Kayaking Towards Abel Tasman

And so to the Capital City of Wellington, welcomed by the promise of menacing winds and lashing rain to make Alfred Hitchcock flinch. At Nomads Hostel, a cheery fellow by the name of Dean checked me in, along with my new Midlands friends James and Jill, to the proclamation that we should dump our rucksacks with haste and join him on a Film Tour in the afternoon. Cordially, we agreed, but were not prepared for the two hour trip to constitute sitting on the back seat of Dean's wife's estate as he careered around the blistered tarmac towards various studios and workshops home to what is soon to be christened 'Wellywood' (and much to our guide's chagrin). Dean, bearded and towering, reminded me a little of Murray Hewitt from Flight of the Conchords, and not necessarily because of his loose projection of vowels. He was overly eager to please and mentioned, whenever he had a chance, that he was an established actor, starring in Avatar as a Helicopter Adviser (dies in the penultimate fighting scene) as well as his big break in the upcoming movie 'Yogi Bear' starring alongside Anna Faris, Justin Timberlake and Dan Ackroyd. On taking up his offer to view the official website for this feature, I was pleased to see that Dean was indeed not delusional. He is listed on the cast list as playing the part of 'Bodyguard'. His unquestionable resume was in question as we departed from his vehicle as he pleaded with us to give his tour a positive online review as he 'really needs the part time work at the hostel'. It's not all glamour in the movie industry after all.



After awakening from our star struck gaze, James and I ventured towards the new Westpac Stadium on the edge of town to watch the Black Caps take on Australia in a one day match, which we were aghast to find would be a meaningless affair as the Aussies had already tied up the series under floodlights the day before. In order to encourage our knowledge of the sport in our adopted country, we briskly stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the Cricket Museum, where an elderly man with the stock of a greedy goat sparked his unfathomable dictionary of cricket expertise at our direction for the best part of an hour. The game itself was a leisurely affair that the battling Kiwis managed to salvage some national pride with a wonderful victory in the closing couple of overs. I had lost interest in the game at this point due to my basking in a victorious win at a stall where I successfully demonstrated my ball skills by bouncing a cricket ball into a small cardboard cut out hole to be rewarded with a New Zealand Official Black Caps Hat, which I sported to distance myself from the burning effects of the sun.



An early rise, as is now customary, and on to the Blue Ridge Ferry to Picton, located on the northern tip of the South Island. After being swayed violently in the manner of Jack and Rose for a few hours, we hopped back on to our orange coach and quickly dismounted at Marlborough for a brief and altogether disorientated tour of a winery where Pinot Grigios and Chardonnays were swilled with careless abandon before midday had even struck. We arrived, later that day, at our cabins located deep within Abel Tasman National Park, amid arching mountains and grass feeding Llama's questioning our intent with glassy stares and loose strands of pale hay falling out of their lacklustre jaws.


Sunset at Abel Tasman

I took the option to take a kayak out after a gentle three hour trek around the park and on finding my two seater canoe, was advised to share with a smiling tourist from Hiroshima in order to make up the numbers. I was at first pleased to have a co-sailor on board but quickly learnt that her slender Asian physique made little impression when rowing, leaving us trailing behind the green bay from our guide, Gwyn, and my arms obtaining blisters and aches due to the amount of surplus energy used to carry the floating banana-yellow device to each crevasse and sweeping beach shoreline. Her slow circling strokes certainly were not atomic in any sense or manner. We paddled past baby penguins darting in and out of the sea as well as a few casual grey seals, scores of shining black mussels and a bobbing jellyfish whose translucent tentacles flowed admirably in the clear waters.

Kayak finds

With such grand scenery and the tranquility from the echoes from passing horses, buzzing mosquito's and soaring eagles, a few of us decided to stay on at the MacDonald farm cabins for a further day to pass time at the nearby beaches and to admire in the lack of signal from our cellphones.

The next destination on the roads with no end, was noted as a 'Cultural Stop' at Barrytown. There was nothing cultural with this stop at this sleepy West Coast village as we arrived tiredly at our worn down pub accommodation greeted with streams of green flyers and confetti in honour of St Patrick's Day. We were asked, politely, to wear customary fancy dress with the theme, aptly, of the shade of green. Myself and a young whippersnapper from Manchester, Anthony, decided to barge through the neighbouring Warehouse (the equivalent of Woolworth's, but without the recession hit hysteria) and bought green football socks, t-shirts and disturbingly, green and red silk boxer shorts emblazoned with the charming refrain of 'Hold The Pickle'.

As you can imagine, our sorry scene caused quite the stir with the tour group, but we were easily surpassed by a rather rotund young Englishman dressed as a perverted Gandalf, or Gan-green as we lovingly named him.
After rows of bar table jaeger bombs, catwalking on the benches to obtain free shots of a bright red drink with the taste of a poptart, the night concluded with the residents of the dorm room waking at 6am to find Anthony staring intently in a drunken haze at the cream wall rather than making way to the confines of his duvet and with James falling out of his top bunk in a catastrophic manner.

The Danes read my badge a little while after...

With an invigorating two hours sleep, I had to make my way across the path towards the bone carving workshop where my blood-shot eyes and violently shaky fingers created an ivory tinted piece which I managed to salvage after initially clipping off the base of the curved hook. Apparently my 'unique' necklace represents safe passage through the oceans in Maori.

It had better be.

Abel Tasman Song of the Day: Avalanches - Since I Left You
Ah, it's been a while since I'd heard this. Harking back at some glorious days in Norwich playing summer afternoon games of 'loon' (hot water bombs) and dodging the vomit that Matty so carefully laid in my bed after a heavy night culminating in forgetting which room was his. Great times.