Days five through 11:
Wellington to Queenstown
You could fly domestically to the South Island, but then
you'd miss taking the hopelessly scenic Bluebridge ferry across the
Cook Strait. As we sail out of Wellington, we see the finish of
Leg 3 of the Volvo Ocean Race, an around-the-world professional
sailing race. If you have never seen an America's Cup-type sailing
event, let me tell you that it's quite a spectacle. The Movistar
and ABN Amro One boats sail past so close to us that we nearly
catch the spray across our faces.
Two hours later, the ferry approaches Queen Charlotte Sound, and we
circle a few times. (The narrow gap that leads into the South
Island is only big enough for one boat at a time.) Soon, the rugged
vastness of the South Island comes into focus, a stark contrast to
the more developed North Island. We land in Picton and speed off to
Nelson, en route to Abel Tasman National Park.
Before hitting the park - one of the South Island's most beautiful
and most visited attractions - we grab breakfast at Zest Deli, a
prime example of New Zealand's organic, forward-thinking café
culture. Various organic olive oils, tapenades, chutneys, and
honeys line the walls. And the onion-ham-and-cheese scones must
weigh five pounds. I opt for the homemade toasted muesli, the best
I've ever eaten - and likely the best I'll ever have. I drop $7 for
a tiny container of it to take on the road with me.
We camp that evening at Kaiteriteri Beach Motor Camp, a gorgeous
beach resort outside the park. Its cornmeal-textured beaches are
sparsely populated, as camping is the main accommodation here.
Being a city boy myself, and James being an Aucklander, we don't
actually have a lot of
tent-construction experience between us. But how hard can it be?
Three hours and five guys later, we're all tucked in.
THERE ARE TWO ways to see the pristine
coastlines of Abel Tasman National Park: by kayak and by foot.
There are no roads inside the park. We opt for a one-day kayak
trip, and it does not disappoint. Crystal-clear lagoons and
postcard-perfect sands emerge from every corner of this coastal
bushland, one of New Zealand's most environmentally protected
regions. We munch on steamed green-lipped mussels, a specialty of
the area, on the secluded Medlands Beach and wallow in our
surroundings.
From Abel Tasman, we're supposed to head south to Queenstown, but
we drive entirely out of our way to visit the Mussel Inn, contender
for the title of Coolest Bar in the World. It's located in Golden
Bay, north of Abel Tasman, near Takaka, one of the most secluded
parts of the South Island. There is only one road in and out of
Golden Bay, SH60, which is also home to another one of those morbid
road signs (this one reads "Blood spilt, life guilt"). More jovial,
however, are the penguin-crossing signs. The Mussel Inn is a
self-described "Kiwi woolshed meets Aussie farmhouse." I call it a
rustic, eccentric craft brewery that's like no other (there is a
cell-phone collection nailed to the telephone pole outside). They
make 12 killer brews, with names like Strong Ox Strong Dark Ale and
Black Lamb, some of which include local manuka-tree tips or New
Zealand-harvested habanero chiles. We use them to chase the
excellent pan-fried John Dory. It's a historical evening and more
than worth the extra miles, if not the whole flight over from the
States.
Over the course of driving the next few days, it becomes apparent
why Peter Jackson sticks to filming here: It's full of
near-mythical terrain that varies wildly around every turn. We see
mirror images of California's Big Sur coast and of Napa wine
regions, of Colorado's Rocky Mountains, and of Brazilian Atlantic
rain forests. You never know what you might come upon next. There
are surging rivers, majestic gorges, endless vineyards, soaring
peaks, and, for something a little different, restaurants serving
possum pies. (Yes, you read that last line right.)