Almost Autumn Back East

After spending a few days with my family in Massachusetts, Steve and I went to Washington, DC to see a dear friend who has just moved there. She has a wonderful apartment in a great old Beaux Arts building a great neighborhood with an amazing variety of splendid restaurants and stores are all within a block or two.

Friday she took us for a delicious meal at a Peruvian restaurant. The mango picso sour drink was tasty and potent. We all had beautifully presented fish, and dispensed with any dessert selection dilemma by sharing the three that sounded most appealing. It was a fantastic beginning to our DC adventure.

Saturday we drove to Annapolis and walked around the town. Unfortunately, a boat show was monopolizing the docks, so we couldn’t see any sail boats or the harbor. Much has changed since I made regular visits to Annapolis when I lived in Baltimore 19 years ago. Gone is Pendragon Gallery, but the country’s oldest State House is still majestic and the eighteenth century streets remind us we’re nowhere near Tucson.

Steve and me in Annapolis

Sunday we took the Metro to visit Steve’s friends Bill and Cheryl in Bethesda, a peaceful suburb just over the Maryland line.

After a terrific Indian meal, Steve and I started walking around looking for some live music. We didn’t find anything we wanted to hear, and kept walking until we were at the White House. I’d never seen it before, so I enjoyed that. For some reason, there’s a huge tent on the south lawn, ruining any photo ops.

The Washington Monument lured us to the Mall, where we saw another huge tent in front of the Capitol. The Lincoln Memorial was lit up at the west end of the Mall, so we headed in that direction. We read the Gettysburg Address and Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, which are engraved on the marble walls, and marveled at Lincoln’s powerful writing and the tremendous task he had of trying to reunite a country that was violently torn apart. Unlike the administration that started our current wars, he seemed to understand that war is a horrible monstrosity.

On Monday we finally got our bike ride in Rock Creek Park. Fortunately, many of the roads in the park are closed to traffic on Sundays and holidays, so thanks to Columbus, we enjoyed a car-free ride. It was a little cooler today, and the clouds prevented us from getting the best photos, but we did manage to find some leaves that were changing.

Cabin in Rock Creek Park.
One of the many alluring restaurants in DC is an Egyptian restaurant that had a great sampler: spicy fava beans, hummus, babaghanooj, the best moussaka ever, beet salad, garden salad, falafel, taboulli, spinach pie, grape leaves and pita for $8.95. So cheap we had to have baklava, too.

Prior to our DC adventure, we flew into Boston for a visit with my family. I persuaded Steve to stop for dinner in Boston. We parked at the Prudential Center, next to the Sheraton, and I realized this is where Ray Charles used to stay when he was in Boston. My sister was friends with him for years, and used to ride her motorcycle into the Sheraton garage when she visited him. Ray would then drive her motorcycle out of this very garage, dumbfounding all onlookers.

We wandered around Copley Square until we found Joe's American Bar and Grill and had a pretty good dinner. The mahogany pillars and plush old dining room reminded us we're not in Tucson anymore. The $35 we paid for two hours' parking wiped away any remaining delusions that we were home.

We visited my mother, who is adjusting much more easily than anyone expected to a safer, healthier and more social life in a nursing home. She was more alert and animated than I have seen her in years. We drove up to New Hampshire to see my brother-in-law Sam and my sister Bev, who was in day three of recovery from double knee replacement surgery. She was miserable, but really appreciated our visit, and is glad the surgery is over and she can now get on with her life.

We got the best family news when we took my brother Keith and his wife Fay to a lovely restaurant in a colonial house in Pomfret, Connecticut, their home town for the past ten years or more. Before dinner and after everyone had their wine or beer, Keith announced that he had just that day received the news that he has a new job. His three week job hunt was probably the shortest in recent history, but his success surprised no one. Still, it was such a treat to celebrate with them, so we had a bottle of champagne. And more amazing desserts.

Keith and Fay own a twenty year old house that looks like a much older farm house. They were surprised to hear that a tiny white-tailed deer bounded across their long drive way in front of us, and we saw his buddy staring at us from the woods. We used to see deer tip toeing through their wooded yard, which borders a state preserve, but they haven’t seen any deer for years.

We also got a chance to watch the antics of their five new kittens. Keith and Fay disagree about the number of cats they currently have. One says 17, the other says 19.

Now we’re flying home to Tucson. Much as I love Southwest Airlines, if you don’t have a computer and printer so you can print your boarding pass a day before flight, you will not be in a good position to board. We were the last two on the plane, and we’re not sitting next to each other. I am in the middle next to a big guy who is spilling into my seat, and Steve is next to a squalling baby.

Addendum: as it turns out, the baby’s mom is lucky Steve sat next to them instead of me. Steve says 18-month-old Ben kept him entertained through the whole flight. When Ben tried to charge off the plane without his mother, Steve scooped him up and held him until his mother had collected all the baby gear.

When we picked up our car at the most expensive lot at Tucson International (the new one with covered parking), our bill for eight days was $9 more than we paid for two hours in Boston. It's great to be home.

Frog Heaven

A few years ago my child hood friend Louellyn and her husband Ramiro bought a cabin on College Pond in Myles Standish State Forest near Plymouth, Massachusetts. Louellyn spends every possible minute there until the snow gets too deep for them to get to the cabin. She and Ramiro believe no one could ever need anything more than to drift in kayaks in the middle of the pond.









Louellyn has been raving about this transforming refuge and its dragonflies, turtles, birds and frogs for so long, she finally managed to persuade some of her high school friends to gather at Frog Heaven in June. Pat, Jane, Lynda and I joined Louellyn and Jane's ex sister-in-law Ora and sometimes Ramiro for a few lovely days of non-stop eating and catching up.















Massachusetts is experiencing The Year Without a Summer. We spent much of the first day I was there sitting on the porch watching the rain, which was relaxing and uplifting. All those negative ions always raise the spirits of this desert rat. A family of Canada Geese complete with five fuzzy grey half size goslings came by daily. Orioles and hummingbirds also made appearances, along with a rather alarming neon orange slug that came from under the porch.


I paddled around the perimeter of the pond early one morning by myself. Forty four cabins each have their own style and siting. Louellyn has been told that her 600 square foot cabin was the ice house for the main cabin next door. I decided Louellyn and Ramiro have the best sandy beach.

Louellyn knows at least one person in 40 of the 44 houses. It's easy to meet the neighbors. One man paddled by in his canoe and was invited to join us. He came up to the porch and had a drink. He spends his summers living on the pond and taking tourists out in the ocean for whale watches and fishing. In the winter, he does scallop research, I think in South America. I was delighted that he was able to answer a question that has baffled me since we had delicious scallops in New Zealand last year (see Same Days, Different Island). What's that beautiful crescent that tastes and looks like lobster and is hugging the scallop? Turns out, it's the scallop's gonads. If squeamishness over certain body parts is the only thing stopping Americans from knowing about the best part of the scallop, they ought to get over it.

Louellyn revels in the pond community and the fascinating people who share her love for it. They freely visit each other to share coffee, laughs and songs.

Motorized boats are not permitted on the pond, and no one will ever be allowed to install an indoor bathroom. A short hike up the pine needle path to the outhouse is part of the cabin's charm. I think the lack of a bathroom has the additional benefit of self-selecting a community that loves nature and rejects the nasty things that humans do to our world.

The frog pond behind the house is filled with reptilian singers of every range from deep croaks to whistles and peeps. It's quite mesmerizing.

Louellyn has set an admirable goal for the summer. She plans to try a different ice cream every day at Erickson's ice cream stand until she has tried all 44. Then she will allow herself to repeat. Such strenuous discipline is hard to maintain in such a tranquil place, but I've known Louellyn all my life and I am confident that she is up to the challenge. She proudly read us her ice cream diary, which starts with Memorial Day weekend. I got Maine Bear Berry one day and something with Oreo cookies the next. I would have a hard time ordering a sherbet or anything without chocolate, but apparently Louellyn is not similarly handicapped.


The Queen of Frog Heaven

After all the others had left, Louellyn and I took the kayaks out to the middle of the pond to have some time alone for the first time in many years. It was a calm, warm day and a turtle poked his nose above the water to check us out.

Now I want to lure these girls to Desert's Edge so they can see my version of paradise.

Margaritaville

"It's Sunday," Tracey suggested.
"Too much information," I retorted.
She apologized: "I guess you don't want to know what time it is."
Me: "Now you get it".


Sadie on the front porch of 907 White Street

We flopped into plastic Adirondack chairs close to the pier in the Key West marina to consider our strategy. We were sun burnt and brain dead after three hours of dolphin watching and snorkeling in the Gulf of Mexico. We went to Waterfront Market and marveled at all the exotic fish, spices and sounds. We got some salmon, rice and strawberries and headed back to 907 White Street, our home away from home.

And what a delightful home it is. We are renting a one bedroom apartment that takes up the whole first floor of a conch house. Tracey informed me a conch house has 1) a porch across the front. Check. 2) a tin roof. Check and 3) interior walls off exposed Dade County pine. Check. With wooden floors, granite counters in the kitchen and bath, lots of tile, high ceilings, and a private hot tub on the back porch, ours is pretty deluxe. A beautiful traveler's palm dominates the lush back yard. Geckos and lizards squiggle in the rustling trees.

Key West is sort of like Central America with better architecture and water you can drink. Roosters strut around the streets. Feral cats prowl for handouts. And the manana attitude is reversed here: the tourists are laid back and the people in the hospitality industry happily do their jobs correctly and on time. What a concept.


Tracey threatened to quit her job and move here. One of our many friendly cabbies told us she would then have to look for two jobs if she wanted to live here, and get a third if she wanted to leave.

Most tourists are enthusiastically embracing the Jimmy Buffett lifestyle. In fact, the original Margaritaville bar and merch is here. I brought Jimmy's "Volcano" to play in our conch house. Sounds just right here.


Tracey on the pedicab. Snake and macaw wranglers are common here.

We've been on the ocean twice. Sunday we were delighted to find that we were the only guests on a trip into the Gulf of Mexico led by captain Anna and her mate Bethany. In fact, at 9 AM, we even had the streets to ourselves. This was a good thing, because I left my wallet on a bench then stumbled away to take some photos. When I realized I was missing my wallet, I ran in a panic back to the bench where I'd left it and found it undisturbed next to some equally oblivious tourists.












The boat trip was a testosterone-free adventure. The snorkeling was okay. The advertisements for "The World's Third Longest Living Reef" are about 98% wrong. Pale fish darted around white coral graveyards. I only saw one giant brain coral with any color, a pale yellow. Not like my first snorkeling trip in Biscayne National Park in the mid '80s, which was worthy of a National Geographic photo shoot.


Dolphins came close to the boat.


Monday we had a more successful snorkeling cruise in the Atlantic. We were on a sailboat with about 18 other guests.



I have to give you my fish list. Black and white stoplight parrot fish, yellowtail damsel fish, four-eye butterfly fish, pork fish, blue striped grunt, yellow goat fish, rainbow parrot fish, great barracuda (about three feet long and slender; not at all scary looking), and comb jelly fish. I was pretty freaked out when I drifted into a school of those jelly fish. They looked like a cloud of clear, round plastic bags about three inches in diameter. I didn't know if they could sting, and I was surrounded by them before I saw them. With all the floundering I did to get away from them, if they could have stung me, they surely would have, but one of the crew said if they don't have tentacles, there's nothing to worry about.

I saw some purple sea fans waving on the coral, but not many. Also saw some southern sting rays, about three feet in diameter. The biggest surprise was a gigantic blue parrot fish, about two feet long. What a pucker-lipped beauty.

As we sailed back to the harbor, we drank sangria and watched the famous Key West sunset, which at least on that day offered no threat to a typical Tucson sunset.

We had two wonderful breakfasts at the famous Camille's restaurant. Both times I had a crab, asparagus and sun-dried tomato omelet. My M.O. has always been not to mess with perfection. Camille's is a sun-filled Caribbean-colored delight with quirky art work. We were especially intrigued by the extensive Barbie collection displayed in one window. Each Barbie was dressed in a variation on the S&M theme. One had a spiked collar, handcuffs and whip; another was wrapped in cellophane and suspended by chains from the window frame.



I have always liked the poetry and karma of Saint Francis of Assisi. I was startled to find this wooden plaque in the ladies' powder.




The first feline companion to adopt Steve and me was Shadow, a quietly dignified black gentlecat. Sunbeam is our current fiery red head, a flirty and talkative jokester. We certainly don't want to drive away the memory of our beloved Shadow, and our darling Sunbeam has not taken his place, but I was stunned and happy to see them both mentioned in the same sentence by this fellow animal lover.



Saint Paul's Episcopal Church is an impressive Gothic Revival structure elevated above Duval Street, dazzling white like cane sugar in the tropical sun. Built in 1912 with an open-timbered ceiling, it is the fourth church on the site. The original was built in 1834. A hurricane destroyed the 1909 church.



The Golden Cockerel Medallion window was installed in 1920 in memory of children of the Lumley family who died in 1907 and 1876. The Golden Cockerel symbolizes watchfulness and vigilance, and is also a reminder of Peter's three denials of Jesus. I just like it because it reminds me of the roosters who brazenly stroll around the sidewalks and plazas here.


Nothing is ordinary in Key West.

Notice that the gingerbread on the porch is actually gingerbread men!

Only in Key West. A sitar-playing Spiderman busking on Duval Street

Same Days, Different Island

Steve woke up Tuesday morning with the idea that we should not go home earlier, but should stay until Friday, when we were supposed to leave Tahiti. We went back to the airport and Air New Zealand agreed to change our reservation to Friday. We went to the i-site, the free traveler’s information desk at the airport. We should have tried this weeks ago. They found a place for us to stay on Waiheke Island off the coast of Auckland, and they booked our bus back to town and the ferry to the island.

We left most of our stuff at the airport, and took enough for three days with us back into town. We caught a ferry at 8:45 PM for the 40 minute ride to Waiheke. Punga Lounge, our B & B, had arranged for a cab to pick us up at the ferry dock. We got to Punga Lounge about 9:45, and the owners Rob and Dyan welcomed us and brought tea and home made apricot bars to our room. We had a king size bed, private bath and our own deck overlooking rain forest vegetation for NZ$125. The only problems were the mosquitos made us keep our screenless windows shut all night, the room smelled like bleach, and the wifi didn’t work.

Punga Lodge is about a 10 minute walk from Oneroa, the main town on the island. Waiheke is popular with Kiwis who come out for a day of swimming at the beach or visiting the vineyards. Some international travelers also make it their place to overcome jet lag at the beginning of their vacation, or like us, a place to unwind at the end. The island is inhabited by a variety of artists, activists, eccentrics and millionaires. Every blissful resident we met feels very lucky to live there.

Our first full day, we took a tour with Rochelle, the owner of Waiheke Island Adventures. She has been on Waiheke since the 1970s when it was a remote place, difficult to reach by infrequent and slow ferries. It was populated mostly by hippies, artists and retired people who collected rain water and lived in poorly constructed, unheated bachs, usually without toilets. She paid $6,000 for her bach. The island had 2,000 residents. She could have bought a nearby house for $2,000, but she decided to splurge and get the view lot.

Faster and more frequent ferry service has made Waiheke a suburb of Auckland. Now there are 8,500 residents and her house is worth $1.5 million. Of course, that doesn't matter, because like everyone we met here, she has no intention of ever leaving.

She took us to Goldwater Vineyards, where we tasted four nice wines. The young woman serving the wine and telling us the history of the vineyard calls Auckland "The Big Smoke". I asked her why, and she smiled, "It's different there". Seeing this didn't entirely explain it, she added, "You have to wear shoes there". We walked up a hill overlooking the vineyard and admired at powkanhani tree, a gorgeous green umbrella that was just starting to get its red bottle-brush-style flowers. It's New Zealand's Christmas tree, and will be in full bloom in another week.

She also took us to Top Knot Hill vineyard at Wild on Waiheke, a sort of party place and play ground. A chess board with three foot tall pieces was set up outside. We fell in love with a fabulous 2008 Chardonnay that was only $NZ25. Unfortunately, shipping a bottle home would have doubled the price. We might have done it if the lady serving the wine hadn't thought it was a really dumb idea. Jams, chutneys and the products of Waiheke Island Brewery can also be tasted and bought here. We tried the ginger beer and dark ale. Very good.

Two days in a row I had Scallops from Hell at Vino Vino in Oneroa while sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean. The dish had a wonderful white wine and chili sauce. The scallops had a beautiful pink piece of meat curving around it that tasted like lobster. The waitress said scallops always look that way there. She also said Americans are always amazed by them.

Lacking public water supply system, each house has to collect rainwater in a big concrete tank, about 12 feet wide. At Punga Lodge, the tank is above ground, ugly, cracked and covered with moss. In newer houses, the tank is buried, which decreases evaporation and keeps the water cooler. People are worried about drought, because even in a good year, by the December dry season, water must be trucked in.

Our Punga Lodge hostess, Dyan, is funny and talkative. Rarely do ten minutes pass without her mentioning how much she loves chocolate. Her favorites are macadamia brittle from Northland on the North Island, followed by Reese's Cups, which are not sold in New Zealand, so her American guests sometimes send them to her or her pilot husband will buy them when he's overseas. I know Reese's Cup are pretty low brow, but I adore them too.

In addition to his main job as janitor of the lodge, Dyan's husband Rob is a pilot with New Zealand Air, and has sometimes carried his guests' bags all the way to the airport when he is flying to LA. He will be piloting the flight to LA 24 hours after ours.

I have found the ubiqitous sheep of New Zealand disgusting, in part because they are eating the country, and largely because of their filthy back sides. Dyan told us that the dirty wool from their butts is used to make carpets. The dried poop on their butts is called dags. It rattles when the sheep are forced to run. From this image comes the Kiwi expression for "hurry up": rattle your dags.


December 3 we took a walk on Oneroa beach and Steve found an arch in a mudstone and calcite outcrop. He presented it to me as a gift. We collected many shells on the beach, that like our cat Sunbeam, were orange and stripey. So of course in our minds, Oneroa Beach is now Sunbeam Beach. There were also lavender and peach striped shells.

We studied tidal pools for a few hours. We found transparent insects and little wee hermit crabs carrying shells 1/4" wide. Everything was in motion in the pools. The ocean water was as clear as drinking water.

The word paradise is frequently heard in conversations with the locals. The cinema shows art films like Young at Heart, The Band's Visit, The Duchess. People donated sofas and bring in pizza and Indian food. The friendly owner of the Indian restaurant told us with all that spicy food being consumed, the theatre smelled bad, but everyone was happy.

The community center has an art gallery where we were able to see the work of island artists. I bought some cards depicting a Tui and a Bell Bird painted by a local. We also peeked into the theater, where dancers were preparing for an evening performance. A Maori man and his wife who would be in the performance talked with us and gave me a hongi, the Maori nose touch greeting. Unlike the Eskimo greeting, the noses aren't rubbed, just touched.

December 4 we went to Palm Beach. At the west end of the beach, beyond some massive rocks, is New Zealand's first designated nude beach. The beach is wide and sandy and lots of shade can be found under the palms, Christmas trees and peach trees. Most of the people were our age and older, although there were some clothed mothers and children. Guess which side of the rocks we were on? This was the first and only time we got in the ocean during our trip. We saved some money and avoided crowds by coming at the Spring shoulder season, but I think next time we should come in Summer and get some use out of my prescription snorkel mask that I bought for this trip at the last minute.

Our last day in New Zealand was an odyssey starting with a walk to the bus stop, the bus ride to the ferry, the ferry ride back to Auckland, bus ride back to the airport, the non stop flight to LA during which we gained back the day we had lost on the trip west, another flight to Tucson, and home again.

The Customs Building in Auckland
Steve thinks there are other places in the world we ought to see, but I would be content to make every vacation a trip to New Zealand, to revisit our favourite spots and to explore what we missed.

Queenstown

We drove back to Te Anau and were graciously welcomed at Shakespeare Lodge, a lovely home in a residential neighborhood at the edge of town. We had a frilly B & B queen ensuite room with breakfast included. Unfortunately, we didn't get to see the fancy linen and crystal breakfast room, as we barely managed to get ourselves out the door under the disapproving glare of the manager. So cheerful fourteen hours earlier, he was not amused to discover that we find the challenge of mobilizing before check out time to sometimes be an insurmountable imposition on our vacation bliss.

We set a new check-in time record, arriving at Hippo Lodge in Queenstown by 2:00 PM. We were so proud of ourselves. Here we had a queen ensuite with a kitchenette for NZ$85. November 29 and 30 were to be our last days in New Zealand, so we wanted to be comfortable and have plenty of room to organize all the clothing, rocks and souvenirs that had been rolling around in our car's boot for five weeks.


Queenstown is the number one adventure tourism destination in the world. Skydive, river raft, parasail, bungee jump, speed boats, ski, Lord of the Rings tours. We didn't do any of that. Hippo Lodge is up a steep hill half a mile from town, so going into town to eat some meals and buy things made of possum fur was enough adventure for us. We did take the gondola to 1,500 feet above town and watch the lights come on in the village next to a huge lake.

We got to the Queenstown airport bright and early and turned in our trusty rented car. Steve eschews rolling luggage, and put a back pack on his back, a day pack on his chest, and carried rocks and stuff in the food bag I had bought so long ago in the New Market neighborhood of Auckland.


We learned our Air New Zealand flight to Auckland was cancelled, and we would have to go on a later flight. This was not good, because we only had about two hours in Auckland to get our luggage, change terminals, and get on an Air Tahiti Nui flight to Tahiti.

I changed US$400 for 285 Euros, which we would need in Tahiti, except when we would need Polynesian Francs, or something like that. The currency exchange booth had a sign saying they would not buy currency from Brazil, Argentina, Pakistan or Iceland. We assume that the accident of birth in the U.S. makes us immune to economic disasters and devaluation of our mighty dollar, but that confidence has been shaken recently.

Air New Zealand tried hard to get us on the flight to Tahiti. They put our luggage on top so it could be transferred quickly. They called Air Tahiti Nui to tell them when they expected us to get to Auckland, and how much our luggage weighed. We arrived in Auckland 30 minutes before our international flight, and managed to get our luggage, take a bus to another terminal, and dash to the Air Tahiti desk 20 minutes before departure. The plane was still on the ground, but the desk staff was preparing to go off duty, because they didn't have another flight for three more days. They wouldn't let us on the plane. They told us to go talk with American Airlines, through which we had booked the international flights using frequent flier miles. American Airlines said they could get us to Los Angeles on a flight that evening, but it would cost us $300 to change our flight. We were sick of traveling at this point, and resigned to missing the four night layover we'd planned in Tahiti, but Steve said he was not ready to get on a trans-Pacific flight that day. We booked a flight to LA for the next day, and went to an airport restaurant to figure out where to stay our last sad night in New Zealand.

I changed our briefly held Euros back to New Zealand and U.S. dollars. I bought a few phone cards in a vain attempt to find one that worked so I could cancel the Tahiti arrangements and look for a place to stay in Auckland. I ended up using my cell phone to dial direct. It worked great, but I thought I would be paying $2 per minute for the convenience. When I got home, I found I was never billed a minute for my cell phone use in New Zealand. That saved hundreds of dollars.

We got sadder and more burnt out. Steve decided while I looked for a place to stay in Auckland (unfortunately, Lantana Lodge was filled), he would go try to negotiate with Air New Zealand. It was their fault we weren't going to Tahiti. He figured they should compensate us.

Their customer service rep was wonderful. He listened to our tale of woe, and to our surprise, was able to verify that we had reservations on the Air Tahiti flight that we missed. He took responsibility for our inability to catch that flight. Apparently the plane we should have taken from Queenstown had mechanical problems. He offered several options. The next direct flight from Auckland to Tahiti on any airline left three days hence. No thank you. He offered to get us to Tahiti via Hawai'i. No. How about the Cook Islands? Did we want to see the Cook Islands? We briefly considered, but decided, no, we just wanted to go home. Verifying our complaint and proposing solutions had taken the rep over an hour at this point, and I whispered to Steve to just tell the rep we would take $300 to compensate us for having to change our flight with American Airlines, and I would be satisfied. Steve wanted to just wait and see how far the rep was willing to go. I went to make more calls.

A few minutes later, Steve came over to where I was guarding our excessive luggage and trying to find a place to stay that wouldn't be too depressing. He happily announced the fruits of his negotiations: Air New Zealand would put us up at a hotel in downtown Auckland, pay for our cab into town and back (NZ$72 each way), buy us dinner, breakfast and lunch, let us stay in the hotel until 4:00 PM when it would be time to go back to the airport, and they would put us on an Air New Zealand flight to LA. All because they cancelled a shuttle flight from Queenstown to Auckland. We were happy again. Needless to say we love, love, love Air New Zealand.

They put us up at the Crowne Plaza, by far the fanciest accommodations of the trip. The food was wonderful. I'm my mother's daughter, and made sure I got my money's worth out of the breakfast and lunch buffets, even though they didn't cost us anything. This is lunch: beetroot with tangerine salad, salmon, asparagus, dolmades, dried tomatoes with green lipped mussels, kumara salad, fruit, mince pie, pecan pie, and warm Christmas pudding with hard sauce, just like our Aussie friend Chris Eastoe makes each year.

Milford Sound

After long delays due to money changing and grocery shopping, we finally started the two hour drive to Milford Sound in the late afternoon. Hiking and boating used to be the only ways to get there. In fact, that's how had we planned to get there -- hiking the Milford Track, said by some to be the most beautiful hike in the world. We were going to stay in upscale lodges with meals prepared for us. All we would have had to carry would have been our day packs with lunch and rain gear. This sounded much more appealing than backpacking and staying in leaky, cold dormitories. But my knee surgery forced me to admit that a five day hike over mountains and glaciers was not what I should be doing this year, so I had to cancel, losing my deposit.

The road to Milford Sound was started in 1929 as an unemployment relief program. Workers used shovels and wheelbarrows. The 1.2 km Homer Tunnel was started in 1935. Worked continued on the tunnel until 1948, then stopped until 1952. The road finally opened in 1953. It slopes downhill in a 1 in 10 gradient. Traffic lights stop cars in one direction for 15 minutes at a time, so they can go through the narrow tunnel in one direction from 9 AM to 6 PM. The rest of the time, traffic is two ways. We’re glad we got through just before 6.


While waiting for our turn to go through the tunnel, we were entertained by very tame Keas that land on car roofs as soon as a door is opened. They attempt to tear out the door gaskets, and are very agile about escaping slamming car doors. They also pose for photos. I didn't see anyone feeding them, although they must score often enough to make panhandling a viable occupation for them.



South of the tunnel, the road to Milford Sound follows the a wide river bed of the MacKay River, filled with white, pink, lavender and purple lupins. Behind them were snow capped peaks. We were in a hurry to get to Milford Sound, and although we both wanted pictures, neither of us said anything about stopping until about 15 minutes later. We hoped we would come back by them in the daylight, and we did. We went to three locations and I took dozens of photos trying to get the exposure right. Here are the best ones. We will need to try again someday, and get there when the sun is higher.


A tour bus guide told us the lupins are an introduced species, and like so many of the exotic plants and animals, have run amok. We don’t know whether that is considered a problem.

Another introduced plant that dominates the landscape on both islands is the gorse bush, a yellow flowering bush that can get to be six feet tall or more. It provides welcome visual relief from the endless sheep, sheep, sheep, but it crowds out native plants that are more useful to the native animals. In some places, people apply poison to the gorse, but we read about a gentleman who loved the land and encouraged people to plant saplings of native trees among the gorse. The gorse shaded the young trees until they were big enough to survive on their own, at which point they shaded the gorse and killed it. A wise man, that.

Accomodations at Milford Sound are limited. Mitre Peak Lodge is where trekkers on the Milford Track stay after finishing their hike at Milford Sound. If there are any empty rooms, as there were when we were there, non-hikers can stay for NZ$200 for a queen room with breakfast and a view of the sound. A twin room on the back of the hotel is NZ$150. Non-hikers can not make reservations. Rooms are only made available to the public on the day of guest's visit.

November 27 we stayed at Milford Sound Lodge (NZ$245), or more accurately at one of the chalets by the river. Our chalet is a pre-fab building sheathed in corrugated metal and wood siding. The approach is not impressive, being dominated by the water heater and gas tank. Inside: wow. What a luxurious interior. King size bed, sofa, dining table, kitchen, deep tub, heated floors, towel warming bars. One whole wall of the chalet is a window opening to a deck facing the clear turquoise water of Cleddau River, rushing by only 10 metres away. Across the river is a rock cliff. Steve said it was better than the Ahwanee at Yosemite.


A sound is a river basin, but Milford "Sound" is actually a fiord, scoured out by glaciers.


We walked down to the fiord to see what we could see. The tide was out and we walked out onto a muddy, reedy peninsula to take some pictures of a water fall. The guide books recommend we pray for rain on our visit to Milford Sound so we can see the spectacular and numerous waterfalls, but we were quite satisfied with the fine weather and the one water fall we could see from shore. I think it was Bowen Falls, the largest of the 1,000 falls in the fiord, and the source of the water and power for the buildings at the head of the fiord.

This would have been day four of five if we had hiked the Milford Track as planned. I think we would have avoided the rain that can make the trek unpleasant, with hard-won views obscured by clouds.

The Blue Duck Restaurant is the only place to eat at Milford Sound, and it didn't sound good, so our Thanksgiving dinner was to have been omelets with salmon, but we were too tired to make that, so we heated some vegetable bean soup. We enjoyed the first decent bread we found in this country, Dovedale Grain Chia. We also had tasty cheese, the Kiwi name for cheddar, tomatoes, red capsicums and Speights Old Dark beer. We could hear and watch the river through our open door and the view made us feel elite.

The next morning we saw where the budget travelers stay. The rustic dorms have small dark rooms with only beds. Guests follow covered porches to the bathrooms, kitchen and the unpleasant common area. The doubles were NZ$80 and all were reserved.


We drove to the dock at the head of the fiord and boarded the Milford Mariner with about 30 other people for our cruise. The peninsula where we had stood the night before was under water.

The fiord is a fascinating ecosystem. Eight metres of rain fall annually. Forty metres of fresh water is on top of the salt water from the ocean. Four hundred metres below the salt water is a region too dark to support life. The boat idled 10 metres away from a cliff rising 700 metres above the water. The captain said there were 250 metres of water below us.


Fur seals were hunted almost to extinction in the 1880s, but we some some lounging on the rocks. We also saw Fiordland Crested Penguins, some of the rarest sea birds in the world. They seem to be interested in the boat, and obligingly hop from rock to rock.


Stirling Falls is the one reliable waterfall in Milford Sound, even on a sunny day such as we enjoyed. The captain pulled close so we could find out why the fall is known as the Boat Washer.

Trees cling to the walls of the fiord, growing almost parallel to them. Only 25% of the trees are actually rooted in soil or rock crevasses. The rest are rooted to each other. When the tree mass becomes too heavy to support itself, a tree avalanche is the result.


Steve has frequently remarked on the similarities between New Zealand and his beloved California. In Fiordland, he keeps exclaiming "Look at the relief!", geologist-speak for breathtakingly high steep slopes. He is at a loss to name a mountain range on the Left Coast that can match what we see here.

Over the past few days I have heard what I thought were gunshots, which seems strange in a national forest. I finally figured out the sounds are from rock falls.

Tucson Paheka Annoying Hoteliers from Coast to Coast

Paheka is the Maori word for non-Maori. It is not usually intended to be derogatory. It's supposed to mean "foreign" although it can also mean "flea" or "pest".

This far south, the sun stays up really late. We can still read 12 point type outdoors by the dimming light at 9:30 PM. So we’re often out hiking or doing stuff until the sun goes down, then we realize that the restaurants have been closed for an hour, and the backpacker receptionists locked up shop two hours ago. So we show up at our destinations after dark, depriving the managers of much needed rest. We keep hoping to find a place that doesn’t have a 10:00 AM check out time, but it hasn’t happened yet. This further cramps our style as well as that of the manager, who is always very eager to get the sheets off our bed and into the laundry at the stroke of 10.

Blat is the Kiwi word for driving fast. Considering how much blatting is going on here, it’s surprising we don’t see more accidents. We did see the aftermath of two rather spectacular ones. A garbage truck missed a turn going down a mountain road, and sailed off the road, over a ravine, and landed shiny side up about 100 meters from the road. On another mountain road, a tandem logging train lost its load of tree trunks on an outside curve. They tore away the guard rail and tumbled far down the hill. When we got there, chains were being lowered down the hill to haul the lumber back up. Oops.

We rarely see one of the gaudy orange, navy and white police cars. We do see signs at every car park warning us to “Lock it or Lose It”. Sometimes the signs give more details on the dangers of leaving stuff exposed in the car. We usually comply, but crime doesn’t appear to be a big problem here.

We also don’t see any evidence of homelessness. It is really a relief to walk around touristy places and not be accosted by panhandlers. We wonder how the Kiwis are able to provide social services, health care and good roads with a much smaller budget than the U.S. has. I guess it goes to show what can be accomplished when money isn’t wasted on pointless wars.

Most of the tourists are Kiwis and Aussies. We finally have started to see some U.S. Americans now that we are on the South Island. One shop keeper told us she thought the U.S. workers must have the longest vacations in the world, and was shocked to find we have the shortest. When a Yank only gets two weeks off per year, I guess it makes sense to concentrate on the razzle dazzle glaciers and fiords of the South Island. Lord of the Rings fans have flocked here to see the movie sets near Queenstown. I have read that many of the sets have been digitally enhanced and it takes a lot of imagination to see what is shown in the movies.

People in the tourism industry are very worried about the U.S. economy, and many people have asked us when we think it might turn around. They tell us that since the financial industry upheaval in September, they are receiving booking cancellations, and tourists are only booking one month out instead of a year in advance.

There’s something to be said for letting the world vote in the U.S. elections, given that what happens in the U.S. has a profound effect on the rest of the world. If the world voted, we would probably have a better informed electorate and a better quality of government.

We rolled into Te Anau just before dark, of course, but Bob at Bob and Maxine’s Backpacker took it in stride and cheerfully showed us around the kitchen and to our room, a twin ensuite for NZ$75. Bob is especially proud of his wood pile stacked four feet high all around his buildings. The firewood was made from several types of trees he felled himself and split with a hydraulic splitter. Steve is pretty proud of his own wood pile, and though he had to admit it pales next to Bob’s, he was very impressed.

The exchange rate is shifting in the Kiwis’ favour. NZ$1 = US$0.564.

Thanksgiving lunch was eaten under an umbrella on the sunny sidewalk outside The Fat Duck in Te Anau. Baked sole and rice. We always read the wine menus, and I don’t think they ever have anything but Kiwi wine. We passed on the Sauvignon Blanc Mount Difficulty Roaring Meg (from Central Otago) described as follows: “Displays tropical fruit flavours intermingled with cut grass and dried hay.” I believe this is the wine of choice for New Zealand’s many sheep.

Te Anau (tey-AH-now) is sort of a strange, new, concrete and stucco town next to the enormous lake that shares its name. It seems to lack soul and character. All the shops and restaurants are along two blocks of the main street. A park is next to the lake along with some boats to take tourists to the glow worm caves. A Mitre 10 Solutions, a big box home repair store, is one block away from the main street. Beautiful tree covered, snow capped mountains surround the town. There’s no recent sign of the ubiquitous logging.