Traveling in New Zealand
Harmonie
Don and Anne Myers
Mon 30 Mar 2009 23:09
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Before I share pictures and stories about the rest
of our South Island land tour, a few words are just begging to be said
about traveling in New Zealand.
To start with, when was the last time you can
remember arriving at an airport fifteen minutes before your flight, waltzing up
to the counter where a cheery airline representative checked you in
without asking to see your identification or asking personal questions
about the contents of your luggage? And when was the last time
you walked directly to your departure gate without - gasp! - going
through security?
Yup, no security. Not in the domestic
airports anyway (all the usual security rules apply in an international
airport like Auckland). We knew New Zealand was a special place
when we arrived last November, but we didn't fully realize just how special
it was until we arrived at the Whangarei airport a full hour before our
scheduled departure, all prepared to take off our shoes, empty our pockets,
dig out the computer, and flash our ID's, when we realized that the
Whangarei airport terminal building was only one room with one airline
service desk, one multi-tasking airline representative (responsible for
check-in, baggage and boarding), one departure gate (a door), a coffee counter,
bathroom (toilet as the Kiwis call it) and nothing else. No x-ray
machines, no lines, no grumpy security officers, no angry passengers.
Basically, no rules. Upon seeing this, we decided New Zealand was closer
to Heaven than we had previously thought, and we went on to experience
happy flashbacks of the good old days when small city air travel in the US
was actually enjoyable twenty or thirty years ago.
That was our pleasant introduction to travel
within New Zealand. From there it just got better.
We flew from Whangarei to Wellington in the far
south of the North Island, on a small turbo prop airplane - what we used to
call a puddle jumper before the regional jets took over. From Wellington
we were booked on a Sounds Air flight to Picton, which is in the
Marlborough Sounds area of the South Island. We wandered around the
Wellington airport for a while looking for Sounds Air, but couldn't find it
(Wellington is the second or third largest airport in New Zealand
behind Auckland). We finally asked someone and they pointed us down a long
corridor saying, 'It's a bit of a walk, but you'll find it down that way.
Just keep going until you get to the end.' We did, and there it was.
The corridor had transported us through a time warp from the busy terminal
of the Wellington international airport to what looked exactly like
the set of the old TV sitcom Wings. The check-in process
consisted of being asked, 'And what's your name then?' by the
check-in/baggage/boarding Sounds Air representative, and that was about
it. Again, no ID, no questions and this time, not even a boarding
pass. We understood why when we boarded the plane. It was a single
engine, Cessna Caravan, twelve-seater airplane (including the pilot and
co-pilot's seats - although there was a passenger sitting in the
co-pilot's seat). Ok then! Good thing the weather was
perfect and the flight was short. It was more like a scenic tourist
flight than a regular point A to point B
flight. The scenery was gorgeous with amazing views of the Cook Strait,
which separates the North Island from the South Island, and the evergreen
covered hills of the impossibly twisted South Island Marlborough
Sounds coastline. The Picton airport consisted of a marginal runway
shorter than the one at Buffalo Air Park where Don used to keep the helicopter,
and no terminal building, just a nifty shuttle bus waiting to welcome us to the
South Island and drive us and the other nine passengers to the
small town of Picton.
After our week at Annette and Tony's bach, we took
a water taxi to the village of Havelock and then a shuttle bus to the small city
of Blenheim, where we planned to meet my parents when they arrived from the
US the following day. When the shuttle dropped Don and I off at the
Blenheim Motel we had booked, we only had to say 'Hi' to the woman at the desk
before she asked, 'Do you want regular or trim milk?' We weren't quite
sure why she was asking, but we answered 'Trim' based on general
healthy eating principles. No sooner had we gotten 'trim' out of our mouth
before she jumped up from behind the counter and said, 'All right then, I'll
show you your room.' Show us our room? But she didn't even ask who
we were! 'Don't you need our name?' I asked. 'I know who you are.'
she said. 'All you had to do was open your mouth before I knew. You
are the Myers party, you're American and your parents are joining you
tomorrow.' Wow. Scary. Turns out the woman was Heather, who
owns the motel with her husband Martin. Like every motel we stayed in over
the course of our three weeks in the South Island, the Blenheim motel is
privately owned and the owners live on the premises. Makes for great
service. We never had to fill out an information card or show
identification or sign for a room. All we had to do was show up and pay
when we left. Again, no rules. Oh, and in case you are
wondering - all the motels here give out complimentary milk upon arrival.
It's for tea. You know - afternoon tea - that thing the English are
so crazy about. Turns out the Australians and Kiwis are afternoon tea
crazy too. Who knew?
Then we rented a car. And drove. On the
wrong side of the road. With my parents in the back seat. For twenty
days. Is Don brave or what? When we rented the car the woman at the
counter happened to mention that there is one driving rule we may find 'a
bit confusing' (aside from the wrong side of the road thing). She told us
that when we are at an intersection and want to make a right turn (which is
like a left turn at home), and there is a car heading the
opposite direction across the intersection that wants to make a left turn (which
is like a right turn at home), that car has the right of way. What?
So if we want to turn right, which is like turning left and there is a car that
is turning left, which is like turning right, we have to give the other
car the right of way? We decided that being in the southern
hemisphere had something to do with that particular driving rule. Even the
English don't twist the right-of-way rules in quite that way (nor do
the Australians, so maybe that negates the southern
hemisphere explanation?).
Speaking of driving. Drive we did. Or
rather, drive Don did. We basically circumnavigated the
South Island, and drove on just about every main road that exists on
the island. There isn't that many main roads, which made navigating fairly
easy because it was difficult to get lost, but the main roads were not 'main' in
the way we would normally think about main roads. With the exception of
two pieces of road, each about 5 miles long and both just
outside the cities of Dunedin (pronounced 'done eatin') and
Christchurch, there were no motorways or interstates as we would call
them. All the rest of the main roads in the South Island (and most of
the North Island from what we've seen) are two lanes only.
Meaning one lane going one way and one lane going the other way. Two lanes
isn't so bad because there really is no traffic to speak of, but two lanes
and curvy is something else. Not just normal curvy - we're talking scary
on an incline with no guardrail, and requiring major concentration while driving
on the wrong side of the road curvy. Throw in patches of scary on an
incline with no guardrail, requiring major concentration while driving on the
wrong side of a road that is not wide enough for two cars to
pass curvy and see how you do. Don did well. The few times I
drove on such a road, I scared both Don and my father when they felt the tires
slip onto the nonexistent shoulder and watched us miss several roadside marker
stakes by inches. Oops.
Sometimes it wasn't just the roads themselves that
were scary, but the obstacles that suddenly appeared on the roads that caused
Don and all three of his backseat drivers to jump. Like cows. Lots
and lots of cows. And the occasional sheep or two. If I hadn't
mentioned it before, there are lots and lots of dairy farms and sheep
farms in New Zealand. The last number I heard quoted was something
like 30 million sheep in New Zealand (versus 4 million people). There has
to be nearly that many cows as well because we're pretty sure we saw
at least 10 million of them - sometimes crossing the road in front of us -
sometimes with no warning. See pictures 1 and 2 for proof of these
cow transgressions.
A discussion of New Zealand's South Island roads
wouldn't be complete without mentioning the bridges. We've decided that Kiwis
are a very frugal people. This trait is reflected in the South Island's
bridges, which with only a few exceptions, are one lane. We figure that
they figured 'why build two lanes when you can get away with one?' The
driver must pay close attention because the right of way over one lane bridges
is very inconsistent. For example, we could be traveling west on an
east/west road for fifty miles, drive over as many as 20 one lane bridges
and have the right of way on the first couple of bridges, not on the next one or
two, and then have it back again on the next three or
four, and so on. There is a sign before each bridge indicating which
direction of traffic has the right of way. Don was usually on top of
the situation, but if not, he could count on at least two or three
opinions emanating from the peanut gallery to help him out.
If one lane bridges are better than two, than why
not go for the ultimate in single lane bridge utilization and use it for the
railroad too? Yup, when we reached the west coast of the South Island, we
discovered bridge building frugality had reached a whole new level. A
single lane bridge for all car and railway traffic. You may not
believe it, but pictures 3 and 4 are our proof (taken by my father as I
drove too close to the left side of the triple-use bridge).
These are just a few of the joys associated with
travel in New Zealand - no security, no traffic, motel people that care, no
rules, scary curvy roads, odd driving rules, cow obstacles, triple-use
bridges. Completely refreshing.
Anne
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