Alice Springs, Aborigines and the Southern Skies

Alice Springs and the Australian Outback are places I’ve read about and heard about for years. I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for the reality

As I mentioned Monday, the middle of Australia is a sea of red soil with occasional patches of green, usually few and far between. Because of the unusual amount of rain they’ve had here this year, the area around Alice Springs is now actually green with grass and the trees and bush look well-watered.

The Todd River, running right through here, is now a dry, red riverbed again. Only the pool that gave this place its name and a few other small areas of water remain in the riverbed. The pools are not really springs, but just places where the water pools over granite in some Outback phenomenon.

Alice Springs was named for the wife of the stationmaster who came here to run the telegraph office back when no one was here but the Aborigines. Mr. Todd got the river named for him. Mrs. Todd, who never actually came here, got the “springs” and, ultimately, the town named for her. That’s how it happened back in the late 1800’s.
We visited the telegraph station, now a museum and picnic ground for the locals. A couple of wallabies were lounging in the little bit of shade in their paddock, too hot even to beg for food from us tourists.  We bought the fly nets that were recommended and, indeed, they have come in handy, although when we all have the black "veils" on, we look like ladies going to a funeral.

We also went to the Royal Flying Doctor Service’s base here. It’s an amazing life-saving service that allows folks all over Australia to live on remote cattle ranches and know they can get medical advice by phone or get transported to a hospital if needed. We were happy that our visit there would offer them some needed support for their non-profit organization. They do get help from the government, but not to replace the $6 million planes that have to be replaced every 10 years so they can land wherever they are needed and ferry people who are ill where they can get help.

People here seem friendly. Our driver for the day, Colin, has lived here off and on for decades, staying for awhile before returning to the coast that was originally his home. He says he’ll stay here now, but that coming and going refrain seems common. Again, except for the Aborigines.

All through the town, Aborigines are sitting in shady spots, chatting and socializing with one another. We’re told that we’ll learn at tonight’s dinner more about their lifestyles. While we were having lunch in a little Thai restaurant, an aboriginal woman burst through the door, shouting at a man outside.

She then stood inside the door, sometimes muttering, sometimes silent for at least ten minutes while he took up a position outside the windows. When I walked near her to get to our table, I could smell alcohol, so perhaps she was inebriated and doesn’t always act this way.

Sadly, Pat talked with a woman on the plane who provides social services to the people in this area. She told some discouraging stories about failed efforts to keep Aborigines off alcohol only to have them get high by sniffing petrol. Life out here is hot and dry and can be very hard. People are here because they like the open spaces and the clear air, don’t mind the flies and heat and either have good jobs that sustain them or choose to be here because of their ancestry and culture. This is home. Honestly, my reaction was that it’s place where people either get religion or lose their religion; it’s that daunting.

Near our hotel is a driving range with a full compliment of folks practicing their shots this blazing afternoon. Also nearby is a casino, another temptation, apparently, for aboriginals who lose their money there.

Tonight we had a special outdoor dinner on a nearby ranch. As it turned out, it was just our little group, so we had the place to ourselves. The setting was an old quarry on the property where we were treated to an exhibition of boomerang tossing, followed by drinks.

As we enjoyed our wine and beer and sodas, we heard about the huge cattle ranches here in Australia with a little history and some talk about how they operate today. They are very pleased about the rain they’ve had this year because it will allow them to run more cattle on the same amount of land.

While talking us through ranching, our drover was making damper, a version of bread used in the field, mixed much like we make Southern biscuits, then baked in the campfire. Once again we have one guy who throws boomerangs, makes damper, then cooks our meal. These guys can do it all.

Next up was a really helpful history and explanation of aboriginal life. The fellow telling the story went into a lot of detail about how some traditions began and how they made sense for the tribes in olden times. He also talked about how the Aborigines are being assimilated in many parts of the country while others are struggling with the differing philosophies and values brought here from other parts of the world. This fellow, a former chemistry professor who grew up with Aborigines on his family’s ranch nearby, filled in a lot of the questions we’ve had.

Supper was delicious and more than anyone could finish. Most of us had terrific steaks, but fish and vegetarian meals were made available, too. Then we were served pieces of the damper slathered with butter and sugar cane syrup. Yum!

After dinner there was a musical performance by a fellow who sang and encouraged us to sing “Waltzing Matilda” and other Australian songs. He even created a sort of “bush band” with some cobbled together instruments (sort of like a jug band) and our folks did well. Pat showed off her musical skills with the group.

The evening ended under the stars with lights out so that we could see the Southern skies. Again our professor, Don, showed off yet another area of knowledge, using a laser pointer to take us through the constellations. Truth is, I was so tired that I wasn’t following all of that. Instead I was becoming ever more aware that we were up at 4:30 this morning and all I wanted was to come back to the hotel, capture the day in words and go to sleep.

Sleep is my next mission. Tomorrow morning we take a long drive to Ayers Rock for another amazing day in Australia.

Melbourne from Trams to Penguins

Monday morning came and though we didn’t have to arise with a wake-up call for something on the tour schedule, we only “slept in” till 6AM because we wanted to explore the city a bit before our afternoon tour. We started at a leisurely pace with breakfast in the hotel on the 35th floor with its great view of the city below.
Mike and Pat and I caught the free “City Circle” tram to revisit some sights from yesterday’s “official” tour, then wandered the area near our hotel. There’s a beautiful garden area around the Cathedral of Saint Patrick (Catholic) and the Cathedral of St. Peter (Anglican). Walking back to the hotel, we passed through a pretty little park surrounding a statue of Great Britain’s hero of the Sudan, Gordon. It was a touching monument to a fallen hero.

Back at the hotel, we went into the food court below and had lunch with hundreds of office workers and other tourists. The area is reminiscent of CNN Center where Mike once spent lots of time when we lived in Atlanta. If you couldn’t hear the accents, you could imagine yourself in any American city center.

Our tour to see the Penguin Parade on Phillip Island began with a trip through the countryside east of Melbourne. Picking up travelers from other hotels and the Federation Square, our driver and guide, Brendan, began by describing the sports venues in town as we passed them. He professed himself to be “in a good mood” because he’d had his house to himself on Sunday, watched both the Grand Prix and Australian rules football on TV with a couple of beers AND his team, the Collingwood Magpies, won. It’s good to begin with a happy guide, eh?

The trip went from city to suburb to farmland fairly quickly as we made our way down to the coast. First stop was just outside the village of Koo Wee Rup at Warrook Farm. Once again, this working farm has augmented its income with an “Australian animal experience.” Just inside the gate, we met Stewart and Walley, the wombats. Stewart seemed to be pouting as Walley was fed a rather large carrot. Signs warned that “Wombats will bite,” but we were encouraged to rub Walley’s head while he was pretty focused on that carrot. His fur is very thick and not soft.

Then we fed kangaroos and wallabies again as Mike took pictures of them and us and the ducks and geese around the pond. There were some really strikingly marked geese that we were told are Cape Barren Geese.

Hating to leave the cute animals behind, especially the wombats for me, we went into the “lodge” to wash hands and have a drink. Pat had what was billed as a scone, but seemed more like our biscuits.

Off again in the coach, we passed through more farmland toward Phillip Island. Brendan treated us to a DVD about the penguins. Just the way he said “DVD” with that great Down Under accent made the trip worthwhile!

As we came onto Phillip Island, we saw signs never to be seen in other countries, warning of kangaroos on the roads at dusk and “watch for koalas in the road.” When we stopped at the local nature center were koalas are being protected, we found out that cars have been the death of many of the wild koalas that once lived here. We were able to see koalas here high up in the eucalyptus trees as they behave in nature, rather than in the lower habitats we’ve seen in wildlife parks elsewhere.

A ranger told us that koalas are plentiful nearby on French Island. That island does not have a bridge to the mainland, thus doesn’t attract the thousands of folks who come to Phillip Island summers and holidays. Unfortunately, as we have seen with the wild horses on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, cars and wild animals don’t mix well. The animals always seem to be the losers. While getting off the bus at the nature center, I befriended Irma from Sri Lanka since she seemed to need help getting off. (More later about this charmer)

Next up was an area called “the Nobbies.” There’s a big rock formation just off ashore with another not far out in Bass Strait beyond it. The farthest one is called Seal Rock where you can often see Australian fur seals basking. They were apparently on holiday themselves this late afternoon as none was visible to us.

What were visible, just a bit, were two penguins under the boardwalk at the Nobbies. Our driver, who prefaced his comment with “don’t shoot the messenger,” had just informed us there’s to be no photography at the Penguin Parade.

This announcement was met with the groans and muttered curses that might be expected by travelers with cameras around the necks. But Brendan, clever devil that he is, had let us know there might be penguins under the boardwalk here to be photographed.

At a roadside stop nearby, the photographers (and the rest of us) were
thrilled with ocean views on one side of the road and both wild kangaroos and wallabies noshing all across the landscape. We actually saw one fellow bounding away from some overzealous camera crazies. Brendan, with a mischievous grin on his face, warned everyone that there are snakes here and they should be careful. We have, indeed, seen numerous posters warning that copperheads live here, “our shy friends,” according to the posters that warn there is no antivenin. With my snake phobia, I could only be amused at Brendan’s effort to unnerve the adventurous because I was watching from inside the coach!

We headed back to the village of Cowes, beautifully situated on a sloping coastline of the island with two-hued fir trees adorning the main street of small shops and restaurants. This setting reminded me of the Monterey Peninsula in California in some ways. We had supper at an Italian restaurant overlooking the water. It was called “Isola de Capri” and was recommended by our driver. For leading us to their very good food and ambience, he was rewarded with a free bottle of wine. We paid for our nice bottle of Pepperjack Shiraz and enjoyed every drop.

We shared our dinner table with Irma from Sri Lanka. She and Pat had bonded as my sweet sister became her shepherd, making sure that she had someone to hold onto as she walked about. Irma told us she is 88, traveling alone to Australia to meet great-grandchildren she’s not yet seen. Her four children, she said, have forbidden her to travel from where she lives in Colombo, but she balked and set off alone to visit them in Australia and New Zealand. She is a role model for us all, independent and alert, while admitting to needing to “ask for help along the way.”

Finally it was time for us to go to the Penguin Parade. We had arranged for this during the planning process for the trip. Our special package included front-row seats on little fold-out seats on the beach in front of the “grandstands” where most visitors sit. We also had a ranger for our small group and were on headsets to hear her commentary throughout.

These smallest of the penguin family, once known as “fairy penguins,” but now called “little penguins,” come back at twilight each evening to this particular beach on Phillip Island after swimming out early each morning to catch the fish they eat. In numbers that differ, depending on the seasons or their success in finding fish or any number of factors, there might be hundreds or just a few to be seen.

In our case, there were very few to be seen, but it was worth our trip. Molting season is approaching, so they are fattening themselves to spend about 17 days in their burrows here on the island while the old feathers fall out and the new ones come in. Since they can’t swim while molting because they would get too cold in the water, they fill up on fish, then fast.

Watching these little birds, some looking as if they had swallowed softballs, toddle out of the water and waddle up the beach was a treat. They move along for a few minutes, usually in groups of two or three for company, then rest for a few minutes before continuing up the well-worn paths to the burrows. When they tire, sometimes they roll forward onto their round tummies and rock slightly. They are both comical and endearing.

The Phillips Island Penguin Centre is designed to protect this colony and does a good job. No photography is allowed because the flashes could hurt their eyes permanently causing them to be unable to find fish and, thus, die. There are boardwalks raised up near their nightly pathways and lighting from a yellow spectrum that these birds can’t see, so aren’t bothered by. This allows the spectators to see the birds up close. It is a privilege and a delight to share in their lives for this brief time.

While we had hoped to see more birds crossing the beach in their parade, we couldn’t really be disappointed because we were lucky enough to see them at all. Part of the joy of this trip Down Under has been the interaction with nature. Folks here exploit their unique animal experiences, but do so with respect. There are strict rules about what is acceptable and some practices, like “cuddling koalas,” that were once pursued, are now discouraged. Score one for the animals!

As I write this, we’re on the flight to Alice Springs in the Northern Territory, described for us as “like Arizona without the cactus.” It’s supposed to be 90 degrees there today and, due to recent rains that have relieved the usual drought conditions somewhat, we’re supposed to see water in the rivers and more greenery than normal. As I look out the plane window, the scene is an endless sea of red soil with occasional spots of green.

Since we didn’t arrive back at our hotel until 11 o’clock last night and had to “stir the possum” at 4:30 this morning, I didn’t begin to write until just before we departed. Mike uploaded his photos at the hotel quickly so that he could sort through them on the plane as we share the laptop back and forth. We fell so lucky to have this way of tracking our trip for those who are following us and for our future enjoyment, as well.
In case you’re wondering, “stir the possum” was the phrase our guide used yesterday that means “wake up.” It’s one of hundreds of words and phrases reflecting the colorful language we find here. Almost hourly we see a sign that amuses us (Brekky for the Littlies at McDonalds, for instance) or hear something that we can’t translate without asking.

This morning it was suggested that we might need to purchase a “fly net” in Alice Springs. We had to ask, of course, only to discover that it’s a mesh net to wear over your face when the flies are bad, as they are except when it’s too windy or too cold or raining. Apparently the prevalence of beef cattle produces volumes of cattle dung, breeding flies in volume, as well. The flies can be “quite pesky,” going after sources of water in eyes and mouth and even up your nose! We’ll see what welcome Alice Springs has in store for us soon.

Sunday in the Park in Melbourne

And so we came to Melbourne this Sunday. Our flight from Sydney was blissfully uneventful. We left Sydney before the city came fully awake, encountered few others in the airport, but found more than the usual numbers in Melbourne for a Sunday morning when we touched down here.
The Grand Prix was concluding here today and hundreds of thousands of spectators were in town for that, so traffic getting into the city was slower than usual, partly because of so many visitors and partly because some streets were blocked off. As our flight prepared for landing, we were told that John Travolta is here for the race. Who knows—maybe we’ll see him in our hotel?
Melbourne, like Sydney, is a mix of the old and new. Older buildings and homes have been preserved and newer ones built up beside and behind them. The historic buildings here were built of bluestone rather than Sydney’s sandstone. They call this the “Garden City” and it lives up to the name with beautiful parks all around and trees that were brought from England, oaks and elms rather than the native eucalyptus, to remind the settlers here of their homeland.

We stopped in a park that includes the cottage in which Captain Cook lived in Yorkshire. It was given to the citizens of Melbourne as a gift commemorating their anniversary and brought here to be reassembled stone by stone. Other parks flow through the city and its neighborhoods, including botanic gardens and trees from one end of the city to the other. They’ve worked hard to maintain their green spaces even when drought conditions threatened their survival. The result is a beautiful living space that inspires a healthy lifestyle.
There are huge and impressive cathedrals and government buildings throughout the city. The 1956 Olympic venues here are still in use, although the swimming pool leaked and has been made into a basketball stadium instead. In addition, Rod Laver Stadium is named for the famous Aussie tennis player and is, as our guide tells it, the “greatest tennis facility in the world.”
These blokes down under tend to use superlatives a lot and, when challenged in any way, can find a way to parse their “most” and “best” so that it works. At least it works for them. We’re guessing that their isolation from the rest of the world and a certain amount of residual poor national self-esteem has them grasping eagerly for any bragging rights they can find. Truthfully, they legitimately have so much to be proud about, there’s really no need to brag.

We had lunch in the market area. There are two blocks of the old market, including restaurants, meats and vegetables, clothing and souvenirs. It’s an old-fashioned retail area, much like the Charleston market in South Carolina, only more extensive.  Here, as everywhere in the world, folks line up for sweets!
Melbourne, like Sydney, has vibrant downtown retail shopping, as well. There are many high-end boutiques, as well as the major Australian department stores. While this has given way in America to suburban malls, downtown shopping is still a part of life in Australia AND they have the suburban malls, as well.
Perhaps the fact that Australia managed to avoid the global recession for the most part keeps their retail business healthy. Their unemployment is at 5.3 percent and building is going on all over the country. Immigration from all over Asia is strong here, somewhat driven in the past decade by the Chinese takeover of Hong Kong. Housing prices have gone up because demand his risen, both for housing and consumer goods. A sign of the economy’s health is that waiters in restaurants are paid considerably better than in America, thus we are discouraged from tipping more than 10 percent for even the best service.
The river Yarra winds through the city, crossed by numerous bridges linking neighborhoods to the city center. The old docks on Phillip’s Bay have been developed into a burgeoning second city along the edges of the business district called Docklands. The concept is to emulate somewhat Baltimore’s waterfront development. As we drove through that area this evening, thousands of fans were pouring out of a stadium where they had watched an Australian rules football match. It was fun to see them wearing the two different teams’ colors, carrying flags, looking much like fans anywhere in the world.
We’re told there are four kinds of football here: Australian Rules, Rugby League, Rugby Union and Soccer. I’m not entirely sure of the differences, but apparently Australian Rules in the most exciting. We had a local football team on our flight today, returning from a match in Sydney.
In addition to all the sports above, we passed cricket pitches where matches were being played. This sport has begun to make more sense to me, but there are still mysteries and nuances that are hard to grasp. Among other strange concepts is that cricket contests can last for as long as five days! Even our guide, who played cricket as a boy, says it’s more exciting to play than to watch. Hmmm?
There are many churches in Melbourne, including both Catholic and Anglican cathedrals. It seems the Methodists and some other Protestants have formed an alliance called the Uniting Church. Again, this concept is not entirely clear to us as yet, but it’s one more way in which the Aussies go about things differently.
This evening after our tour around the city, we had a most unusual dinner aboard one of the city’s specially outfitted tram cars. The electric tram system, much like the trolley car system that Atlanta had in my childhood, runs all over Melbourne. Because the city was laid out with very wide main streets, the tram lines run through the middle of the street.

Our dinner car was one of several that have been decorated to look like the original cars of yesteryear. We were served champagne, followed by a three course meal with whatever wines and drinks, including liqueurs, that we wanted. Throughout dinner, our car passed through the city. The windows are treated so that we could see out, but those on the streets around us couldn’t see in. There were a couple of different birthday celebrations on board as this is considered a special treat by both locals and visitors alike.
We continue to be impressed with the efforts both New Zealanders and Australians are making to conserve resources. On the Qantas flight here from Sydney we were given bags in which to place items not considered recyclable and asked to give the flight attendants the items for recycle separately from these bags of “rubbish.”
Perhaps the people here are more conscious of the need to conserve because they live in a drier climate overall than we’ve known in the U.S. In some areas, Australia had not had rain in as many as 9 years until some recent deluges that have been both welcome and, at times, troublesome because of their intensity. One lake that has been dry for many years, filled up, drawing hundreds of people to see the phenomenon.
Another example of the way in which resource preservation plays out is that in some newer suburbs of Sydney people are getting two distinct types of water service. One water source coming to their homes is purified and meant to be used for cooking and drinking. A separate water supply provides recycled water for use in bathrooms and elsewhere. Since these measures have been put in place, the water usage has been cut in half.
Our hotel in Melbourne is in the center city and is quite swanky. It’s on the top floors of an office building and is quite modern with energy-saving features. The light in the bath is on a sensor, turning on and off as we enter and leave the bath. The windows are fitted with wooden shutters and sun filtering shades.

Tomorrow we have the morning free for sightseeing on our own, then we’re off to Phillip Island to see the penguins returning from the sea at twilight. It’s another one of the many first-time experiences we’re having here, so we’re not quite sure what to expect, but we are sure we’ll like it anyway. We’re beginning to understand why they say “G’day” and “no worries.” Life here has many pleasures and we’re lucky enough to being pursuing an endless array of them.

Photos by Mike Lumpkin

Blue Mountains and More

We were picked up at our hotel by an odd small coach that looked a bit like a submarine on a high chassis for our tour to the Blue Mountains. Along with our driver and guide, Larry, 14 of us set off on a path westward. While the vehicle’s ride provided a jounce a minute, there was so much to see and do that we just took that as part of the overall experience of sightseeing in such a different environment.

First stop was at Featherdale Wildlife Park where we ate breakfast, visited during our meal by a keeper and a koala, Bailey, for petting and pictures. This small park has an amazing collection of Australian birds and animals. Since we were only there for a couple of hours, including breakfast, we missed more than we saw, but we did see a lot.
We fed kangaroos and wallabys, as well as emus. We were given feed in ice cream cones and learned quickly that the animals want the cones even more than the food. The emus would stalk you for the food and the roos were demanding, too. While they were persistent, they were also gentle and we enjoyed the very close encounters.

Among other animals there were wombats, adorable little furry piggy-looking creatures with short legs. Larry told us later that he and his wife had a pet wombat for 12 years that was quite domesticated. I suppose it’s a bit like have a guinea pig the size of a cocker spaniel. None of Australia’s animals are legally exported. They also had three rare albino kangaroos. We looked to see kangaroos in the wild where they are apparently plentiful, but had no luck in that endeavor.
From our breakfast stop, we headed up into the Blue Mountains, so-called because of the haze created by oils from the abundant eucalyptus trees. Stopping here and there at overlooks, we were treated to Larry’s knowledgeable “blah-blah,” as one of our guides in Greece once called their information spiel. He was both entertaining and very educational about Australian flora and fauna, history and geology, even how the price of housing starts high in Sydney and diminishes as one moves through the suburbs toward the less settled areas. Like many U.S. cities, Sydney has sprawled outward from its core. Because it began on the water and all waterfront property is pricey, residents commute from suburbs extending 50 miles and more away from the coast.
We made our way to Katoomba where we had lunch at a local golf course. As Pat noted, the country was not unlike our own Blue Ridge Mountains in some ways, but we don’t see names like Katoomba on our maps. Between the ridges of the mountains are spectacular gorges with great walls of sandstone amidst the forests.

At Katoomba we went to Scenic World (which is a lot better experience than its commercial name might indicate). We saw the famous sandstone pillars known as the Three Sisters, heard the aboriginal tale about them (turned to stone by a witch doctor to protect them from kidnappers) and we took pictures of the dramatic bronze sculpture of the sisters and the witch doctor outside the venue. We went down into the gorge via cable car and walked along a boardwalk in the rainforest area there where coal was once mined. We came back up from the gorge via a crazy railway ride that is as exciting as any amusement park ride.
This experience felt a bit like an adult field trip, a return to those “get on the bus, get off the bus, see things, learn things, then get back on the bus” days of our childhood. We were overlooking a series of vistas, including the Grose and Jamison Valleys. Unlike childhood field trips, Larry brought along a cooler for our last stop and served us champagne and mimosas as we had one more view of the Jamison Valley (pronounced Jammerson by Larry). Here’s a fellow who knows how to please tourists.
We came back into Sydney by their Olympic Park area. It’s pretty impressive to see all the venues they built being used productively. The aquatic center, for instance, is open 24 hours a day to the public. For $5, you can swim in the pool, heated with solar energy. Australians, like the people of New Zealand, are very proud of their green efforts.
When we left this morning we went over the famous Sydney Harbor Bridge. Returning this afternoon, we came over the Anzac Bridge. It reminds me of the Sunshine Skyway in the Tampa Area with its “strings of steel” design. The Anzac bridge commemorates the members of both Australian and New Zealand armed forces who have served their countries.
Coming back to our hotel, we have to wind around the one-way streets in The Rocks area, the first part of Sydney where the “First Fleet” landed with convicts who actually began the colony here. The edges of The Rocks are on the harbor, a portion tucked up under the Harbor Bridge. Many of the old buildings have been preserved and it’s a charming part of the city, home to popular wine bars and restaurants. It’s also a popular area for weddings and we’ve seen numerous wedding parties, many having photos made with the old buildings as backdrops.
Tonight, by the way, Earth Hour goes from 8:30-9:30 when lights are being turned off around the world in an iniative that began here in Sydney. It’s a World Wildlife Fund project that I hadn’t heard much about before we came here. Our hotel has asked us to participate and is serving a special drink in the bar on the 36th floor. We plan to go up to the bar earlier while it’s still light because it’s reported to have one of the best city views in Sydney.
We’ll be up and out early tomorrow for our flight to Melbourne. Each new place has so many special attributes of its own and I’m sure we’ll find much to like there.

Koalas and Kangaroos and Wombats--Oh, My!

Morning in Sydney and off we go to have breakfast with the koalas. There’s a very well designed multi-story wildlife park in a building adjacent to Darling Harbor within minutes of our hotel where we’re the first to arrive.

We were able to see their entire exhibit, including some of the deadliest creatures in the world, mostly snakes and spiders, and some of the cutest, from kangaroos to wombats to our breakfast pals, the koalas. Their habitat (and our dining area) is outdoors on the roof of the building where we were treated to breakfast cooked on the spot and served on tables between two areas of koala habitat.

The little guys and gals were sleeping when we arrived, all in impossible positions up in improvised trees. We’re told they sleep about 20 hours a day, not because they are lazy, but because their diet of eucalyptus leaves doesn’t provide them with much energy and they need lots of time to digest it while asleep.

They are adorable little creatures, looking as furry and cuddly as we’d imagined. We were, however, treated to what the keepers told us was somewhat unusual behavior when Marley and Charley got into a serious fight, provoked when Charlie, the elder of the two, attempted to dislodge Marley from his perch at the top of a tree.
Marley began by making a very loud growling sound, a much deeper sound that you’d expect from such a little body. Charley wouldn’t leave him alone, so down the tree trunk they came and began rolling around on the ground like little sumo wrestlers. At first the more experienced keeper said “we’ll just let them sort it out,” then Marley got Charley by the neck and Charley began screaming and the keepers had to break it up.
It was a pretty unexpected and exciting way to start the day, for them and for us. The keepers kept telling us they had never had such a bad fight before. Poor Charley ended up by climbing up a different tree and nursing his wounded pride the rest of the morning.

We, however, got to gently rub a young koala named Jack and have our picture made. Jack seemed completely unmoved by our attention. The keepers only touch one animal each day to minimize disruption of their eating and sleeping routine.
It was a great way to start the day, a day that would take us all over this interesting city and leave us exhausted, but happy, before sunset. We will remember Charley and Marley and Jack for a very long time to come, despite the fact that Mike’s big disappointment was to find that both his camera batteries were dead and he couldn’t take photos.
Next on the agenda was a tour of the Sydney Opera House. Our guide, Alan, enthusiastically took us up and down (200 steps, he said) and showed us a couple of their theatre spaces plus the opera hall. The concert hall was in use and unavailable for tours, but we did go backstage to see their huge elevator area where sets are moved up and down. At several stops on the tour, we saw videos about the architect and the building process. It’s truly a spectacular building. Even the ladies room has design elements not found anywhere else, really cool sinks that don’t look like sinks at all!
After the Opera House tour, we walked around the quay to meet our luncheon tour boat. Again, it was a wonderful experience with good food and two hours on Sydney Harbor on a beautiful day.
Our afternoon was spent on a coach tour through the city. While in a park overlooking the harbor, we saw a regatta of at least twenty sailboats rounding one of the harbor islands. We found our way to Bondi (pronounced bonn-dye) beach, one of the most popular of Sydney’s 34 beaches. It was crowded on this hot day, including some topless folks—apparently that’s common on all the beaches around here, much as it is in Europe.
We drove through beautiful neighborhoods with a mix of renovated older homes and remarkable new ones, including one almost completely made of glass. There is a beautiful cliff top boardwalk that goes from the beaches to the mouth of the harbor, again through pretty neighborhoods with spectacular views of the harbor on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other. Our driver pointed out a wharf condo building where Russell Crowe has a very expensive place on the top floor. That particular building, right on one of the bays of the harbor, is a gathering place for celebrities.
Throughout the city, there is a welcome blend of old and new architecture. We were told that many areas threatened with tear-downs for redevelopment have been saved by the people of Sydney who fight to preserve their heritage. Compromises are made sometimes, keeping structures while building high-rises behind them or just keeping the facades sometimes. There are numerous old sandstone buildings here made from the stone that is visible all around the harbor in the cliffs here.
After an unfortunate experience at a restaurant outside the hotel last night where the service was absurdly poor, we opted for supper at the hotel tonight and had a delightful meal. As tired as we are, this allowed us to find our way to bed earlier. We’ll be up early again tomorrow for our day trip to the Blue Mountains. We are a non-stop touring bunch, making the most of every opportunity to explore these amazing countries.

Goodbye, Kiwis and G’day Aussies

We awoke this morning at Mt. Cook, hoping we would finally see the entire mountain, but no luck. The “cloud piercer” still hid its head in the cloud which had drifted even lower than where it was when the sun set last night. Oh, well.

We left for a five-hour coach drive to Christchurch to catch an early afternoon flight to Sydney. The country side was beautiful as we left the alpine area and went back down into the rolling hills. We stopped by Lake Takepo to see a wonderful tiny church built right on the lakeshore.

Nondenominational by design, this chapel with its windows overlooking the lake was built with stones from the area, none changed from the state in which they were found. Somehow the builders managed to create a very special place that belongs in its environment as if it arose from the ground with no human intervention.

Nearby is a statue of a dog representing the sheepdogs that help make life work for sheep farmers around here. Kiwis love to remind us that there are 4 million people in NZ and 40 million sheep.

The little towns along our way in New Zealand have each had their own particular stories, their own charms. Each place we’ve stopped for morning or afternoon tea or a quick lunch has provided simple pleasures.

Our three-hour flight to Sydney was uneventful. It seemed strange to treat this as an international flight, but that’s what it is, going across the Tasman Sea about 1200 miles or so. The Kiwis call the Tasman “the ditch.” Blokes in NZ like to call Australia their westernmost province, just as the Aussies like to refer to NZ as their easternmost state. The friendly rivalry is bantered about rather freely, but each country is serious about its national pride, especially when it comes to rivalries between their sports teams.

Sydney is a beautiful city, reminiscent of San Francisco in its hills and its bridge and the way it has risen up from the water and spread across the landscape. We took a very brief coach tour between the airport and our hotel, just long enough to see the harbor with its beautiful and iconic Opera House. The hotel is very nice, modern and somewhat plusher than some of our digs, although all have been above average. We’re on the 22nd floor, overlooking the harbor.

Tomorrow we’ll spend all day touring the city, beginning with “breakfast with the koalas.” We’re hoping for something more substantial than eucalyptus, but definitely looking forward to the day. Pat is happy because it’s supposed to reach 90 degrees here tomorrow. I’m missing the cooler weather of NZ already, but this is the compromise of our very different tolerances for temperatures. Even as it was colder earlier than usual in New Zealand, it’s hotter later than usual here. Perhaps it will cool enough for me later in the week, while staying warm enough for her. We’ll see.

Adventure and Beauty Ending Our Days in NZ

This morning we were up before sunrise to have breakfast and get ready for our jetboat adventure. After getting our bags ready for pickup later, we walked out of the hotel to go onto the wharf to take the boat. The sun had come up and was gleaming from the snow that fell overnight on the mountaintops of the Remarkables and other ranges around us. We had heard rain in the night, but had no idea that an early snow fell at higher elevations. The Remarkables, by the way, are called that because of the way light and shadow falls across their steep slopes in an ever-changing pattern.

Of all our group, only Pat and Mike and I chose the jetboat. It’s one of the numerous “adrenaline” activities offered in Queenstown. Kiwis love their excitement and this filled the bill for us. They covered us in raingear and life jackets, bundling us up like polar explorers. We felt, as Pat said, like the Michelin Man.

The ride itself, in a boat powered by two 350-horsepower engines, was a heart-pounder. Our driver knows the lake and rivers we traveled like the back of his hand. He spun us several times in complete circles, whipping the boat as close as possible to rocks and shores, bridge pilings and trees. It was as good a thrill ride as I’ve ever experienced in the midst of spectacular scenery.
We disembarked with really cold hands and headed straight for a cup of hot tea to warm up, then back to our hotel to get the bags out and onto the coach. Heading now for Mt. Cook, many hours away, we made a few stops. First off, we stopped at another of New Zealand’s adrenaline rush activities, a bungy (or as we spell it, bungee) spot. This one was the first commercial enterprise of its type, devised by a man named A.J. Hackett who patented his process and, having made millions, has chosen to live in Paris rather than NZ.

None of us jumped, but we watched several others and chatted with a young woman who had just come back up from the gorge. She had jumped off a sort of bridge over the river, was picked up by a boat, then climbed the stairs back to the observation platform. She said she had last-minute misgivings, but closed her eyes and leapt. I wondered about whether she felt a jerk at the bottom, but she said it was a soft, smooth drop. Maybe next time I’ll try that.
Our route took us back out through the same valley we’d traversed to enter Queenstown, filled with vineyards. We made an early stop in Arrowtown, once a miners’ settlement during the gold rush, now a charming village much like many small mountain towns throughout the world. Since autumn is beginning, some change is occurring in the foliage and there were signs for a festival coming up. We had a nice lunch, nosed around in the shops for an hour and reboarded our bus.
Our guide offered one of his great Kiwi tales as we traveled, this one about Lake Wakatipu in Queenstown. The Maori legend says that a giant ogre fell in love with a beautiful princess and kidnapped her. Her father, the king, sent young men to save her with a promise that she would then become the bride of her savior. One young man was successful. When the ogre was killed, in his agony, he thrashed about and tore a hole in the earth and filled it with his tears of pain, thus creating Lake Wakatipu. There are as many legends of this sort, most involving a beautiful Maori princess, as there are natural phenomena in New Zealand. They are generally as fantastical and charming as these islands themselves.

Our trip took us through yet more beautiful New Zealand countryside, changing as we crossed back toward the Southern Alps. We saw many sheep farms along the way and areas of differing vegetation. One beautiful area had no trees on hills or in the valleys, just wheat-colored tussock grass. Out in the middle of that area, we saw a film crew working against that backdrop. We couldn’t figure out what they were filming, but the suggestion was that they were from Bollywood in India since many of those crews do film in NZ.
The scenery changed again soon, back to a landscape with trees, at first deciduous ones in the lower elevations, then evergreens as we climbed upward. Somewhere along the way here, we saw cliffs that looked like a cityscape painting, an effect created by erosion and, perhaps, wind. There have been so many sights on this trip that seemed designed to be the “perfect photograph” or an artist’s dream painted in nature. We passed, too, through “Mackenzie Country,” a broad valley with artificial lakes and canals that are part of a huge “power scheme” that provides the bulk of NZ’s electricity.

Then we turned off onto the road to Aoraki/Mt.Cook National Park. Aoraki is the Maori name for Mt. Cook. It means “cloud piercer.” That was completely appropriate this evening as the peak is invisible, hidden in the cloud cover as the rain fell and blew around us. We stopped on the shore of Lake Pukaki, its milky blue water fed by retreating glaciers above. The cloud moved across the peaks and no glaciers were visible.
We arrived at the village beneath Mt. Cook which is predominantly occupied by the famous Hermitage Hotel where we are staying. Our room on the ninth floor has a huge picture window that looks out toward Mt. Cook, but we’ll hope for better weather to get a view before we leave tomorrow morning.

Mt. Cook was Sir Edmund Hillary’s practice area where he prepared for his ascent of Mount Everest. Although this mountain is not as high as Everest, conditions were deemed similarly difficult for good run-throughs. Hillary’s presence remains here in a statue in front of the hotel that depicts him facing Mt. Cook and in the center named for him that is part of the hotel complex. It includes an exhibit from his mountain climbing and Antarctic adventures, as well as a planetarium and 3-D movies.
Hikers, or trampers as they are called here, have tracks to follow throughout NZ. In this area, those paths go to the nearby glaciers and other alpine sights. The hotel provides “tramper hampers” for those who are interested and generally supports guests who are here to explore the area. In addition to the main hotel, there are chalets and motel accommodations, something for every budget. This is a national park and while 40 percent of it is covered by glaciers, it is easily accessible by road.
This is a fitting spot for our final night in New Zealand. The mountain’s name celebrates Captain Cook who claimed this country for England. The commemorations of Hillary speak to Kiwi pride in his accomplishments and their connection to the Southern Alps. The Maori name, Aoraki, speaks to the importance of their culture in New Zealand. Looking at a map, Mt. Cook is centrally located on the South Island. It does somehow seem an iconic finale for our time here. As we enjoyed a drink in the bar before dinner, we watched sunlight moving up Mt. Cook, never revealing the peak, but tantalizing us with the possibilities. Maybe we’ll see it tomorrow morning before we leave. While we’ll travel to Christchurch airport tomorrow for our flight to Sydney, the beauty of this special and almost mystical spot will remain with us as an ultimate Kiwi experience years into the future.

Morning Marvels, Afternoon Tea

Up early again this morning and into Land Rovers for our adventure into Skippers Canyon. Within minutes of leaving our hotel on the Queenstown lakefront, we were in the back country on a dirt road that clings to the edges of the mountains. This narrow road overlooks steep canyons that drop below so far you can’t see the bottom.

As we wound around and through rock formations with names like “the Castle” and “Hell’s Gate” (followed quickly by “Heaven’s Gate), we’re grateful not to meet vehicles going the other way. It is a two-way road with occasional areas to pull aside, but it’s not what you want to experience in many places. Our destination is the gold mining area deep in the canyons of the Shotover River.

It’s a bit of a rough ride, but worth every bump and shudder endured. Each turn, every rise and fall of the road reveals yet another breath-taking view. This is an isolated area, entered daily, of course, by these tours, but it’s neither crowded nor developed, but protected for its historical and ecological significance.

Crossing a high one-lane bridge, we saw the river flowing swiftly below. Despite the isolation, we saw sheep and cattle grazing in the sharply vertical pasturage. The animals are, we’re told, gathered only twice a year by dogs and shepherds on foot. It is too steep for horses, too dangerous for helicopters.
We stopped for morning tea (brought here in coolers on top of our Rovers) at a restored settlement where miners and their families once lived. The gold is mostly gone now, but we got a demonstration of panning at river’s edge. All along the banks of the river are beautiful stones, including both white and gold quartz and greenschist.

On our way back to the hotel, we stopped for an expansive view across a valley scooped out long ago by retreating glaciers. Surely photographed thousands, if not millions, of times, this is an iconic landscape that seems virtually ideal. There are glimpses of lakes in the distance between mountains rising on all sides, green fields and small lakes in the valley itself, a few farms and homesteads.

Back at the hotel we had just enough time to grab a quick lunch across the street before our afternoon cruise across Lake Wakatipu. We found a pub for seafood chowder and BLT sandwiches, which we’ve seen referred to as BLATs elsewhere in New Zealand.

Our cruise was up the lake on TSS Earnslaw. TSS stands for Twin Screw Steamship so it was both a cruise and a trip in history. The ship, driven by coal-fired steam, was built the same year as the Titanic, our guide says. The good news is that it still works and didn’t follow the Titanic to the bottom. They say the lake is so cold that you’d have hypothermia within 30 minutes. It’s also very deep, maybe as much as 1000 feet.

Our trip by water took us to the Walter Peak High Country Farm, a 9-mile water trip that would be about 136 miles if we took the roads around the lake to get there. The farm manager, Lindsey, led us through the grounds, using his Scots burr to describe farm life, the animals, and the homestead where we had delicious tea with scones and cakes. He gave a dog-herding demonstration at the end and sheared a sheep. Throughout his tour, he kept everyone laughing all the way to the dock where he personally said goodbye to us with charm and grace. We were made to feel welcome from the moment we arrived, encouraged to pet the sheep and deer and Scottish Highland cattle, then to “come into the house” for tea. The farm is set directly on the lakeside with a view unrivaled anywhere in the world. For a little while this afternoon, we were honored guests there and the view from the terrace belonged to us. It was heavenly with sunshine providing some warmth and an occasional raindrop falling to remind us how fickle South Island weather can be.
This day will end with our finding our way out for supper, then doing some laundry before we move on tomorrow. Mike is spending a few minutes with a glass of NZ wine on our little balcony with its lake view as I write this. Once again, we have oohed and ahhed our way through a glorious day of new experiences in this amazing place and we’ll sleep as grateful travelers who’ve found an extraordinary corner of the world and fallen in love with it.

Glaciers, Gondolas, Waterfalls, Rivers and Lakes

This Monday morning we were up early again, hoping to go to the Franz Josef Glacier, found the rain drumming on the roof really hard. This is an area that gets nearly 300 inches of rain a year, but even by their standards, a lot has come down all at once overnight. We decided to try the Fox Glacier about three mountains and 30 minutes away.

After passing over rivers and creeks raging down the mountains and spontaneous waterfalls cascading down every vertical surface as the rain continued, we reached Fox Glacier only to find both access roads closed. Our driver thinks it’s likely that streams have come out of their banks over the roads. We’ll have to wait to see a glacier at Mt. Cook later this week. [We found out later that rock slides had fallen into the roads, reportedly falling on tourists in the process.]

The terrain here is spectacular with tall trees and ferns filling the sides of the roadway on both sides. Occasionally we come out into wide valleys where we see sheep, cattle and, occasionally, horses grazing. Our guide and driver have promised that we’ll see a number of both weather and terrain changes as we make our way to Queenstown today.

Despite the rain, the lushness of the area we’re passing through is a sight to see. We’re not getting any vistas because we’re essentially in the clouds, but what’s in sight includes every possible shade of green and so many plants and trees with few signs of habitation. This west coast of New Zealand sparsely populated at best.

As I write this, some of our little group has fallen asleep. With a full breakfast in our bellies and the rocking of the coach along the road, it’s surprising I’m awake. We just crossed another roaring river right next to the little village of Jacobs River with its tiny primary school and even tinier community church. Our driver is talking about how children in rural areas like this get a secondary education through correspondence schools, now via the Internet, or they go to boarding school elsewhere.

Now we’re seeing Bruce Bay (the Tasman Sea) on our right. The surf is heavy, waves pounding the little bit of beach that is here. I can see an entire tree trunk washing against the shoreline. On the narrow roadside between the road and the ocean, people have created little cairns and sculptures from the rocks and debris. Some of them resemble the inukchuks we saw in Canada, while others are more fanciful creations including rocks and driftwood. Here and there are white stones with messages commemorating honeymoons or just travelers’ names. We’ve stopped so that everyone who wants can take pictures and Mike is capturing lots of images we’ll share.

On the other side of the road here is a Maori marae or community center. These meeting halls provide a place for tribes or subtribes to socialize or, more seriously, to discuss tribal business. As “pakeha,” the Maori name for white people, we can only enter a marae if invited. We had that experience in Rotorua.

We have a very compatible tour group. There are nine of us plus our guide and driver. Our guide Leigh will be with us for the entire trip. We’ll have a series of drivers and we’re finding that they are very knowledgeable and add enormously to the pleasure of the journey. One couple is from London and two brothers, one from DC and one from Chicago are traveling with their wives. We’re having a good time together because everyone is relaxed and pleasant, interacting easily. There are no prima donnas, just good folks. Because the coach is much larger than we need, we’ve been able to spread out and be very comfortable.

We’re stopping in a few minutes at a “salmon farm in the middle of nowhere,” our driver says, for morning tea. These stops are always a treat, both to stretch our legs and to experience yet more of this extraordinary country and its people.

The salmon farm was a hoot, not unlike many rustic places in the Southeast mountains at home. From there we went through long stretches of road with spectacular scenery and so many waterfalls rushing down the mountainsides. We’re hearing that there were 12 inches of rain in 24 hours. With relatively little topsoil on the mountaintops, the water just pours off, thus so many waterfalls and swollen rivers. Every stream and river we’ve seen is running rapidly and roughly, wave after wave of water and debris draining from the mountains.

We stopped occasionally for photographs of the canyons and waters. All around us for hours of the drive were dense forests with both tall trees and thick undergrowth. At one photo stop we took a short walk back into the forest to a waterfall and saw an incredible variety of plant life, including moss and lichens covering many tree trunks.

One of today’s short stops was at a place called Knight’s Point, the place where the work gangs coming from north and south to build the road met years ago as they completed the project. They named the spot in honor of the dog who accompanied them. It’s an ocean overlook with gorgeous views of huge rocks just offshore.

Today’s lunch stop was at an isolated place that had lost power in last night’s storm, but regained it by the time we got there. There was the typical array of meat pies, soup and sandwiches that are common here. In addition, the décor was interesting. The walls were covered with automobile license plates from all over the world, various handsaws AND a chain saw sticking out of the wall. We haven’t quite figured that one out, but someone thought it was a good idea.

The scene changed when we came over the Southern Alps at Haast Pass into a drier area. It seems that most of the rain stays on the west side of the mountains, leaving the middle of the country relatively dry. What this area has in abundance are beautiful deep blue lakes, gouged out long ago as glaciers retreated. These lakes and the lands around them are “crown lands,” owned by the government and occasionally leased to farmers who manage herds of sheep, cows and deer.

Our final stop in this area was at the resort town of Wanaka at one end of the huge lake of the same name. People were wind surfing and wandering the streets in shorts and flip-flops, quite a change from the rainforest environment we left this morning. Throughout the lake district, it was very windy, but the sun was shining and the breeze felt really good.

We came further south and east to Queenstown. The road wound through broad valleys where vineyards and orchards prevail. You can easily tell which vineyards are growing the red grapes because they are entirely covered in netting to keep out the birds. It was quite a sight.

We’re in Queenstown now for two nights and it reminds me of the Swiss lakes we’ve seen with the high mountains rising straight up out of Lake Wakatipu. The town itself is very much a tourist center, small and compact with lots of restaurants and hotels, boating on the lake in summer, snow skiing in the mountains above in winter

We took the gondolas up the mountain behind our hotel for dinner at a mountaintop restaurant with 300 degree views that are sensational. We enjoyed another overly generous buffet and endured a truly terrible singer who butchered any number of American song favorites with his “song styling.” We decided he must be the owner’s son or something or he wouldn’t be allowed to continue.

Tonight’s unfortunate news was that we can’t get to Milford Sound, the fiord we were scheduled to visit tomorrow. The storm that dumped so much rain on us at Franz Josef blew fiercely all along the coast and valleys doing extensive damage. Rocks and trees went down over the Milford road, the only way in or out of the area for groups like ours. In fact, there were apparently tourists stranded over there and the road isn’t expected to be cleared and opened for three or four days.

Actually, most of us are somewhat relieved because it’s a very long coach ride down and back. So, we’re sorry to miss the famous fiord and more awesome mountain scenery there, but our guide has already arranged an alternate activity that he says is “the best scenery in New Zealand.” Now, he has said this before on this trip, but the truth is that it’s all been pretty amazing, so we’re game for more.

I find myself struggling to find yet another word in lieu of spectacular, fantastic, fabulous, etc. We are saying “wow” again and again, urging each other to look at first one great sight after another. It is truly a wonderful trip. Our hotels have been universally well appointed. We wake every morning knowing we’re going to have at least one great experience that day, if not more. We go to sleep every night, weary and happy to put our heads on the pillows and sleep soundly till morning. And so ends another day in this wonderful place.

Photos by Mike Lumpkin (now being asked by our companions to take their pictures, too!)

Over the Mountains to Franz Josef Glacier

This Sunday morning, I am writing on the train as we cross the Canterbury Plain from Christchurch toward the mountains. It’s very cool to be able to see the life all around us and write about it as we go. Prepare yourself for stream-of-consciousness. Or, alternatively, get away from your computer, run for your life!

Christchurch moved its train station out of the center city some years ago, so we saw the industrial areas that might be expected as we left the station. Although we’ve found New Zealand to be very clean overall, we saw warehouse walls along the tracks that were filled with graffiti.

Moving out into the country, we’re seeing lots of sheep in fields that come right up to the edge of the rail line’s right-of-way. The sheep closest to our path scurry away as we approach, as did a field of red deer that we saw as the train passed. New Zealanders are now farming these deer, just as they do sheep and cattle. It seems they just need higher fences. They’ve found a market for the meat since the farm-raised product tastes less gamey than wild venison. It makes sense, I guess, but it's odd.

We’re now passing through more sheep pastures. These guys and gals have no fear of our passage, apparently. The ones that are taking notice simply glance our way and resume noshing on the grass.

We are heading northwest and the mountains are now visible both ahead of us and off to the east. Part of the joy of train travel is the ability to move around somewhat freely. This train includes “outside” cars, open to the elements so that you can take photographs without having to shoot through windows. Mike tried it, but found that the speed of the train created such wind that he thought his glasses might blow off! Maybe we’ll slow our speed as we climb onto steeper grades and he’ll have better luck.

Another advantage of this train ride is having a “buffet car.” Mike has gone to get us a cup of morning tea to share as we travel to Arthur’s Pass where we’ll meet our coach driver and continue on by bus.

Announcements are being made as we move along the track with information about the area we’re traversing. Much of it is unintelligible, sounding muffled like the tram operators at Disney World. I could just now hear some description of how the route over the mountain at Arthur’s Pass used to be done by stagecoach. That must have been a long and torturous trip.

The train has stopped for a five-minute break and passengers have poured outside to take pictures and stretch their legs. The mountains are showing a multi-hued pattern of greens and grays. As we get closer, we can see that the lighter greens are deciduous trees or pastures, the darker ones are evergreen forests and the grays are rock formations. In some places, you can see what appear to be rock falls. Rocks line the streambeds we’re crossing and I wonder how far some of them have fallen from the heights around us.

We’re told we’ll pass over four viaducts and through 16 tunnels in the next while as we’re now climbing over a huge river gorge that stretches out below us into the distance. Almost immediately after hearing about it, we’re into the first tunnel.

We just passed over our second viaduct above a river showing the blue of melted glacier water. One short tunnel after another finds us briefly in the dark, then the spectacular alpine scenery unfolds anew outside our windows. The rocky riverbeds are wide and the fast-flowing narrow rivers change course across them frequently, our guide says. Sudden heavy rains can flood the beds rapidly, too.

Sudden weather changes are a part of life in NZ, particularly on the South Island, we’re told. Because New Zealand’s islands have the Pacific on one side and the Tasman Sea the other and Antarctica not so far away to the South, weather patterns are often unpredictable. Depending on which direction the wind comes from, a warm day can suddenly be quite cold and vice versa.

We just passed over a gorge in which the river on one side below us was full of rapids, then spread out wider and tamer on the other side. Within a minute or so, we could look behind us and see the trestle we’d just been over as the railway is winding its way up the mountains.

We just passed a waterfall just feet away from the train. These mountainsides are steep and the valleys between are very deep. I can’t imagine the challenge and courage it took to build this track in such daunting terrain. Occasionally our announcer will mention how structures were built elsewhere and brought here on concrete pilings, some of which took two years to put in place.

Now there’s a footbridge below us that led to a sheep station that I think “the voice” is saying is no longer active, but has been turned over to the Department of Conservation. Even on these forbidding vertical slopes, wildflowers in pinks and yellows appear. Some kind of tall grass clings here and there to the slopes and waves feathery fronds on the breeze.

For the first time since we entered the higher elevations, we’re seeing some roads, just farm tracks, actually. Occasionally, we’re seeing standings of trees and shrubs, now, for instance, along a narrow stream that followed the railway for a bit. Here would seem to be the high mountain meadows we’ve heard about, but we haven’t seen any livestock in the fields since we left the plain below.

Even as I wondered, we’re now seeing some cattle. There does seem to be abundant grass here and they seem to have found cattle that are adapted to the environment. I’m hearing some chatter about how farmers brought grass here to create some of the pasturage and, in the distance, I see sheep grazing on a hillside in what has unfolded to be a wide valley.

We’ve stopped, we’re told, to allow passage of a coal train. Now having passed it as it sits on a siding, we can see broad fields where sheep are grazing. Barns and other farm buildings are visible. We’re being told that these herds are allowed to roam widely, then rounded up for shearing, using dogs, horses and helicopters.

Did I mention how much fun it is to see and share all of this? My initial motive was selfish, merely to keep a record so that I could enjoy it all again sometime later. As we’ve traveled over the years, I’ve kept handwritten journals for that purpose. I love going back to them to recapture those memories. This new way to record and also to share our adventures makes it feel like friends and family are with us.

Now we’re passing through what we’re told is one of the largest sheep stations in the country. It covers more than 125,000 acres and 45 miles from front entrance to back gate. There are sheep on the hillsides and a sizeable lake that we’re told will freeze over in winter. This gives new meaning to the “high life.”

We’re entering a haze, perhaps just the clouds to be expected at this height, something over 2,000 feet. Ah, yes, now we see the raindrops on our windows. And so we continue to experience the ever-changing NZ weather.

Pat just spotted our first paved road in the high country and we’re crossing a really wide river bed covered with rocks ground to gravel. The river itself, Pat says, is what is called a “braided river” because of the way it carves multiple channels across the width of its rocky bed of scree carried down from above. The grasses here are a golden brown, perhaps because it’s autumn. We do continue to see small white wildflowers alongside the railway.

I can see buildings across what is now a wide, flat valley. It appears to be a house and barn and cattle are just visible through the mist between here and the farm buildings. Knowing how far up we’ve come, it’s interesting to see the utility lines and think about living in what seems to be such isolation at the end of the lines.

I’ve just spotted trucks and cars on a highway across the way which we’re now turning toward and following alongside. Perhaps this is the road our coach diver, Ian, is taking to meet us at Arthur’s Pass. Until just now, the road was far removed from our rail path.

One of our guidebooks has an article about the care NZ took in building the roads into this area. They took great effort to protect the environment as they constructed viaducts and roadways. Throughout the country we’ve seen the pride that Kiwis take in this place, preserving their bounteous natural resources.

The rain has really picked up now and we’re about to reach our destination, so I’ll end for now. The bus awaits for the next leg of our trip.

We raced from the train to the car park and our coach. Fortunately, we all had rain gear on, so were able to string that along empty seats in the back and resume in almost dry clothes.

The road down from Arthur’s Pass to the west coast is a beautiful drive, even with the rain and mist obscuring some vistas. They have so much rain here throughout the year that it’s green all around us. We headed south toward Hokatika for a lunch stop. It’s the center of the greenstone (jade) area, so there’s lots of it for purchase—IF you want to spend dearly for it.

We were able to get inside a restaurant before the rain got so hard it sounded like hoofbeats on the roof. As we ate our lunches, the rain came and went in intensity, finally letting up long enough for us to take a quick look at the beach or stop in a shop. I found a beautiful blown glass penguin in a little shop and bought it at a discount because there is a tiny bubble that shouldn’t be there. That only made me like it more.

From Hokatika we drove along the mostly narrow Tasman coastal plain through Ross, once home of a gold rush, and into the rainforest.  Along the way, our guides laughingly tell us about tee-shirts for sale here that have a photo of sheep in the roadway stopping traffic with the slogan "New Zealand Traffic Jam."  Within minutes, we experience an NZ traffic jam, only this time cows are being herded along the highway, stopping cars in both directions!  It takes only a few minutes to clear, actually.  Animals are, after all, better behaved that humans driving cars.

Our destination at a hotel near the Franz Josef Glacier was reached in late afternoon. Each of our rooms in this six-month old addition to an established hotel faces into the rainforest itself. Just outside our windows is a small balcony set in a landscape that reminds me of Jurassic Park.

It’s colder here and because of the heavy rain showers that continue, we aren’t venturing into the little village. We’ll eat in together tonight in the hotel restaurant and hope the rain lets up enough in the morning for a trip to the glacier before we head south to Queenstown.

Pat and I are ending the afternoon snugly in our room with cups of tea. Mike has wandered off exploring the hotel. It’s restful and relaxing and a good time to savor the day behind us and anticipate the one ahead.

Photos by Mike Lumpkin

A further note from yesterday in Christchurch -- As we walked along the Avon River we came to a beautiful white stone statue of the Explorer Robert Falcon Scott who died as he returned from the South Pole. The sculptor for the striking remembrance of Scott in his polar gear was his widow, Kathleen. What a poignant remembrance it is!

From Forest Cathedral to Christchurch

This morning in Rotorua, we woke early to clean up and get breakfast, do our laundry and prepare to leave for the airport by Noon. Just outside our window was a beautiful little courtyard filled with the wonderful ferns they have here in all sizes from ground cover to full-size trees. It’s like having a bit of the rainforest on the hotel grounds.


In an effort to try something new each day, we tried a taste of what they call “Justmite” or vegemite on our buttered toast. It’s a black spread. The label says it’s a yeast extract product. It seemed to have almost no flavor and falls into the category of “once tried, no need to have it again.” The rest of breakfast was dependably generous and filling.

Mike took a walk near the hotel to take pictures of the lake and a park area while I finished up our laundry. Then Pat and I walked over to the park where there are old bath houses, now turned into museums. The entire area has vents and mud pools here and there and a sign or two warning of hydrogen sulfide. Side by side with this are gardens and croquet lawns and an outdoor bowling green where they play something like bocce.

On our way to Rotorua’s airport to take our flight to Christchurch, we made one last stop. We took a short walk in a redwood forest that is more than a hundred years old, dedicated to the memory New Zealand’s fallen soldiers. The paths in the forest are amazingly soft underfoot, almost like cork. It’s a very popular running and walking path.

Being among those trees that soar overhead to more than 150 feet creates a cathedral effect. We all felt the almost holy effect of this special place. It was a nice way to leave Rotorua behind us.

Rotorua’s airport is now an international one because Air New Zealand flies from there to Sydney. It’s quite small and has no jetways. We walked across the tarmac to our plane and climbed the stairs. In less than two hours, we were touching down in Christchurch at a much larger airport, still deplaning directly to the tarmac, though.

On the way to our hotel, we took a brief coach tour of the city with a stop at the Canterbury Museum. It includes an array of artifacts from the city’s history, as well as a Maori heritage exhibit and a street of shops representing Christchurch’s history. We could have spent hours there, but didn’t have the time to spare. The Botanical Gardens are next door and, again, we had less time than would be required to fully appreciate the wonders of that spot.

Christchurch is, our guide Leigh says, “the most English city in New Zealand.” It is set on the Canterbury coastal plain with mountains in the distance. As I write this in our eleventh floor hotel room, I can see a beautiful pink sky over the mountains as the sun sets to the west. We’re just back from a walk around the charming downtown area, including a return along paths next to the River Avon where punters pole their way through the city, taking passengers beneath old willows that hang over the stream and under a series of bridges.

There’s a plaque in a park along the way that tells of a Frenchman who brought here cuttings from the willows at Napoleon Bonaparte’s grave on the island of St. Helena. It is believed that these willows are descended from those. It’s a great story, whether it’s true or not.

Cathedral Square is the heart of the city, including, of course, a beautiful bluestone sanctuary of the Church of England. (If you’re not familiar with the term “bluestone,” as I was not, it’s the look of Oxford University buildings.) There’s an eclectic mix of architecture throughout the city from the ornate and colorful buildings that have been here for many years to the modern high rises like our hotel. Throughout the city there are parks of all sizes, statues and plazas, benches and plantings. As we walked in this gloriously temperate evening, people were out and about, enjoying the city as we were.

We’ve now had a fantastic dinner in the lobby restaurant. Included in our tour many nights are dinners that offer an appetizer, an entrée and a dessert from the menu. This night every course was right on target, finishing with desserts that we’ll be walking off for days to come. Scrumptious! In addition to truly delicious and well-prepared food, we had the pleasure of a pianist who played beautifully for the entire two hours we were in the restaurant.

It’s time for bed. We’ll be up very early tomorrow to take a 7:45 morning train on our way to the Franz Josef Glacier. After a long day with sensory overload, once again we’ll sleep like babies.