Hi there
A few weeks ago I was in historical gold-mining Arrowtown, South Island. Leaning heavily on my hiking stick, I hobbled into a shop that was aimed at high-end tourists, especially those searching for merino and possum products.
"And how has your morning been?" asked the shop assistant dutifully.
" Terrible, " I said.
"That's good," she said.
Huh...?
... I promise shop assistants in New Zealand aren't all robots.
Hi there
Well, here I was, staying at the Lake Hawea Hotel, with nothing to do. Okay, I appreciate that millions of people consider sitting on a hotel balcony, looking out at the delightful scenery, with a book on your lap (in my case, make that a Kindle audio book), and a drink beside you (Diet Coke), would have the makings for a pleasant holiday. But it just wasn't me. My leg was hurting every time I moved it, and I was so upset that I couldnt go hiking or swimming. On my last day in Hawea, I couldn't stand it any longer, so I went through the pain of getting into my car and driving the fifteen minutes to Lake Wanaka.
It was a beautiful, hot (27c) day, and people were kayaking on the lake. I jealously fumed that I wasnt kayaking on the lake with them. Another item on my 'want' list that I couldn't do.
Still, I had the most delicious lamb shank lunch at the Waterbar restaurant. Thank goodness the restaurant had a ramp for me to use to get up to their front door.
Except for me glancing at the kayakers as I drove into the village, I didn't go over to the lake; it would have been too much of an effort to cross the road. I did sit outside the Visitor Information Office and read the list of tours one could go on. Sigh, every one included me having to step down, or step over something, or climb steps, or hike up a hill, or, well, you get the idea .... grizzle, grizzle, moan, moan, feeling sorry for myself....
The next day I drove the couple of painful hours to Queenstown where I would be staying for a week. I am very lucky that Manchester Unity of which I am a member, has holiday homes around New Zealand because Queenstown is a very-very-very expensive place (especially for kiwis) with accommodation for a single night in a basic-no-view no-frills studio motel room being about $NZ250. My MU holiday home is about $NZ460 a week.
above: view from the balcony of my Queenstown two bedroom unit.
I arrived in Queenstown on a Friday. That night I should have been going up the gondola to a buffet dinner at the Skylne Stratosphere restaurant but had cancelled because I didn't think I could get on and off the ever-moving gondola with style, elegance, or footwork. From my unit balcony, I could see the gondolas going up and down the hill to the restaurant, and that annoyed me..
I did manage to drive the half-hour over to Arrowtown and have lunch at the New Orleans pub, a roast lamb lunch that was so divine that I was in dining heaven. I was in the heart of sheep country so naturally there would be lamb on menus. But even though I was in Arrowtown I couldn't walk my favourite loop track so more resentment and frustration coming from me in waves. Neither could I walk the lovely Queenstown-to-Frankton track.
But the most heartbreaking part of my whole trip was not being able to go on the Glenorchy Paradise Ziplines. They are just out of Queenstown and the Neon streaming show "Men in Kilts - New Zealand", showed the two actors from "Outlander" doing the 8 ziplines. Between craggy peaks, over waters, across open land... I so wanted to do those ziplines. It was the main reason I'd booked to holiday in the South Island. I was desperate to do them. It was my reason for living (okay, who is being a bit dramatic, here?)
Apparently, there would be what was described as an easy to moderate 500 metre walk on a bush track to get to the first zipline. I presumed there would be a step or two going up to each stage of the operation? And also a walk down a hill at the finish.
I wouldn't be able to do it.
The actual gondolas were new, with a lot of seats (maybe eight ?).
"I don't know if I can get into a gondola," I whispered to the guy standing by to help people like me.
"You can do it," he said. And he gripped the gondola to slow it down on the pulley/rotater/cable thingee that keeps gondolas continually moving in a huge loop from the bottom of the hill to the very top and back again. Wow, I'd met my own personal Hercules. I stumbled into the gondola.
Within a couple of seconds, a father of a family unit of four yelled out to me, "Can we share this gondola with you,". He made to step forward.
"No!" I felt terrible as he backed off in confusion. Goodness, I was so rude...
At the top of the gondola, after one of the workers helped me out of that always-moving cab, I stayed back and waited for the family to get off the next gondola.
"I'm so sorry I barred you," I said. "But. I'm injured-" I waggled my hiking stick as evidence. " With the four of you and with how slow I am, I may not have had time to get out. I might have ended up back at the bottom of the hill."
"That's okay," he said. "We understand."
above: me in a gondola cab. Flying solo. Evening
The buffet meal was lovely. I had four creme brulees, perhaps the main reason I always try to get to this buffet whenever I'm in Queenstown. Unfortunately, there was a lot of construction going on outside so visitors couldnt do the nice hill climb at the top of the gondola. Oh, and here's a side-bar (or a middle-of-a-paragraph-bar), there is road construction everywhere in Queenstown. It's been going on for a couple of years and will go on for a few more years. If I come back to the area again in the near future (I've got to do those ziplines), I think I would stay half-an-hour away at Arrowtown and just go over to Queenstown when I felt like it.
The following day, I got priority boarding on the plane taking me home to Wellington. The Air New Zealand pilot told us that the weather in Wellington was "horrendous". He followed up with, "With any luck, by the time we get there in an hour, it will only be ...awful."
It was a white-knuckle landing...
Hi there
Goodness knows where to start... Well... yesterday I returned from two weeks' holiday down the South Island of New Zealand.... I had been looking forward to this holiday for a whole year. There was so much I was planning to do . Unfortunately, three days before I was due to fly to Christchurch, I hurt the gastrocnemius calf muscle in my leg. I was in pain. My friends all shouted, "Cancel your holiday!" But, no, no, I'd had the gastrocnemius explosion (some people describe it 'like a firework) in my leg twice before. I was a pro at handling pain. I wanted my holiday.
There were so many things I intended to do -
. Climb Mt John at Tekapo - didn't end up doing
. Swim Lake Tekapo - did once, to my sorrow
. Swim Lake Hawea every day for five days - did once, to my sorrow
. Kayak at Lake Wanaka - didn't end up doing
. Buffet meal at top of the gondola ride, Queenstown - did do, eventually
. Do the multiple ziplines at Glenorchy (Queenstown area) - didn't end up doing
By the time I flew into Christchurch airport, every movement was hell on my leg. I'd hired a car to drive from Christchurch to Tekapo for a two night stay. Driving was okay, but getting in and out of that darn car turned out to be the curse of my entire holiday. You know those videos we've all seen of a silly dog trying to get a long horizontal stick through a narrow doorway? That was me, trying to get my leg into the car.
I had booked an en suite cabin at the Lakes Edge Holiday Park, right next to the start of the Mt John track. Wonderful view, but I couldn't appreciate it because I couldnt even get up the first of three steps to the cabin. And it was only about a hand's height. So much for climbing Mt John.....
above: view from my cabin over Lake Tekapo
But if I couldn't climb a mountain I would at least swim in Lake Tekapo -
To get to the lake I had to hobble and slide and lose my footing across a plethora of stones and pebbles and gravel to get to the water. "Ow, ow, ow, yipes...".
The return journey back to my car was even worse. I thought I would faint through the pain. But then I realised I'd left the car key on the water's edge, so I had to hobble back down again... And back to the car again. All the time I was slipping and sliding, and ending up deeper into the gravelly lake-edge pebbles. It was sort of like forcing my way through heavy deep treacle. Or quicksand.
But had I learnt my lesson? What do you think?
Two days later, I arrived at Lake Hawea, the jewel of my holiday. There is nothing really at the village of Lake Hawea, except a hotel where I stayed, and a cafe. The previous year I had called in to Lake Hawea for the day. I picked up a sparkly pebble from the beach (yes, yes, another pebble-y beach) and sat it on my kitchen window sill. Every time I hovered over the kitchen sink I thought "Nearly there, Lake Hawea is coming, wait till January ..."
I stayed at Lake Hawea Hotel for five nights. On that first day I hobbled, and limped, and cursed, and slipped down the pebbled bank to get to the water at Esplanade Beach. I was almost in tears. After my swim, and trying to get back up that bank, I couldn't do it. I really did cry, tears of frustration.
A woman who was sitting on the beach came to my aid. She asked her son to give me his hiking stick (I was now working with two hiking sticks, whoopee). The young guy carried my bag, and helped me up the stoney bank. And guess what - ? it turned out the woman was the neighbour of my best beach friend from Hataitai Beach. This woman, too, was on holiday. Talk about coincidences.
But because of two days of limping over stoney, pebble beaches my leg was shot... I had to stay in my hotel room for the next four days. I sat on the balcony and looked at the view which was lovely but didn't make up for losing out on all the swimming which was the reason I had booked for Lake Hawea.
above: Lake Hawea - a fave scene - from the balcony of my room at Lake Hawea Hotel. The view from Esplanade Beach is even better
Part II of the holiday from hell will be coming soon
Hi there
I'm never surprised when I visit a waterside holiday area and discover a cafe called either The Boathouse or The Boatshed. When the owners are naming their eateries don't they ever give thought to what a common, unoriginal, no-thought-involved name they've picked?
There are Boathouse and Boatshed cafes everywhere. Heck, in Nelson, The Boatshed and The Boathouse are only a two minute walk apart from each other, and even on the same side of the same road. Confusion much for customers?
The same goes for cafes with the name 'Relish'. If i come across another 'Relish', be it in Aotearoa-New Zealand or overseas, I swear you'll be seeing me standing in front of the place and stamping my foot.
I guess the owners of such cafes get a 'Eureka' moment that suddenly hits them and they shriek "I've got it!! - The Boathouse! And so original. No cafe owner - occupying an old boathouse, like us- will ever have thought of the name!" .
Hi there
Years and years ago the toilet door got jammed on my international flight. It took a while for my hammering on the door and my shouting to draw attention to the predicament.
The air hostess (yes, that's what she was called and there was no such person as an 'air host') tried tugging the door from the other side. I could hear hasty whispers and she was joined by a couple of others. The toilet door was pulled, tugged, violated.
Finally, I guessed that a conger line must have been formed to do the deed, everyone digging their heels in and working as a team - I fell out with a stumble into the plane's aisle.
Lots of passengers clapped. And someone shouted, "Encore"....
Hi there
I've shown enough photos of Hataitai Beach over the years so, by now, you will know that I don't like swimming where there are big breaker waves and fierce water. This is why I like Hataitai Beach. I can easily swim back and forth across the bay, like lengths at a pool. When I'm in fierce water, it's impossible to swim so all I can do is dive-bomb into each approaching wave, then hope to the heavens that I have time to stand up and re-group before the next huge wave appears behind me with the full intent of mowing me down.
Much as I like dive-bombing into waves and get that wonderfully euphoric feeling as I'm swimming under water, there is still always the small niggle that I could drown. A few years ago at Ohope Beach, a wave threw me aside with such strength that my leg twisted under me and my boogie board broke right in two.
Hi there
Coat-hangers are essential. I suppose we could use hooks in a wardrobe but they're not as versatile as coat-hangers. With hooks, there'd only be room for about a dozen dresses. Or a dozen jackets (6 jackets if they're of the puffer variety).
With coat-hangers, one can cram in ... a lot!
I certainly try to cram in a lot. And this is why I dislike coat-hangers. I have so many clothes on clothes-hangers that my clothes are all jammed into my wardrobe like sardines. Clothes often slip off the hangers as I'm rummaging through, trying to decide what to wear. Handbags and shoulderbags that have their straps dangling down from the shelf above, get tangled up in coat-hangers. When I pull out something on a coat-hanger, down comes a slew of handbags and shoulderbags as well as, perhaps, a couple of coat-hangered dresses that have also got tangled up in the pull-out.
I've tried many times to tuck the straps of shoulderbags and handbags away from the edge of the shelf but no, the sly little bags still manage to dangle their straps down. Maybe it's the wardrobe monster that resides there, a left-over from childhood dreams? He-he, I have my revenge on that wicked child, Lorraine....
I do have many, many hangers. I guess you could call them my heritage. The hangers belonged to my mother, some of them even from my grandmother. They're all wood, and make me remember actress Joan Crawford who got into a maniacal tizzy when she caught her daughter, Christina, using wire hangers. Years later, and because of the book and movie "Mommy Dearest" about Crawford, a friend confided to me that this was how she learnt what type of hangers she should buy.
I've found out a lot recently about Swedish Death Cleaning where a person should declutter before they die. Maybe reducing my clothes is what I should do? I mean, I really should get rid of my bop skirt from the fifties, the one that has Elvis Presley's name lovingly embroidered by 13 year old me all over the material? And what about my elephant pants from the hippie era? Or my flapper dresses from the art deco weekends over in Napier? If I just had a few things in my wardrobe - not many bags, not many dresses not many tops, not many jackets, definitely not many bags - my life could be so much more enhanced?
Will I? - should I? - get rid of clothes that I havent worn in years but clothes that stlll give me beautiful nostalgic memories when I paw through my wardrobe....?
Um... Er....
No! Case closed.
Or should I say 'Wardrobe Closed'? Slam!!
