The South Island

Picton

Picton is an unremarkable place, and if you see anyone singing its praises in more than modest terms, it's probably because they have been seasick on the Cook Straits, and after that any piece of dry land seems quite marvellous.

It is, however, the gateway to other lovely places, such as the Marlborough Sounds (a wild, remote and beautiful region, that also happens to produce very good wine indeed), not to mention the entire South Island.

We stayed at a legendary backpackers called the Villa - not having had any particular expectations (we had stayed at some dumps in the North Island, and our sole hope and prayer for any new place at this point was that it be free from Horrible German Boys) we were completely blown away. It had a spa pool, a murderous cat, and free breakfast, and we nearly burst into tears at the sight of little stalks of fresh lavender, inserted into the carefully folded towels on our beds. (Not at the lavender, the TOWELS. Oh, sweet saviour, towels! The care! The attention! The fluffiness!) We had to go have a beer to get over this emotional interlude.

Wairau Valley

Apart from the not inconsiderable thrills this situation offered (Selina quickly earned the nickname Pick-a-Lane Packard), there were lots of lovely things to explore in this area, where much of the land is part of one National Park or another.

Wairau River, and that thing in the background could be Mount Patriarch.

Hey, missy, you're kind of in the way of the Outstanding Natural Beauty.

Nelson Lakes

After the little town of St Arnaud (a suitably alpine name), the road starts climbing into the mountains, skirting the northern border of the Nelson Lakes National Park. This is Lake Rotoiti, a blue gem set amid beech forest and snowy mountain peaks. Unfortunately it was overrun by Japanese tourists, who show an astounding lack of appreciation for the silence and grace of nature, and feel the need to chatter loudly and play boom boxes wherever they go. As you can see, though, it wasn't enough to stop us grinning like maniacs.

Ah, that's better. Man, I wish I had a canoe.

The Buller River

This is New Zealand's longest swing bridge, 110 metres. We declined the offer of being strapped to a chair to fly across next to the bridge (like the person on the left in the picture) since the five-second ride that would have afforded us didn't seem worth $25, and walked.

When the river flooded in 1994, the water came all the way up the cliffsides in the background, and the bridge has been washed away a couple of times. Impressive.

Selina was not at all freaked out by the 80-foot drop into the wild, icy rapids.

The West Coast

We arrived at the coast just in time to watch the sunset from the cliffs of Cape Foulwind, which faces straight west. The town of Westport is not pretty, and moreover, it is laid out on a grid, which should be illegal, particularly when it is dark and there is no street lighting. Such language has probably not been heard in Westport since the lawless goldmining days.

We had just about accepted the idea of parking somewhere and sleeping in the car, when we found the Trip-Inn - an amazing, grand colonial villa, complete with crazy owner. We had an impromptu coming-of-age celebration for Selina, who turned 33 that very day, with burgers and beer at what seemed like the only bar in town. Despite the great occasion, we still didn't manage to stay up beyond 10 pm. Party on.