Awoke to sunlight streaming in our hotel room, as always, we beat the buzz of the alarm.
Our rental van company was picking us up at 0900, so we took long showers and packed. Made our way down to the lobby at 0845 and waited. Speaking of hotels, this one featured a card box just inside the door, where you had to place your door key card; this allowed the electricity in the room to be turned on, in effect acting like a master switch on a circuit breaker. Cool idea except it took us a few minutes to figure out what was wrong with the power.
Internet access is rare down here, there are still many internet café’s where you have to pay to go online, even our hotel charged us to plug in (yep…plug in-no wireless), so the updates may be a little inconsistent. I also have no Photoshop access, so until I can download gimp, the pics’ll be full size. Beware when clicking if you’re on a slow connection.
The power is 220volt, with an odd socket. We’d bought a voltage converter, but it made a horrendous noise when we tried to charge the laptop. Oops. Should have read the instructions, the cheap little converter has a little sticker stating it was NOT for sensitive electronic devices. Oh well, the inverters we bought to run off the van’s 12 volt work excellent. As an aside, 220 v really heats up an iron quickly. As in, melt the silk-screened graphics off your shirt quickly. Always learning.
Auckland also has a “White House”, it’s a strip club with a brothel next door….
Just sat down on the lobby couches when our driver pulled up. Thanking us for being a little early, he continued on to his second and final pickup, two German couples. As we drove the 20 minutes north, the driver gave us fairly detailed hints and tips about traveling the islands, having been a tour guide of sorts for years. We dutifully wrote his suggestions down, unfortunately not paying much attention to the driving/traffic.
They drive on the left, here, you see.
The steering wheel is on the left. You shift with your left hand, but the gears are the standard “H” pattern. Most distressing of all, though, is that the driver to your right has the right of way. Yeah.
Say you’re waiting to turn left. You’re in the leftmost lane, so the turn is easy, but no.
Just like a right hand turn at home. Imagine that you’ve got to yield to an oncoming car turning left that’s intending to go down the same street. Yeah.
Here in N.Z., that’s how it is. Fun. Also, roundabouts/rotaries abound here. Try reprogramming your brain to turn clockwise around these at 40mph.
So, got to the rental place, signed a bunch of paperwork (including insurance….Kiwi’s don’t need to have insurance.), and went over the camper. Went over the systems, the expectations on return.
New. Nice. I haven’t looked under the hood yet, but it’s a turbocharged diesel ford, running a six speed manual transmission. Frankly, I’m impressed at the pickup the thing has once you hear the low whistle from the motor. Boosts well from about 2000 to 3500rpms. Short throws, nice clutch, sixth feels like an overdrive for easy cruising, easily pacing at the 100 km/hr limit. (Denise say’s: Blah, blah, blah and sorry to all my friends who had to read this boring part of the text. The van is pretty. Nuf said.)
Everything in order, we received a few folding chairs free, unpacked the luggage (they store your empty suitcases for you), got a large amount of paperwork regarding maps, campgrounds, etc., and set out to find provisions.
Made it to the highway, chanting the mantra, “keep left, keep left”. Worked our way to the recommended grocery store, filled up our fridge (runs off solar panels on the roof of the van if the battery gets low) and shelves, then turned around to return to Auckland to pick up the mountain bikes we’d bought yesterday.
Auckland. The biggest city in N.Z where 1/3 of all Kiwi‘s live. In a completely unfamiliar vehicle.
We made it with only one honk. Note, if you happen to stall a KEA campervan in the middle of a busy city street, apparently you have to turn the key completely off, wait a second, then attempt a restart. Just so you know. Parked at the bike shop, picked up some gear, loaded the bikes, and jumped back on the highway heading north. Finally getting the feel for the driving.
Posing with the whip…
We’d been told that once out of the city, traffic was sparse, it ended up being true. We discussed how far to go, as we’d had a fairly long day getting everything together, and stressful with the driving as a newbie. Warning signs roadside are punctuated by a huge flourescent, retro reflective exclamation point…
Not a bad spot to stop for some lunch….
We had to stop to get a pic of the place bearing our homeland’s name…
Lots of one-way bridges, the sign tells you which direction has to yield first. This one has a short red arrow on our side of the road, so we have to give way. Works better than you’d think.
Russell on the coast was to be our destination. Two options… a ferry ride, or a long twisty road along the coast. Hmmm…
The road was sublime. Tiny. Curving up and down lush hillsides, opening up occasionally to provide a panoramic view of the coast, rolling hills, islands in the distance. Rain squalls and sun breaks fought for our attention, brilliant rainbows followed us, almost close enough to touch. (Denise says: I danced with a leprechaun.)
Stopped at a small turnout, the trees were virtually huge ferns, very prehistoric looking.
Thick greenery, hills either completely obscured or barren, shorn clean down to short bright grass and terraced by the thousands of sheep and cows grazing the flanks. (Denise says: Michelle remember the sheep?)
66 kilometers. Doesn’t sound like much. It took 2 hours. The road was serpentine, I was wishing for a motorcycle. Pristine pavement. 15 mph blind corners, crests where the van gets light, impressive banked sections cut deep into the bright red dirt.
Miles and miles. My shoulders getting tired, the light fading to gold, then that odd long twilight. The headlights became a necessity for the final 10km, we finally reached the campground at our destination.
We pulled up to see a “CLOSED” sign on the door, It was 2010 (they all use military time here), the hours were 8-8 on the little sign. Crap.
Pulling closer, we saw a woman behind the counter, who took pity on us, booking us in and laughing about our adventures on the road. She herself said she’d only taken that way once before, and not in a campervan.
Backed into the posh campsite, set up for the night, cracked a cold beer… a “black Mac”,
a dark one from Mac’s brewery in Nelson, 4.8 % alcohol. Nice. The beers here also have a different top, almost like the ring pulls of soda cans years ago, only with a plastic cap liner under. Easy to pop, no muss. Good idea.
Typing this note as we lay in the silence, snug and comfortable after a long day.
Goodnight.
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