakfast
at a farm-to-table style café in Motueka. Has New Zealand learned to do
American breakfast? (our future business plan for a chain of family American breakfast restaurants in Kiwi-land could be in danger)
It was incredibly delicious! Heaps of eggs with rashers of
the most tasty bacon I’ve had in years (all right, that may not be saying much,
but let me tell you, this was great bacon).
On our way back to the B&B, we
crossed over a very narrow bridge of the sort common in that part of the South
Island – it had two lanes, but just barely, and rails on either side held up by
sharp metal struts. Husband accidentally got too close to the curb, which is
easy to do when you are driving on a side of the car you are unaccustomed to,
and hopped his tire up onto the struts, which busted it.
We pulled off the road just after the bridge to survey the
damage. As we were contemplating the large hole ripped into the tire, an older
gentleman rode up to us on a tractor. “Don’t feel bad, happens all the time,”
he said jovially. “You’re not the first. But you’re the first today!” After
spotting that we had a tire jack, he brightly rolled on his way. Perhaps he
only offered to help if you were the first of the week, or the first of the
month. Luckily, my husband is quite handy with a tire change, and we were soon on
our way again.
Our mission of the day was to walk the Abel Tasman Coastal
track, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks. This mission had been rather hindered
by the flat tire and also by getting lost, because there is only one point at
which you can enter the Abel Tasman Coastal track and we had initially aimed for the wrong point. When we reached the tiny town at the start
of the track, we decided to take a water taxi out to Anchorage Bay and walk
back to our car, an approximately 4 hour hike, according to the taxi operator
“if you walk at a snail’s pace.” We sped across the water to Anchorage, and
after a few minutes walking the white sandy beach, began making our way up into
the hills and forests of the coastal track, stopping briefly at each lookout to
admire the spectacular views of the sea. We realized by the end of the day that
we apparently walk at a snail’s pace, although we were practically jogging
along the last bit of the track because we were feeling competitive and wanted
to beat out a few of the others who had started at Anchorage with us. The
evening was spent at Motueka’s best and only Indian restaurant. Aahhhh…. the child-free life.
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