“How different this lush, green
Eden of a country is in comparison to the tawny golds and yellows of
the African bush that I have grown up with.” I thought.
“Morning,” said Graham as he
brought me a steaming cup of coffee, “beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, not like England, or
Europe,” I mused, “The air is so pristine and everything seems to
breath easy, you get what I am trying to say?”
Graham nodded, “One could easily
live here.”
I nodded, “Now I know fairyland
does exist.” The light twinkled, skipping on the ripples over the
Lake's clear, blue glacial waters.
After breakfast, we looked at our
map, “Mount
Cook looks good, what do you think?”
I nodded in agreement. No one visits
South Island, New Zealand without paying homage to that famous land
mark, sacred to the Maori's, their name for their ancestral mountain,
“Aoraki.”
Driving along Route 8, we stopped to
take photo's at the foot of Lake
Pukaki, then on Route 80 to Mount Cook, where we called in at the
visitor centre located on the High Dam.
The well informed guide at the
centre came across to chat, and told us that the view of Mt. Cook was
known as “The Million Dollar View.”
“It's beautiful,” I said as I
looked at the massive mountain reaching up to the sky.
Graham put his hand on my shoulder,
“3, 753 meters high”
“How do you know that?” I asked
him, impressed, “Learnt it in geography at school, years ago,”
was his reply.
I shook my head, amazed, as always
at the amount of general knowledge my husband stores in his head.
The guide went on to tell us that
the Lake is a major water source for the upper and lower hydro
systems, having been raised in 1950 by 9 meters and again in 1980 by
37 meters to create massive water storage.
We still had a way to go, and turned
our backs to the mass of water, “Let's go catch that mountain up
ahead,”
I nodded in response to what Graham
had said, “A photo opportunity at every turn in this country!”
The “Lord
of the Rings trilogy” came to my mind as we drove towards Mount
Cook and its soaring peaks and glaciers. I thought of the film crews
who filmed the entire film on different locations in New Zealand.
Here, the ancestors of Aoraki
watched as the crew re-enacted the Misty Mountains of Tolkien's epic
tale.
We passed the Glentanner
Station, a fully working high country sheep station and then
fifteen minutes later arrived at the Mount
Cook village, where we went and mulled over a menu at the
Hermitage Hotel.
“Um, let's give this place a
miss,” we both said at the same time and laughed.
Things on that menu were a trifle
expensive and we knew we had enough for a hearty meal and hot cup of
tea in our trustworthy camper-van!
In the warmth of our refuge, we took
in the vast blanket of snow cloaked over Mount Cook, its peak wearing
a flossy hat of cloud.
“Kia tuohu koutou, Me he maunga
teitei, Ko Aoraki anake.” I read from my travel guide.
“Translate,” asked Graham
“If you must bow your head, then
let it be to the lofty mountain Aoraki,”
A prayer or blessing.
I bowed my head in the direction of
the mountain.
“I think to to the Maori's, the
mountain represents the elements that bind the spiritual and physical
elements of all things together. It is the source of creation and
life.”
There was no doubt that there was a
powerful sacredness that had enveloped us as we sipped steaming mugs
of tea.
We back tracked along Route 80 which
winds adjacent to the Ben
Ohau Mountain Range and stopped at Twizel,
the town of trees.
“I could settle here Babe,”
“Why?” Graham asked.
“Because it's a great name, -
imagine telling people you live in a place called Twizzle!”
I visualised us living in one of the
Scandinavian style houses, set in amongst the 250,000 trees that had
been planted by the local residents.
A new town, constructed in 1968 in
the Mackenzie
Basin on land formerly part of the Ruataniwha Station, Twizel
takes its name from the River Twizel.
The town survived being bulldozed to
ground level once the Upper Waitaki power Scheme was completed, but
the residents fought the Government.
They won and in 1983 the town, its
shops, houses and facilities were handed over to the County.
It is now known as the “Heart of
the high Country” and survives on tourism. In the summer
water-sports and golfing and in the winter ski season.
“Twizel,” it rolled off my
tongue, “Bet the witch's house in Hansel and Gretel was called
Twizel...sounds like a kind of sugar stick or cup-cake.”
“Come on Babe,” Graham hauled me
out of my day dream, “there's a grocery shop, let's get practical
and stock up for tonight.”
Travelling south, we arrived at a
small town called Omarama
situated on the junctions of routes 8 and 83 and as we wanted to
reach our camp in Queenstown, we did not stop, but carried on through
the Lindis Pass, which links the Mackenzie Basin to Central Otago,
saddling the Ahuriri
and Lindis
Rivers, 971 meters above sea level.
Snow teased the edges of
the road and I was once again glad that Graham was driving. The view of the
valley way, way below as we drove along had me closing my eyes on
occasion!
Arriving at Comwell
a small town set on the shores of Lake
Dunstan, I said to Graham as I looked at the map, “left or
right? Both roads are Route 6!”
He leant over from the drivers seat
and looked at the map, “Queenstown
to the left and Wanaka to the right. Still plenty of time, let's go
right.” he said as he turned right.
Lake
Wanaka was nestled in the base of towering mountains and was
picture book perfect.
We pulled over onto the side of the
road and got outside to stretch our legs.
“Coffee?” I asked Graham, “Why
not?” He agreed as we moved into the back of the van, out of the
cold.
“Time to find a place for the
night,”
“Yes,” I agreed, as we both
moved back into the front of our flash camper.
We back tracked down the way we had
come, travelling through Cromwell once again and passed through Arrow
Junction and on to Queenstown, snuggling the shores of Lake
Wakatipu.
We stopped for a while to take a
look at Nevis
Bungy, on the corner of Camp and Shotover Streets. This is New
Zealand's highest bungy jump and has a 134 meter drop.
“Not going on that!” I moved
away from the edge.
“Me neither,” Graham said.
We got back into the van and drove
through the ski town to Frankton
Motor Camp on the lake edge.
After a lovely hot showers in the
camp-site bathroom facilities, we took a walk into the town where we
found a cosy little restaurant.
The side walks outside were full of
happy holiday makers all out for a good evening on the town.
The waitress looking after our table
informed us that Queenstown was
known as the “Adventure
Capital of the World,” and that it has half the population in
New Zealand in Tourists every year.
“Wow,” I took a sip of my wine
and winked at Graham, “and we are two of them!”
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