The world is not in your books and maps, it’s out there.
South Island, Vol 2.
Te Anau
Te Anau was the next mark on our road trip map. Our British way (correct?) of speaking butchered the pronunciation of this pretty little town until we’d booked ourselves a day trip to Milford Sound and were promptly corrected by a polite lady on the phone- it is in fact said Tee-Ah-New, and not Tee-A-Now or Tee-A-Naugh.
We had arrived to the area a little earlier than we’d expected (also a bit of a shock, we never arrive anywhere early), so we took a few detours to continue our LOTR film locations tour. We had hoped to gaze upon the spot used for the Valley of The Kings, as well as the Dead Marshes. Valley of the Kings was marked on the map down a side road, an easy turn off the main highway. We turned in and followed the track down, promptly missing the red dot of the location marker on the map. All we could see was a tall hedgerow and no obvious way of having a look through to the river. So we left.
The Dead Marshes filming spot was conveniently close by, so after a couple of kms down the road, we found ourselves driving past some farm fields containing some big boy bulls. In the distance, we could see a slight change in the field colour, the map indicating that the marshes lurked in the direction that we were gazing. But it was not clearly accessible, or at least not for the public. So we left.
I’d like to clarify that although we now have a few countries under our belts, this by no means translates to being intrepid adventurers, and while some of the best treasures are well hidden, sometimes we feel that is for the best, not just for the environment but also because honestly, we don’t really possess the skill set or equipment to go too far off the beaten path, nor do I fancy being chased off of private land (especially private farming land, most likely with a faming shotgun!).
And so we finally arrived into Te Anau. Aside from the glossy reflections of its lake and Fiordland backdrop, the town had an underlying touristy feel, a bit like visiting Byron Bay. The souvenir shops lined neatly in rows, the luminous glow of the excursion huts and the “Absolutely no camping on the side of the road whatsoever” signs, which coax you into expensive campsites. I mean, fair enough I suppose, our vans are unsightly, especially when you are blocking said view of the glossy reflections of the lake and Fiordland backdrop.
Milford Sound
Although we had enjoyed our wanders around what was really a fairly sleepy version of Te Anau, as tourist numbers were definitely not back to their pre-covid prime, it was more of a convenient location to visit Milford Sound. Having read various pages on boat trips and tours, we were expecting a good 3+ hour drive to the Sound along generally less than ideal roads for our van and also, fuel was really expensive. In general, I don’t loooove coach trips, I find them super uncomfortable and as they’re time pressured, gloss over quirky pits stops, and usually gather in mass at the classic tourist views. However, on this occasion we opted for a coach tour and cruise combo instead to remove all of the aforementioned stresses and it was a pretty good decision.
Our coach driver provided mild entertainment in the form of a brief breakdown of local history and geography of the area and as neither of us were driving, we were able to view the rather pretty scenery from all angles, including above us from the coach’s glass roof. The only downside: we wouldn’t quite enjoy this together as being collected from the second pick-up point, we were unable to find two seats together. It also means I can’t provide a selection of the world’s finest ‘en-route to Milford Sound’ photographs, all tinged with window reflections and fuzziness. Sorry.
The road took us past the Mirror Lakes (which were not very mirror-like as it was a little windy) to Knob’s Flat and then through The Divide, which is the lowest pass in the Southern Alps. We stopped at Monkey Creek, where we did not see any Kea (NZ’s native parrot) as loosely promised but Kjel did have a little sip of fresh glacial water from a stream. Yum. Also, there were no monkeys to be seen; it had apparently been named after a dog belonging to a European settler who had visited to survey the land long ago. Why the dog was named Monkey, well your guess is as good as mine. From there, we eventually found ourselves at the mouth of Homer Tunnel (this European settler must have been a very charismatic chap, as not only could he name a creek after his dog, but now a tunnel was being named after him too). The tunnel runs for just over one kilometre through solid rock and is the only way for vehicles to reach the Sound. There have been other ideas thrown into the ‘access to MS’ hat over the years, I believe our coach driver mentioned that there had been a plan to build a gondola over the mountain range but with a highly active fault line and fairly extreme weather conditions, this idea like many other methods are likely doomed to fail.
And so, after winding down the mountain, we eventually reached the cruise terminal in Milford Sound. Albeit a little blustery, the cruise took us on a fairly gentle return journey to the mouth of what is actually a Fjord and not a Sound, passing by a likely infinite number of waterfalls and two rocks that abstractly appear like two kissing turtles.
The day had turned out to be very enjoyable, and after nabbing two seats together for the return coach journey, we returned back to Te Anau for another night.
Queenstown
After weeks of perpetual movement, we were finally arriving into Queenstown, where we had booked to stay in one place for 3 nights. Can I get a hallelujah?! It was actually just outside of Queenstown in the little suburb of Frankton, in a relatively new holiday park that I’d seen on IG that overlooked a sheltered section of Lake Wakatipu. It was actually very nice. For anyone interested, Driftaway Queenstown is what you're after.
Queenstown itself was very pretty. It felt very different to the whole of New Zealand that we’d seen to this point. Driving the winding road into town that ran along parallel to the lake, it was like we’d entered a secret part of the map that we weren’t supposed to find.
On our first visit into the town, after navigating the rabbit-warren roads and plethora of road closures to find a suitably sized carpark, we found ourselves sat near the harbour, eating one of many-to-be-bought pies from Ferg Bakery (Ferg Burger’s pastry-based brother) and marvelled over the almost French ski-resort-esque views, with chalet-like homes nestled on the sides of the mountain/hill faces but I suppose being a ski-town in the winter months, it would make sense. We enjoyed a meander through the Saturday market stalls before making our way back to check in to our camp spot.
Although Queenstown has to offer many adventure-themed excursions, we took up the opportunity to spend our time a little more leisurely. We made a little detour to visit the very quaint, old gold mining settlement of Arrowtown. The blossom falling from near by trees almost gave it a festive feel, settling on the ground as a floral snow. Whilst exploring the town, we had a brief look inside of a tiny house that was once part of a Chinese mining settlement that dates back to the early 1800s. A walk in the heart of the town took us past buildings that had an almost old western-style feel to them.
Returning back, we took a trip in a Skyline gondola, which hauled us 450m up above Queenstown, giving us amazing views of the harbour and mountain sides below. At the top, we decided to indulge in a little adrenaline with a few rounds of the luge tracks- sadly I have no footage of whooping Kjel’s butt and we weren’t about to pay through the nose for the terrible ‘action-shot’ images taken at less than glamorous spots. It was actually pretty fun (and surprisingly dangerous according to the lady doing my nails in a local salon, who along with her brother, had apparently stacked it big time on the ‘big air’ jump).
Sandwiched in the middle of our stay was a booking that had been several years in the making for Kjel. He had long yearned for a half sleeve tattoo and had finally decided on a style and concept, and tattoo artist at a studio in the heart of Queenstown. A reservation was made back in 2020 when we’d originally planned to visit NZ but with Covid, well, you know. So he rescheduled once we knew we were definitely making the trip. Two days was spent on the table, transforming a once pastey left arm, into a Polynesian-style masterpiece.
Amongst all of the fun of tattoos, rather than sit for the whole second-day, half-sleeve sitting, I took the opportunity to take the van in for a bit of an inspection- it had been making a few funny noises and well, the steering wheel had been shaking like a leaf for too long. I left the van at the depot, took a walk that was not 10 minutes to the shops (it didn’t look that far, but apparently it was actually 30 minutes of pain), perused aimlessly in various stores before walking another painful 30 minutes back to the holiday park. Waiting for an update took an age, I think I managed two thirds of season 3 of Dead to Me in the communal living area before I eventually received the call. Alas, we couldn’t dodge our vehicular calamity past, and as some important parts needed to be replaced to make the van safe to drive again, we had to swap out for another. This was much, much fun swapping out by myself on a sweaty hot day, especially as our belongings were strategically strewn high and low in our home-away-from-home for the last 2 and a bit weeks. But at least it was sorted in one day so that was a relief.
I had hoped that the spate of reasonable weather would continue in our favour during our little stay, as I had booked us in for a morning hot air balloon flight as part of Kjel’s prolonged 30s birthday treats but unfortunately the winds and visibility hampered our efforts two days in a row. With places still yet to visit, and time not on our side, we couldn’t risk holding out for a third attempt and so we packed up our camp, and made our way towards Franz Josef and the Southern Alps glaciers. The road out of Queenstown was rather scenic, although for a brief while, our view was obscured by a truck carrying an entire house out of town to relocate it elsewhere.
Wānaka
The journey was conveniently leading us to another Insta-Icon: That Wānaka Tree. For anyone who has not stumbled upon this social media giant, a quick Google search will quickly provide you with nearly 5 million results, most of which are photographs taken from every time of day, every point of the tide and in every season. Standing alone, the tree does have a pretty magnificent view in which to work its magic. We couldn’t linger long in Wānaka, so sadly can’t share any extra little tid-bits but I think if we were to return to the area, we’d revisit to enjoy the town more.
The Blue Pools
Not every drive we have had was spectacular- some, particularly in the North island, were in our opinion, fairly laboursome but the drive to Franz Josef really was amazing. The views of Lake Hāwea and the northern tip of Lake Wānaka were definitely good enough for a brief pause to take in the inky blues and still reflections. A little north of Makarora, we pulled the van up into a carpark and got ready for a late afternoon meander. The track we were taking would lead us to a bridge over the Blue Pools. The water below was nothing short of divine; crystal clear and the most beautiful turquoise. It was, however, very cold and the pebbles around were home to NZs only real pest: the devious sandfly. Thankfully it was the only time we found ourselves being bitten.
It was dark by the time we finally reached our camp spot in Orange Sheep camper van park in the tiny town of Franz Josef. Our intention was to complete a heli-hike on the nearby glacier the next day. We’d already called up to make the pre-flight weather check- we received the optimistic “The weather is always better than it looks from the forecast”, which after the disappointment of the two failed hot air balloon attempts, gave us hope because the forecast was not looking fruitful. Alas, come morning, we received the flight cancellation amid the early showers and so we decided that rather than wait around a further day, we’d head off to make the most of the time given back to us. It was frustrating, as poor weather was starting to hamper so many of our plans, and while it was by all means a just frustration, I am at least glad now that at the point of typing all of this out, we weren’t having to contend with the severe floods and ex-cyclone conditions that NZ has faced recently.
Arthur’s Pass
Having woken early, we had a full day ahead of us so we decided to make our way back to Christchurch. The drive was long, weaving our way through the mountainous roads before we eventually returned to the coastline towards Hokitika. A little further down the road, we turned off for Arthur’s Pass. The weather had improved a little by then so the drive was more enjoyable than we’d thought it might be. We spotted a sign on the side of the road for some Maori rock carvings/drawings so parked up the van for a little look. There were a few drawings that were clear to see but a few that used to be there had been removed for placement in museums and by doing so, the remaining drawings had been impacted so were not as visible anymore.
Castle Hill
About half way into Arthur’s Pass, we made a second stop at a place called Castle Hill. We walked up a path that lead us to an almost infinite number of rocky outcrops embedded in the hillsides. The little information signs explained that like many of NZs interesting geographical attractions, Castle Hill (or Kura Tahiti in Maori) was formed during an active ‘mountain building’ period, where parts of a previous seabed became exposed to the surface after an ancient sea retreated. Many sea-related fossils have been found over the years included shark teeth.
Christchurch
As our previous visit to Christchurch was more of a quick layover, we now had a couple of days to explore the area a bit further. In the city centre itself, we spent the morning at Quake City, a semi-interactive museum providing some history and education around the catastrophic earthquakes that hit back in 2011. Driving around the outskirts of the city, we remained fairly unaware of the damage and destruction that had been caused- of course it was over a decade ago since they occurred and repairs have since been made, but the photos and videos provided a sad, and somewhat necessary, reminder of the power of the Earth especially in this part of the world.
Tremors and moderate quakes are almost an everyday occurrence somewhere in NZ and as guests to the country, we certainly couldn’t be complacent. If anything, the knowledge of the high level of activity made us more alert than normal (I say this having reflected on how lucky? we were that the conditions were so stable in our first year in Australia, given that I certainly feel like we were ill-prepared for any of the bush fires or floods that have happened since that year). I also say this with experience of having heard the ringing of what can only be named as an air-raid siren (and the Devonport Dockyard nuclear test alarm for us near-naval base dwellers) in multiple NZ locations that set off minor panic in us both, fearing some kind of imminent tsunami as the result of a more powerful quake, because why else would an air-raid siren, that was used to alert people to the presence of something super bad, be used for any other reason? In fact, they’re used to alert local fire brigade personnel of a call out, but still, with predictions of the next big impact event occurring in the next 50 years, the museum visit was humbling and eye opening.
Outside of the city, we took the time to drive through more countryside to Akaroa. We followed the road from Lyttelton, as it looked like it might have been a cute coastal road but instead we found ourselves climbing super steep and winding hills as we drove past Governors Bay and back through the land to rejoin the main road. Looking to pad out the drive with a few sights, I spotted on the map a marker labelled ‘That Damn Square’. It holds a grand 4.8 star rating over 38 reviews; not bad. That Damn Square transpired to be a neatly choreographed micro-forest, if you will; a square patch of trees standing proud in an otherwise flat area of fields.
As we drove further towards the peninsular, we stumbled across signs for Barry’s Bay Cheese Factory. Apparently working in a factory for 3 months hasn’t diluted our interest in cheese- phew. After sampling, re-sampling, and sampling again just to make sure we definitely liked the different cheeses, we loaded ourselves up with handfuls of reduced-price offcuts (because travelling is expensive and we like to be frugal where possible) and went on our way.
The weather wasn’t being too kind on this day so after a short drive on a single track that took us past Onawe Peninsula and Duvauchelle Wharf, we headed back to take refuge once again in the outskirts of Christchurch, in New Brighton.
Kaikōura
Our time in the South Island was quickly running out and we found ourselves on the return stretch back to Picton to catch our ferry. We’d rearranged our return for a day earlier, in an attempt to revisit Mount Taranaki with the hopes of actually being able to see it. This left us with one final overnight stay in the town of Kaikōura. The journey was thankfully a short one but even having arrived at what we would call “super, super early, why are we even here already, it’s that early”, we found ourselves struggling to find somewhere to pitch up the van for free. We sat for a while by the beach at the free Station carpark, hoping someone from the six designated camper van spots was imminently finishing up their day and moving on. We watched new vans come and go, as they too were looking for a space, we even made dinner in the hopes that someone was going to depart. Alas, they didn’t, and after realising that quite a number of vans had passed us in the time, we went to our last-choice back up hoping there would still be space for us. We did find a spot, albeit not the flattest pitch we’d slept on and the land was sandwiched between a cemetery and a tip, which is always a top-notch combination, but as we were back at the top of the hill, our view over the town and the bay was rather nice.
Our last day in the South arrived, which was a happy/sad affair. We’d had a lot of fun during our road-trip here and it was going to be a bit melancholy leaving. Our ferry wasn’t scheduled until 7pm so we had many hours before we needed to be back in the terminal in Picton. We spent the morning at the beach, the sun turned it on for us and I enjoyed a peaceful meander to soak in the rays, while Kjel caught up on the football World Cup.
Nin’s Bin
We left Kaikōura late morning as we had already decided where we were going for lunch, which wasn’t too far up the road. On the side of the road in a lay-by overlooking a pretty patch of Half Moon Bay, we found ourselves at Nin’s Bin. The name for this establishment is likely odd for many who don’t use the word bin for anything other than a container for rubbish, but Kiwis call cool boxes chilly bins, so I can only assume that this is where the name came from, as inside Nin’s chilly bin was a tasty haul of crays. As a little treat to ourselves, we enjoyed a big-boy crayfish in the sunshine, with a side of fish and chips and whilst shooing away eagle-eyed seagulls, we mulled over the last few weeks of our journey.
With our bellies full, we carried on our way. About an hour up the road, I’d spotted a marker on the maps for Pink Lakes. We’d not yet experienced the pinky hues of some of the Australian lakes in WA and SA, so we took a punt and aimed our sights at Lake Grassmere. The lakes in question were actually pools that formed at a salt mine, and as microscopic green algae grows in the super salty ponds, it changes colour from green to vibrant pinks and purples, seen best on bright, sunny days, like the day we were experiencing. We drove over, and then turned around to park up on a hill that elevated us just enough to gaze over the rosey landscapes.
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