Well, I left Dunedin going south on the Southern Scenic Route, and only made it about 15 kilometers before I stopped. I stayed in a very nice little seaside town called Brighton, which had a fantastic beach! I pitched my tent in the big field there, along with a smattering of RVs and camper-vans. I went for a swim in the sea, which was fun, if a bit cold. Cooked my spaghetti, and went to sleep. The next day, as I was leaving the field, I met a French family of 5 who were all cycle-touring together for a year. There was the mother and father, 11-tear-old girl, 7-year-old boy, and 2-year-old boy. The 2-year-old was riding in a trailer, while the 7-year-old was riding their own bike, and the 11-year-old riding on a tandem with the mother. They had already been all around South America, and now were on New Zealand.
I headed south along the amazing coast, with perfect little beaches every 50 meters or so. I stopped at one to eat my lunch, and saw the French family go past up above me. I sat on a rock which was jutting out, and dangled my feet just over the waves--I'm such a daredevil! Seeing as the tide was coming in, I got a little bit wet in the end.
I clambered up the rocks back to the road, and met a German couple who were cycling the opposite way. We talked for a bit, and gave each-other advice on what lay ahead. Then we went our separate ways. In Taieri Mouth, I crossed the (Taieri) river and turned off to go back inland a bit. I went over a massive hill (which had been a gravel road not 2 weeks ago, but was now paved at least). I got over the hill eventually, and started down the other side.
Its often as I fly down these huge hills with my bike fully-laden, that I think to myself: "Am I really doing this trip? I mean, I'm in the middle of New Zealand, hurtling down a hill on a 20+ year old bicycle, with 40 pounds of gear, and I've been doing it for 6 months." Its always on the downhills that I realize exactly what I'm doing, and I always feel as if its just a bit surreal, or dream-like. But I don't pinch myself, because you need both hands on the handlebars when you're flying down a hill in excess of 50 kilometers per hour!
At the bottom of the hill was the little drive-through town of Lake Waihola, which was by the side of (yep, you guessed it) Lake Waihola. I kept on going to Milton, where I stopped for the night. I stayed in the cheapest fully-equipped campsite I've stayed in so far: NZ$6.50 per night.
While I was sitting in the kitchen, I met a really interesting guy. He was a permanent resident of the holiday park, and was currently working as a milking-shed builder. He has a bit of experience (5 years or so?) doing the actual milking, so his skills and experience are always in demand. He said that because of this he often just quits a job after a good stint, and "Goes bush". Now, in New Zealand this is not a political statement, but rather means that one lives in the middle of the forest for long periods of time, by themselves, unsupported for the most part, sometimes hiding from things. He said that he sometimes goes into Fiordland (an immense National park completely isolated from anything but the occasional helicopter tour or bushman) for 10-20 weeks, living off the land. And I think he was telling the truth. He looked the part, at least.
Next day, I headed through Balclutha to Kaka Point, a nice little town by the sea (there seems to be no end of supply of this type of town in New Zealand), near the popular tourist destination of Nugget Point. In the holiday park there, met a couple--a guy from Austria, whose NZ nickname was "Rangi", and a girl from Somerset who was called Sam. I talked to them for a while, and lent them some cooking oil because they had forgotten to buy any. They were going to go to Nugget Point at 6am in order to get a glimpse of some sea-lions, seals, and penguins, and I asked if I could hitch a ride with them, as it is a steep, narrow, and winding there-and-back gravel road to Nugget point.
So we set off at 5:45am, with it still being dark. As we got closer to Nugget point (and thus closer to the sea), it got foggier and foggier. By the time we got there, it was practically impossible to see anything 20 meters in front of you. We walked the 500m track to the light-house, but couldn't see anything. We could hear the seals barking below us somewhere, but couldn't see them at all. I think that they were actually laughing at us silly humans. We couldn't even see a sunrise, as the only change was that the fog was a bit lighter in colour.
So, we went back to the holiday park and packed up. I found out I had a flat in the rear tire once I packed everything onto the bike, so of course I had to unpack everything to get to the spare tube and replace it. I left Kaka point, and immediately encountered 15 kilometers of gravel road, which I was not particularly keen on after struggling with replacing the tube only 20 minutes prior. I made it unscathed, and by evening I was in Papatowai. I camped in a little green field literally a stones-throw away from the sea, and cooked sausages with instant-mashed potatoes and instant gravy for a little bit of a feast.
When the moon rose in the evening, it was amazing! I was actually setting up my tent by moonlight. I went to sleep. Next day, as I was packing, I met a guy called David who was walking his dogs. He said I could refill my water-bottles at his house, which was just up the road. We talked for a while, and then I kept on going.
On a whim, I decided to stop at a restaurant that was just off the side of the road, as someone had said they had spectacular scones there. Unfortunately, they were sold out. However, I ran into a pair of cycle-tourists from Holland who I had last seen in the very north of the North Island (Paihia), about 3 months ago, who had also decided to stop there. That was fun to catch up with them! It really is a small country. Later on I passed the French family again (I have seen them almost every day so far).
I camped at Curio Bay that night. When I got there, I saw a couple of Hector's Dolphins swimming in Porpoise bay. Later in the evening, I went down to Curio Bay and watched Yellow-eyed penguins come in from the sea to sleep. I also looked at the petrified forest there, and a nice guy from the Department of Conservation showed me a fossilized fern.
The next morning I went for a swim in the ocean (no animals in sight, I'm just too stingy to pay the $2 for a shower), and had a lot of fun messing around in the waves. Then, a seal pokes it's head out of the water about 5 meters away from me and swims around. It was really fun! But then it opened it's mouth and showed me every single one of its yellow teeth, and started swimming very quickly towards me. And this animal probably weighs as much as me. So I scampered out of the water as quickly as I could, to give it a bit of space. Then other tourists came up and tried to jump in the water with it, and scared it off. That was enough excitement for the morning.
I left Curio Bay, and went to Fortrose along some more gravel roads. In Fortrose, I got a flat rear tire--but fortunately it was about 400 meters away from a free camping site! So I ended up staying there for 2 days, putting off fixing the flat. As I had used the last of my new tubes previously in Kaka Point, I had to actually fix this one. Eventually I fixed it (and it only took about 15 minutes). A couple in an RV who were camped there had also been in Brighton on the day I had, so I talked to them for a bit. The guy, Russell, took me out onto the beach to look for pipis and cockles (shellfish) at low tide. We also poked around an old shipwreck (called "Ino).
Later they--Russell and Colleen--invited me over to their RV for dinner--cockle-fritters and sausages, and a veggy dish! It was very nice.
Next day, I headed out towards Invercargill. It was HORRIBLY windy all day, and it was ALWAYS a headwind. While I was struggling along at about 5mph, downhill, pedalling my lowest gear, another cycle-tourist comes from the opposite way, zooming along at a good clip, without even pedalling! I booed him and he laughed at me. We cycle-tourers are so nice!
Later as I pulled over for some lunch, I met another cycle-tourist from Germany who was going the same way. We teamed up and took turns being in front. He could go a lot faster, though, because all of his luggage was in a little trailer close to the ground which was fairly aerodynamic, and he had about half as much gear as me. It was pretty awful, but eventually we got here to Invercargill. We stopped at the supermarket and went shopping (always a bad idea when hungry, and when cycling all day into a headwind positively deadly to the wallet). I polished off a half-dozen Black Forest muffins which were on special, and drank a litre of Apple juice. Stayed the night at a backpacker hostel, and now I'm in the internet cafe across the street.
I am planning to go to Stewart Island soon, but need to plan it out. I may try to do the Rakiura Track, a hiking track there. But we will see.
-Ben
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
T3h H4Xx0r--Using Library internet terminals to blog.
Hello! Well, my last blog post was made from a little internet cafe in downtown Dunedin. Since then, I've found out that the Dunedin Public Library has free internet for browsing, with a $6/hour charge for accessing email, or your favourite social-networking site. Just for fun, I decided that I'd try logging into my blog account--and it worked! So now I can spend as long as I want (until the library closes at 8pm, that is) updating my blog.
Two days ago I gave busking a whirl, in a neat corridor between two of the main shopping streets here. I asked a cafe which was nearby if it'd be alright, and they were fine with it. So, without any more excuses to put it off, I got myself set up. I had my bike with me, leaning against the wall just to my right, fully loaded with all of my gear (I thought that maybe people would be more inclined to give money to a traveller). I set my helmet out (with a towel in it to stop any coins from dropping through the ventilation channels), and arranged an amount of seed-money to prompt people to donate by showing them that "others" (myself, but they don't necessarily know that) had felt I was a cause worth donating to.
I was using my Tin Whistle, and playing various traditional Irish and Scottish songs--most of which I learned at Friends School of Minnesota, Russell will be happy to know. I got off to a bit of a shaky start, which probably landed me a bit of pity money. After I got into a song it would be alright, and I'd enjoy playing it. In fact it was really weird, because I remember thinking at one point: "I have NO IDEA how the rest of this song goes..." but then somehow (must be that muscle memory people talk about) I just kept on playing, and as soon as I played it I remembered that that was how the song went. Which doesn't make any sense, except possibly to those of you who perform (music or otherwise), or do some other sort of tricky physical manipulation on a routine basis. However, once the song had finished, I'd realise in a slight panic that I needed to think of what I would play next--complicated by my not being able to remember which songs I had most recently played, and which songs were due for a replaying.
Here are the songs I was playing:
1. The Slide
2. Farran Boat Song
3. Swallowtail Jig
4. The Foggy Dew
5. Ship in Full Sail (one of my favourites)
6. Skye Boat Song
7. The Britches Full of Stitches (I think that's the name? 32132313-3213235 for FSM kids)
8. Planxty Irwin
More or less in that order; The only thing I really kept conistent was trying to go from a fast song to a slow song. I am working on (slowly) learning "Wayfarin' Stranger," "Mysterious Number One," "The Temperance Reel," (an Irish song, believe it or not!) and a couple of other songs which I liked the names of. In addition to this, I'm trying to remember "Jug of Brown Ale," "The Irish Washerwoman," and a number of others which I've forgotten.
Now, I'm not exactly sure how much money I made, as I unfortunately forgot to count how much money I started it off with. However, from my estimates, I probably made something to the tune of (sorry) $7-$8 for an hours worth of work. Enough for dinner, but not instant riches. I have a bank account which has (hard-earned cherry-packin') money in it, so thankfully I'm not completely dependent on busking as a source of income.
At one point, this big Maori guy with lots of tatoos (no Moko, just tats), a guitar slung over one shoulder (and a 6-pack of Speights over the other), and very dark sunglasses on came up to me and we had a bit of a chat. I think he said his name was Tony. He was a nice guy, and was mostly just wondering where I was from, and where I was going (in a non-creepy way). He was a busker, too, and he'd been doing it for a while. After a couple of minutes he said: "Well, enjoy your time in Aotearoa, boy," and made his way down the road. Later, I went past him while he was playing, and stopped to have a bit of a listen. He was pretty good, and had a fair amount of money (how much of it was spectators', I'm not sure). I gave him fifty cents (I'm stingy, alright), and wished him luck.
The next afternoon I was walking around in downtown when I went past the little corrior I had busked at, and saw aother guy busking there. He had a cookie-tin of some sort in front of him, and was standing there, clapping his hands. And--as far as I could tell--there weren't any particularly unique qualities associated with his clapping. Just clapping. And he was making a LOT of money!
Yesterday I went to the supermarket to get some stuff or lunch, and there was a guy wearing clothes fashionable 150 years ago who was completely covered, head to foot, with white paint. He was a living statue, and was standing absolutely stock-still. But this wasn't any ordinary living statue, for he had a duck (also completely white)! However, I don't believe the duck was real. The guys who had to fix the supermarket's sliding door were a little puzzled by this... thing, which was stationed directly on the other side of the door from them. Now HE was making real money. And every time someone put a dollar or two down, he'd startle them out of their wits by moving jerkily, robotically, to tip his hat at them. If you're ever thinking about getting into busking, heavily consider being one of these living statues--no witty repartee needed, and you get paid for doing nothing. However, I'm sure it's not nearly as easy as it looks (in fact, I'd probably be in agony after a quarter of an hour), maintaining the same position constantly.
The thing that really puzzled me was figuring out just how he periodically collected the money people threw onto a blanket at his feet, next to the duck.
Read on for an absolutely RIVETING account of my thought-processes while buying a rain-coat:
The other thing that I've done is buy a decent raincoat. My old one was big and yellow, and not particularly good, to say the least. My main gripes with it stemmed from the facts that it:
a. Made you sweat so much that you got soaked in your own sweat,
b. Had a variety of holes in it, along with big patches which had lost their repellant coating,
c. Was growing at least 7 varieties of mold on the inside.
So, yesterday I bought one from Kathmandu during a big clearance sale. Now, Kathmandu is one of those outdoors stores where you pay a lot for the brand-name, and where they often sell many fairly/completely useless novelty products mixed in with the quality items. So I spent a while looking at raincoats there, and in other stores. I found one which usually retailed for NZ$499, but was on sale at NZ$225. I was a bit suspicious, because that seems like it would be a huge drop in cost for a product which works, leading me to believe that it, conversely, didn't work. It was made with this Gore-Tex material called PacLite, and is a very light jacket. I did some research on the internet, and found out that the material has gotten very good reviews, the main negative comment being the usually very-high price. So, the long and the short of it is that now I have a very cool raincoat which rolls up to fit in a nifty little stuff-sac they conveniently included (about the size of a water bottle). And it's RAINING! I've never been quite so happy to see rain. I plan to start heading south fairly soon (tomorrow, maybe?), towards the Catlins, Invercargill, and Stewart Island.
You see, I'm making a whole bunch of blog entries now so that I have an excuse for a lack of such prolific publishing later.
-Ben
Two days ago I gave busking a whirl, in a neat corridor between two of the main shopping streets here. I asked a cafe which was nearby if it'd be alright, and they were fine with it. So, without any more excuses to put it off, I got myself set up. I had my bike with me, leaning against the wall just to my right, fully loaded with all of my gear (I thought that maybe people would be more inclined to give money to a traveller). I set my helmet out (with a towel in it to stop any coins from dropping through the ventilation channels), and arranged an amount of seed-money to prompt people to donate by showing them that "others" (myself, but they don't necessarily know that) had felt I was a cause worth donating to.
I was using my Tin Whistle, and playing various traditional Irish and Scottish songs--most of which I learned at Friends School of Minnesota, Russell will be happy to know. I got off to a bit of a shaky start, which probably landed me a bit of pity money. After I got into a song it would be alright, and I'd enjoy playing it. In fact it was really weird, because I remember thinking at one point: "I have NO IDEA how the rest of this song goes..." but then somehow (must be that muscle memory people talk about) I just kept on playing, and as soon as I played it I remembered that that was how the song went. Which doesn't make any sense, except possibly to those of you who perform (music or otherwise), or do some other sort of tricky physical manipulation on a routine basis. However, once the song had finished, I'd realise in a slight panic that I needed to think of what I would play next--complicated by my not being able to remember which songs I had most recently played, and which songs were due for a replaying.
Here are the songs I was playing:
1. The Slide
2. Farran Boat Song
3. Swallowtail Jig
4. The Foggy Dew
5. Ship in Full Sail (one of my favourites)
6. Skye Boat Song
7. The Britches Full of Stitches (I think that's the name? 32132313-3213235 for FSM kids)
8. Planxty Irwin
More or less in that order; The only thing I really kept conistent was trying to go from a fast song to a slow song. I am working on (slowly) learning "Wayfarin' Stranger," "Mysterious Number One," "The Temperance Reel," (an Irish song, believe it or not!) and a couple of other songs which I liked the names of. In addition to this, I'm trying to remember "Jug of Brown Ale," "The Irish Washerwoman," and a number of others which I've forgotten.
Now, I'm not exactly sure how much money I made, as I unfortunately forgot to count how much money I started it off with. However, from my estimates, I probably made something to the tune of (sorry) $7-$8 for an hours worth of work. Enough for dinner, but not instant riches. I have a bank account which has (hard-earned cherry-packin') money in it, so thankfully I'm not completely dependent on busking as a source of income.
At one point, this big Maori guy with lots of tatoos (no Moko, just tats), a guitar slung over one shoulder (and a 6-pack of Speights over the other), and very dark sunglasses on came up to me and we had a bit of a chat. I think he said his name was Tony. He was a nice guy, and was mostly just wondering where I was from, and where I was going (in a non-creepy way). He was a busker, too, and he'd been doing it for a while. After a couple of minutes he said: "Well, enjoy your time in Aotearoa, boy," and made his way down the road. Later, I went past him while he was playing, and stopped to have a bit of a listen. He was pretty good, and had a fair amount of money (how much of it was spectators', I'm not sure). I gave him fifty cents (I'm stingy, alright), and wished him luck.
The next afternoon I was walking around in downtown when I went past the little corrior I had busked at, and saw aother guy busking there. He had a cookie-tin of some sort in front of him, and was standing there, clapping his hands. And--as far as I could tell--there weren't any particularly unique qualities associated with his clapping. Just clapping. And he was making a LOT of money!
Yesterday I went to the supermarket to get some stuff or lunch, and there was a guy wearing clothes fashionable 150 years ago who was completely covered, head to foot, with white paint. He was a living statue, and was standing absolutely stock-still. But this wasn't any ordinary living statue, for he had a duck (also completely white)! However, I don't believe the duck was real. The guys who had to fix the supermarket's sliding door were a little puzzled by this... thing, which was stationed directly on the other side of the door from them. Now HE was making real money. And every time someone put a dollar or two down, he'd startle them out of their wits by moving jerkily, robotically, to tip his hat at them. If you're ever thinking about getting into busking, heavily consider being one of these living statues--no witty repartee needed, and you get paid for doing nothing. However, I'm sure it's not nearly as easy as it looks (in fact, I'd probably be in agony after a quarter of an hour), maintaining the same position constantly.
The thing that really puzzled me was figuring out just how he periodically collected the money people threw onto a blanket at his feet, next to the duck.
Read on for an absolutely RIVETING account of my thought-processes while buying a rain-coat:
The other thing that I've done is buy a decent raincoat. My old one was big and yellow, and not particularly good, to say the least. My main gripes with it stemmed from the facts that it:
a. Made you sweat so much that you got soaked in your own sweat,
b. Had a variety of holes in it, along with big patches which had lost their repellant coating,
c. Was growing at least 7 varieties of mold on the inside.
So, yesterday I bought one from Kathmandu during a big clearance sale. Now, Kathmandu is one of those outdoors stores where you pay a lot for the brand-name, and where they often sell many fairly/completely useless novelty products mixed in with the quality items. So I spent a while looking at raincoats there, and in other stores. I found one which usually retailed for NZ$499, but was on sale at NZ$225. I was a bit suspicious, because that seems like it would be a huge drop in cost for a product which works, leading me to believe that it, conversely, didn't work. It was made with this Gore-Tex material called PacLite, and is a very light jacket. I did some research on the internet, and found out that the material has gotten very good reviews, the main negative comment being the usually very-high price. So, the long and the short of it is that now I have a very cool raincoat which rolls up to fit in a nifty little stuff-sac they conveniently included (about the size of a water bottle). And it's RAINING! I've never been quite so happy to see rain. I plan to start heading south fairly soon (tomorrow, maybe?), towards the Catlins, Invercargill, and Stewart Island.
You see, I'm making a whole bunch of blog entries now so that I have an excuse for a lack of such prolific publishing later.
-Ben
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Dunedin
So, I've made it from Alexandra to Dunedin. Along the way, I rode on a 15km stretch of the Otago Rail Trail, and ended up camping in a little shelter along the way so I didn't have to set up my tent. The rail trail is a bike path (gravel, not sealed) along the former route of the railway, running more or less parallel to the main highway. I got woken up by sheep nosing around thee outside of my little hut, and flew into Ranfurly with a strong tailwind, and a gentle downward gradient. After that, I went by the road called the "Pig Root" (which makes even less sense than "Pig Route"). It was hilly, and raining the whole time. And, finally, I got a flat just as I got to the top of a horrible hill, looking forward to a nice, long, downhill (note for aspiring cycle-tourists/bike riders: flats always happen in the rain, and when you're at your furthest point away from civilisation). But, as I was merrily trudging along down the hill, with rain pouring down, clad in a raincoat which magically makes the wearer wetter than if they weren't wearing it, someone stops their car and offers me a place to stay for the night! That was very nice. The next day, they even gave me a ride into Palmerston, the nearest town, maybe 15kms away. They were going to the annual Palmerston A&P show (they parade cows around, and things like that, I think). I headed into Warrington, a small seaside town where I stayed with a family friend. He has a hedge which is about 25 feet tall, and it's hollowed out near the bottom to make a little shed. What's more, you can even climb up the inside of the hedge and get a magnificent view from the top! Aside from this, I also helped with various tasks, including some gardening things, and spending a day cutting a path through thick gorse to a patch of native bush at the bottom of the valley. Gorse is a horrible plant, with spines an inch long, and it completely takes over.
Next, I moved on to Dunedin, the city where I was born. I've been staying at the Dunedin Holiday Park mostly, but packing everything up onto my bike each day in case I decide to leave city on a whim. Except for one dark and stormy Saturday night, when I felt particularly disgruntled about paying $14 for a patch of grass for my tent. So, under the cover of darkness, I stole onto the golf course just behind the holiday park, setting up my tent underneath a copse of trees. I cooked some sausages, and was about to go to sleep, when: Oh SHIT! The sprinklers turned on. It was mostly just the shock of being blasted with freezing water in the middle of the night, but I hurridly jumped in my tent. Thankfully, I had the fly up, so it was really just like an unexpected rainshower.
But, the fun wasn't over yet. As it was Saturday night, which I had failed to realise, all of the hoons were out en masse, being drunk and loud and zooming around in their abnormally loud cars. So, I spent the majority of the night trying to decide whether they were getting closer, louder, or (probably) both at the same time. When the noise finally dropped off around 4.30am, I snatched a couple hours of sleep--only to be woken at 7am by a curious Swish...Thwack! noise which seemed to repeat at rather odd intervals. Of course, it was Sunday, and people were out for an early-morning round of golf to start their day. The golfers must have been rather surprised to see a person on a fully-loaded touring bicycle dart out from beneath the trees halfway through hole sixteen. So, needless to say, I've been staying at the holiday park since.
Yesterday, I got my busking license from the Dunedin City Council. Busking, for those who don't know, is the art of looking pitiful and performing on the street so that people give you money. I hope to give it a go once I am done here on the computer. I'll be playing my Tin Whistle. I've been scouring the library for sheet music, in order to expand my repertoire, and have a few new songs to learn as a result. "Wayfaring Stranger" is one I felt was appropriate. Well, this is it from me for the moment.
Next, I moved on to Dunedin, the city where I was born. I've been staying at the Dunedin Holiday Park mostly, but packing everything up onto my bike each day in case I decide to leave city on a whim. Except for one dark and stormy Saturday night, when I felt particularly disgruntled about paying $14 for a patch of grass for my tent. So, under the cover of darkness, I stole onto the golf course just behind the holiday park, setting up my tent underneath a copse of trees. I cooked some sausages, and was about to go to sleep, when: Oh SHIT! The sprinklers turned on. It was mostly just the shock of being blasted with freezing water in the middle of the night, but I hurridly jumped in my tent. Thankfully, I had the fly up, so it was really just like an unexpected rainshower.
But, the fun wasn't over yet. As it was Saturday night, which I had failed to realise, all of the hoons were out en masse, being drunk and loud and zooming around in their abnormally loud cars. So, I spent the majority of the night trying to decide whether they were getting closer, louder, or (probably) both at the same time. When the noise finally dropped off around 4.30am, I snatched a couple hours of sleep--only to be woken at 7am by a curious Swish...Thwack! noise which seemed to repeat at rather odd intervals. Of course, it was Sunday, and people were out for an early-morning round of golf to start their day. The golfers must have been rather surprised to see a person on a fully-loaded touring bicycle dart out from beneath the trees halfway through hole sixteen. So, needless to say, I've been staying at the holiday park since.
Yesterday, I got my busking license from the Dunedin City Council. Busking, for those who don't know, is the art of looking pitiful and performing on the street so that people give you money. I hope to give it a go once I am done here on the computer. I'll be playing my Tin Whistle. I've been scouring the library for sheet music, in order to expand my repertoire, and have a few new songs to learn as a result. "Wayfaring Stranger" is one I felt was appropriate. Well, this is it from me for the moment.
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