Part One: Blenheim to Christchurch

I spent three weeks in Blenheim, which is the longest I’ve spent in any location for the past three months.  I was happy to be done working 12 hour shifts in the wine bottling factory, so I decided to make Friday night a celebration/farewell to my friends and the Marlborough wine country.

Unfortunately, almost all of my friends had to work on Saturday, so the hostel was pretty low key.  I had a few beers and played my last games of ping-pong and pool, and at about 9:00, everyone started to wander into the TV room or off to bed.  I ended up chatting with two guys from Paris, a few Germans, and a group of friends from the Czech Republic.  They were all in the same jovial mindset I was in, so we shared bottles of wine and practiced our Czech and at about midnight, a few of us decided to go out on the town in Blenheim again.

Jean-Marie and Arnold, the Parisians, and Chrstopher a tall blonde German, and I decided to go back to Paddy Barry’s Irish Pub for a few pints.  It was pretty dead, so we moved on to The Loft, the saddest dance club I’ve ever been in, but decided to make the best of it there and tore up the dance floor by ourselves.  At 3:00AM, the club closed and we stumbled back to the hostel, Arlnold spinning the whole way home and Christopher walking hunched over like Frankenstein’s monster…when we got home, we polished off the last of the wine and I collapsed into my bed after another long, fun day.

The next morning, I packed up and said my goodbyes and around noon, I hit the road towards Christchurch, where I would be meeting some friends at the airport.  The road out of Blenheim was a pleasant winding road through the wine country, over rocky rivers and past acre after acre of rolling vineyards.  After about an hour, the road curved sharply to reveal the South Island’s east coast and a grand view to the Pacific.

For the next hour, the road hugged the coastline and the further south I went, the closer the mountains seemed to get.  Eventually, I was squished between empty sandy beaches and looming granite cliffs, and I realized that this was perhaps the most scenic road I’ve been on yet in New Zealand.  The road wound impossibly tight, with precipitous cliffs rising around every bend, and I was close enough to the ocean that the crashing surf sprayed on my windshield.  I also encountered a new road sign: “Seal Crossing”…I was so close the the rocky habitat of the New Zealand Fur Seal that they occasionally wandered up onto the road.  I blasted my music and drove sped around the bends pretending I was in a spy movie.

Oh, and this wasn’t a scenic detour or back road…I was traveling on the main north-south thoroughfare through New Zealand, the same highway that I’ve been on since I left Cape Reinga at the top of the North Island.  I love this country.

Eventually, I reached the town of Kaikoura, a pleasant, touristy establishment in a sheltered cove that caters almost exclusively to the whale-watching and dolphin-swimming industry.  The cover of my guide book is from Kaikoura, with a large whale fluke in front of snow-capped mountains that rise out of the sea.  Unfortunately, when I was there it was too cloudy to see the peaks so I had to just imagine that they were impressive.

I drove to the end of the peninsula, where there is a seal colony, and considered going for a stroll along the beach, but by that point, the previous night’s festivities started to pay their toll on my well-being and I decided to take a nap.

After my refreshing snooze, I got back on the road to Christchurch.  I soon reached the northern part of the Otago region, the largest farming area on the South Island, and saw the same rolling, sheep covered hills I’d seen on the North Island.  Otago was a bit different though…bigger, vaster, and much less populated.  I had the feeling I was the only one on the entire island as I drove down the highway.

I got to Christchurch around 6:00PM and had a few hours before I had to get to the airport, so I parked my car and strolled through the city.  At first, I was very turned off by the South Island’s largest city and the third largest in NZ.  It felt like a medium sized town, and it was empty.  But as I got out of the business district and more into the historical center, my feelings started to change.  This is by far the most British feeling town I’ve ever been in.  More so than London.  And even though I’ve never been to any other towns in the UK, this was exactly what I’d imagine they’d be like. Britishy.

There was a central square with an old cathedral, and a few nice looking museums, but the highlight is the huge botanical garden, complete with a lazy, swan-filled river lined with willow trees and park benches.  Unfortunately, as I got closer to the gardens, it appeared that everyone was leaving and when I got to the gate, I was told it was closed for the day.  No worries.  I wandered through the narrow cobblestone streets and down pedestrian shopping streets, crossing back and forth across the path of the city’s authentic trolley, which still operates throughout downtown.  I only had an hour or so in the city, but I got a positive vibe, and I’d like to come back and spend more time there.

Also, I happened to run into Roberto, my Argentinian roommate from the hostel in Blenheim, who was in Christchurch for the Pearl Jam concert (I know, I know I should have gone too… but tickets were a bit beyond my meager price range).  We laughed at the fact that in the third-largest city in New Zealand, we could bump into someone we know on the street.  That’s just kind of the way this country is.

Around 8:00PM, I headed out to the airport and met Todd and Troy Dubenezic, two of my former coworkers from DC who were taking a two week vacation to Australia and New Zealand.  Todd and Troy are brothers who went to school together, work together, and live together.  They are not twins, but they are might as well be. 

That being said, they are complete opposites.  Todd, who was my former boss, is a lenky, earthly guy with long hair and a glowing smile.  He teaches yoga professionally in his free time.  Troy is clean cut, with a shaved head and expensive cologne.  He is the only one at the company who voluntarily wore a suit every day to work.  He is an avid photographer and has a pilot’s license.  I worked with Troy as a DVD author and video compressionist, and he is the most thorough person I’ve ever met.  They are both vegan and they listen almost exclusively to trance music.

I worked very closely with Todd and Troy for two years, and I got to know both of them well.  We shared interests in snowboarding and backpacking, and the three of us had planned to hike the Milford Track together way back in July, before I had even purchased my plane ticket to New Zealand. 

When I picked them up at the airport, they both looked exactly the same, and it was obvious that they had gotten some sun while traveling Aussie.  They jumped in the car and we immediately began to plan the next few days.  After living on the road and having mostly fleeting relationships with other travelers, I was happy to be in the company of old friends.

That night we drove through the dark to the foothills of Mt. Hutt, a popular ski resort that was completely empty because it was out of season.  We stayed briefly in a nice hostel called the Redwood Lodge.

Part Two: Mount Cook and Queenstown

In the morning I chatted with the owner, an elderly Kiwi who reiterated my observations about the do-it-yourself nature of New Zealanders when she told me that she owns and maintains her own website.  I would have liked to stay and chat, but we had much to see, and we hit the road early.

That day we drove from Mt. Hutt through the rolling farmlands of Otago and into the alpine foothills of Mount Cook, the highest point in New Zealand.   We passed fields of wildflowers and long, glacial lakes that glowed a brilliant turquoise color.  These were the Southern Alps I came here to see…they were gnarly, rugged and snow-capped and the scenery looked more like Switzerland or Alaska then anywhere in NZ I’ve yet seen.

We arrived in Mt. Cook village and ate lunch at the Old Mountaineer’s Cafe and Bar, a cool little place that I hoped would be filled with bearded mountainmen, returning from weeks away in harsh alpine conditions to share beer and stories and head lice.  But alas, it was instead filled with a few groups of Japanese tourists and three hungry Americans.

After lunch, we went on a short hike through the Hooker Valley and saw the peak of Mount Cook, a few glaciers, and a roaring river.  It was very scenic, and I wanted to stay and camp, but we had to get going so I added the area to the top of my list of “Places in NZ to Return To Before Leaving the Country”.

After Mt. Cook village, we headed to Queenstown, the tourism capital of the South Island and the adventure capital of the world.  If you ever have any interest in sky diving, bungy jumping, jet boat riding, white-water rafting, mountain biking, canyoning, base jumping, or any other sort of activity where you succumb to the mercy of gravity for the sake of adrenaline, Queenstown is the place to be.

The town is a quintessential resort village, similar to Aspen or Chamonix…touristy but tasteful.  Robert Redford would like it here.  It sits at the south end of pretty Lake Wakatipu, with the huge snowcapped Remarkables rising from its shores, and loads of villas and condos peaking through the trees. 

It was nearly sunset when we arrived, and as Troy is a photographer, we were on a quest to find a good place to take some photos of the dropping sun.  We drove north of the city along the lake and pulled over at a small beach, where the sky slowly began to give us an array of nearly every color in the rainbow.  We stayed there for over an hour, and got some great photographs.  At 9:30PM, it still wasn’t completely dark, but we were famished, so we returned to the town and checked into our hotel.

We wandered through town a bit, although it was pretty dead on a Sunday night this early in the season.  We ended up eating at Fergburgers, a modern burger joint that serves massive patties (vegan ones too!) from 9AM -5AM every day.  I liked the place…and they were even playing trance music when we walked in, so the Dubie brothers liked it too.

Part Three: Te Anau and Milford Sound

The next day, we jumped in the car and took care of a few last minute trekking preparations before hitting the road from Queenstown to Te Anau and on to Milford Sound.  The drive was spectacular.  As we left Queenstown, we meandered through vast Middle Earth scenery that reminded me of pictures I’ve seen of Montana and Wyoming until we reached Te Anau, the town at the base of Lake Te Anau, the second largest lake in NZ and the start of our Milford Track the next day.

However, our plan was to continue on to the town of Milford Sound, the end of the Milford Track, to drop off the car so it would be waiting for us upon the completion of the trek.  The road to Milford was even more scenic.  It started out along the lake, but quickly cut over to the next valley, a wide glacial, U-shaped valley highlighted by a slow river with loads of wildflowers along its banks.  Then we hit the green beech forest, and began to climb until eventually breaking out of the treeline to spectacular alpine views.  Near the end, the road dissects a huge mountain via the Homer Tunnel, the steepest road tunnel I’ve ever driven through.  After making it down the intense grade, we were rewarded with spectacular views of the narrow Cleddau Canyon which took us to the even more spectacular Milford Sound.

We checked into the Milford Sound Lodge, a cool backpacker resort in the small village of Milford Sound and went immediately to the waterfront to capture the sunset.  Milford Sound is one of many glacial fjords in Fiordland National Park, but as it is the only one accessible by car, it is the most touristed.  And looking out over the water, I could see why.  In the distance, huge glacier-covered peaks rise thousands of feet out of the water, up nearly-vertical walls that are covered with green shrubs and waterfalls.  The highlight is Mitre Peak, 1692 meters high, with a distinctive canine-tooth profile that is extremely picturesque. 

Staring out over the water, watching the setting sun cast brilliant oranges and pinks on the snowy peaks, I realized that this was the New Zealand I wanted to come to.  This is the Promised Land I hoped to find.  I won’t be leaving this area any time soon.

I have just a few more things to add since my last post about my recent employment in the wine bottling factory in Blenheim.  First of all, if I haven’t emphasized this enough in the last entry…it sucks.  The reason this sucks is multifold:

1) Not working is much better than working. 

This one is self-explanatory.  I’ve spent the past two and half months traveling care-free without a job.  When the reality hits that I need money, it isn’t easy to get back into the real world.

2) MIgrant workers have no clout. 

I am completely at the mercy of my contractor, and when he doesn’t have work for me, I don’t have a job.  Things started out well, and I worked 12 hour shifts for the first three days of last week, but then I was no longer needed in the factory.  Since then, I’ve been working odd jobs for much shorter hours (5-8 a day).

Most of this non-factory time has been spent filling room-sized metal shipping containers floor to ceiling with cartons of wine.  Now this, I assure you, really sucks.  These cartons usually contain twelve bottles and weigh close to 40lbs.  Not extremely heavy, but as with throwing lambs over fences, do it long enough and your arms stop working.  And with a container of this size, it takes me hours of constant lifting to fill it.  Plus, my only company while I’ve been laboring has been John, the contractor who employs me, a decent Kiwi bloke, but we have very little in common and his vocabulary consists almost completely of short, harsh curse words muttered under his breath as he packs cartons of wine into the container.  It gets old after a few hours.

It has been exhausting work…and completely inconsistent.  So I never know if I have a job for the day until the night before. 

However, there are some benefits.  Working this job has meant that I’ve had to “settle down” in Blenheim, and I’ve found a hostel that offers accommodation for $125/week.  This has had multiple benefits.  After traveling for a few months, it is nice to have somewhat of a home.  Also, there are plenty of other people here in the same situation.  The majority of the guests are long term, seasonal employees who work in the vineyards or factories, and the place has an interesting feel that is one part International Dorm at a college campus and one part Steinbeckian Hooverville.  People contribute cost-cutting tips and the misery of the day’s work is shared by all around the TV.  But it is nice to actually be somewhere long enough to get to know people.

I’ve made friends with a number of Germans, a few French Canadians, a guy from Vermont, and a few Brazilians.  Also, I’ve found that the best way to learning to count in a new language is by playing ping pong and keeping track of the score in the native tongue of your opponent.  I’ve brushed up on my German and French, and learned how to count to 21 in Portuguese as well.  And I’ve rediscovered how much fun ping pong is…especially doubles.

Oh, and one more piece of good news. Pam, the fire-breathing floor manager at the factory is on holiday for the next week…so at least I have that going for me…

Today was my second day of real work since quitting my job at the beginning of September.  By real work, I mean work that I’m getting paid in a currency other than free-range sausages or sailing lessons.  I’ve spent the last two days working in a wine bottling factory in sunny Blenheim, New Zealand.

Working with wine all day long?  Sounds cool right? It isn’t really.

I woke up at 5:00 yesterday morning, unsure if I even had a job, but hopeful and desperate.  At 5:45, three other backpackers and I met a white van on the street (still dark out) where we were piled in like the migrant workers we were (or hoped to be).  We arrived at a large factory in time to start work at 6:00.  Before I could find the contractor who would be my employer, I was handed a broom and asked to sweep the floor of the warehouse by a pig-nosed lady with poorly-dyed red hair.

Pam, the floor manager, waddles like a duck when she walks.  She is barely five feet tall, and I’m pretty sure she has the ability to breathe fire.  Within two seconds of hearing her speak (more of a yell, really) I determined that Pam was the closest I’ll ever get to witnessing the human incarnation of a Tasmanian devil.

I spent an hour or so sweeping, still unsure if I was being paid for my time, before I finally met John, the contractor who would pay me.  He said it was no problem for me to work and that he would get the necessary paperwork for me later that day.

Relieved, I continued sweeping until Pam yelled for all of the migrant workers to assemble in front of her to receive instructions for the day. In total, there were about 12 backpackers, yawning and hungover, from an assortment of countries - USA, Germany, Czech Republic, Canada, Malaysia, and the Philippines.  We were told that we would be bottling, packaging, and pallet-loading Dog Point Pinot Grigio - a particularly expensive wine that sells for $35/bottle or so.  In other words, don’t drop anything.

While Pam was yelling this at us, I figured out who she reminded me of.  If you’ve ever heard the Pink Floyd song “We Don’t Need No Education”, you may recall a woman faintly yelling in the background at one point of the recording…sounding like something out of Oliver Twist.  This is Pam the floor manager. I also realized that this job is going to suck.  I decided that a fun way to pass time would be to see how much effort it will take to get Pam to smile.  I will woo her with friendliness…try to be the Betty Lou Who to this Grinch.  So far, I’ve been unsuccessful…

Anyhow, the She-Devil told me that I would be pulling unlabeled wines off of the assembly line, placing them neatly into a bin, and using a palate jack (kind of like a manual forklift) to move them over to another assembly line, which carries them into the machine that adds the labels.  Why they didn’t just hook the machines together was beyond me, but I didn’t complain, it was easy, mindless work and it would make the eleven hour shift go by quickly.

It was still a long day.  After a few hours of grabbing bottles of wine, four at a time, my pointer finger began to swell and develop blisters.  My lower back ached.  And my ears hurt from hearing the voice of Satan all day.  We were given a smoke break every three or four hours and 30 minutes for lunch, but the day still dragged on forever.  At 5:00pm, we were relieved by another shift of backpackers who would fulfill our duties into the night.  We were told to report back at the factory at 5:00 the next day.

After work, everyone in the hostel spent a few hours complaining about the job and watching The Simpsons, and around 7:30, people started going to bed.  I set my alarm for 4:00 AM and drifted to sleep around 9:30 or so, the sounds of wine bottles clanking and Pam’s fiery screams echoing in my mind.

Today, I had to work a full 12 hour shift.  Five to Five.  It was equally as mind-numbing and ego-deflating, but the hours are welcome.  And at $12.50/hour (minimum wage in NZ), I should be able to put a fair amount of cash into my account in the three weeks I plan to work.

I spent the day helping to load boxes onto palates.  Because of the level of automation, it is an easier job physically, but one that only involves two minutes of work every 15 minutes, meaning that most of my time was spent standing by idly…so the day went excruciatingly slow.  At 5:00, the night shift came to relieve us again…and I was disappointed that a steam whistle didn’t signify the shift change.  I don’t even get a punch card…

After work, the highlight of my night was cheap pizza night at Domino’s - $7.50 for a pie.

And now it is 9:42 PM, sadly already well past my bedtime.  Good night faithful readers.