Of Wine and Walks

It seems I was unfair in a previous post to this motel’s wi-fi. I told you it was lame because it takes so long to load pictures that I’ve just given up. Roslyn mentioned this issue to Vanessa, who can do no wrong in my book. She said even she was having the same problem, and that the cause isn’t the wi-fi itself. It’s the Chinese.

Australia and New Zealand are crowded with Chinese tourists at this time of year the way Florida is crowded with Midwesterners in February. The reason is the Chinese New Year, which occurs in early February most years. Vanessa explained that Chinese workers get two weeks off for their lunar new year, and a lot of places close up shop for that fortnight. With worker wages rising in recent years, families that used to just go visit family now can afford to travel. And they travel to here. In droves. Vanessa said someone from China called her asking for accommodations for ten people, and if she didn’t have several rooms, they would gladly all crowd into just one room. She declined. Like every place else I’ve seen here, she has no vacancies.

And with so many people here and all of them connected to the wi-fi, it slows to a crawl. We leave Queenstown Friday morning, and I don’t expect an improvement in my internet service before then. First world problem.

It was a lovely, sunny day today. We drove up to a charming old community near here called Arrowtown. It was a gold mining town 150 years ago. Now it’s a few quaint streets you can walk about. We came, we walked, we drove to the Gibbston Valley Winery about 15 minutes away. Our tour guide was Lindsay. She grew up on the Jersey side of Philly, worked in the wine industry in the U.S. for a time, and then came here on a work visa to spend a year at Gibbston Valley. It’s a small operation; they don’t export. But their Pinot Noir won some big international prize in 2014 that left the French none too pleased. We saw the vineyard, went into their wine cave, and got to taste four varieties. I thought they were very nice. Full disclosure, I know as much about wine as I know about Polish naval history, which is nothing.

Later in the afternoon, we walked the entire lakefront of Queenstown. This is such a beautiful little town, even when Chinese New Year roughly doubles its population.

Dinner tonight was a burger at the World Bar. Vanessa, in whom I have complete and total faith, told us it was MUCH better than FergBurger. Patties made from fresh-ground beef and buns baked on premises. It was, indeed, a delicious burger. But FergBurger is plenty good, too.

Our plans for tomorrow are up in the air because the forecast says rain. Queenstown is the kind of place where everything there is to do is outside. So we’ll see.

Wanaka, Milford and Luggage!

I didn’t blog yesterday out of extreme frustration, which I’ll get to later. We had a lovely day yesterday. We drove about an hour and a quarter north to the beautiful lake town of Wanaka (accent on the first syllable). We got some excellent advice at the information office there. The extremely patient and helpful Hil told us the best hiking trail, she recommended a water taxi ride on the lake,and she even made some calls to help confirm why we should not plan a trip to Dunedin, a coastal city about three and a half hours away.

We hiked along the Clutha River for an hour or so, then drove to the marina. That’s where we got on a small boat with a twin-engine outboard motor for the half-hour ride up to Mou Waho island. We saw native flightless birds, the Buff Weka. We also hiked to up to a lookout atop a big hill, which gave us a view of a lake on this island in the lake. Gorgeous! I apologize for not posting any pictures of these adventures, but the wi-fi here is so lame; it would take all night to load.

We got back to Queenstown late in the afternoon, giving me plenty of time to make more frustrating phone calls to the people supposedly getting me reunited with my lost luggage. The airline baggage people assured me the bag had arrived at the airport on a flight that landed at 3:30 that afternoon. So why wasn’t it at my hotel? I went to the airport looking for it. All the Virgin Australia people had already gone home for the night after their last flight left a few hours before. Nobody else at the airport could help me. Nobody I reached on the phone could help, either. When I told all this to Vanessa, who runs this motel with her brother Hartley and their parents, she was so incensed that she promised to make it her mission to get my bag back. I was even more pissed because the next day we were heading out at 7 a.m. for an all-day excursion to Milford Sound.

“You go enjoy Milford Sound,” Vanessa instructed me. “Don’t worry about your luggage. I promise you I’ll either have your luggage or a thousand-dollar gift card from Virgin waiting for you when you get back.” She even loaned me one of her dad’s jackets; knowing I’d need one at Milford Sound.

I slept well, knowing Vanessa was on the case.

Just after 7 this morning, we were lining up to board a nice bus for the trip to Milford Sound, on the west coast of the South Island. It’s one of the places everyone who comes here goes to see—probably the most famous destination in New Zealand. We saw about a dozen other tour buses along the five-plus hour drive there. We had a wonderful driver/guide, Eric. He was funny and knowledgeable and informative; he made the time fly even if the bus couldn’t.

Milford Sound isn’t actually a sound; those are made by rivers, Eric said. Milford Sound is a fjord because it was made by a glacier, and it’s one of the five fjords in Fjordlands National Park. So how did it get misnamed? Turns out the first White explorer to find it named it for his hometown in Wales, Milford Haven. But Captain Cook, perhaps the best-known and most prolific explorer of the South Pacific, apparently believed only he should get to name places. So he changed Milford Haven to Milford Sound. For the record, the Maori people who lived here for millennia before any white people showed up, have always called it Piopiotahi

By any name, it’s one of wettest places on earth. Milford Sound gets 252 inches of rain a year. And it’s much cooler there than on the other side of the mountains that form the fjord’s eastern border. It wasn’t raining hard on our boat ride, just enough to make the jacket necessary. Thank you, Vanessa! The boat ride through the Fjord to the mouth of the Tasman Sea lasted about an hour and 45 minutes. We saw fur seals and lots of great waterfalls. It was similar to what you see sailing up Alaska’s inside passage.

While on the ride home, at about 5:15 p.m. local time, my cell phone range. It was a representative of Virgin Australia and the Queenstown Airport. She had my bag, was about to clear it through customs, and was I still at the same hotel? She would send it right over to the hotel. I called the hotel to give them a head’s up. Vanessa’s mom was thrilled to get the news. She told me Vanessa had called people at the airport today and “kicked butt.” I don’t doubt it.

The bus dropped us off where it had picked us up, in the middle of town. We got gelato for dinner (!) and walked back to our room, where my luggage was waiting. I almost excited about wearing different clothes tomorrow. It’s the little things, am I right?

Twisting Roads and Big Burgers

On advice of our friendly innkeeper Hartley, we made the short drive up to a hiking spot called Bob’s Cove. Bob wasn’t there, but some pretty views were. Unfortunately, the wi-fi here is awful; loading a picture takes more than 15 minutes, and I’m not that patient. But the waters of Lake Wakatipu are the same blue-green brilliance we’ve seen in other lakes formed by glaciers, Think Lake Louise, only bigger.

We drove along the lake the 30 miles up to the next town. The longest straightaway on that drive is about 50 yards. This did not deter some of the local drivers, who seemed to think they were on the Formula 1 circuit.

Safely back in Queenstown, we went for a late lunch/early dinner at the one place everybody who comes here seems to know and love, FergBurger. The line is usually out the door and half-way down the block. But at 3:30, it was only about a 20 minute wait. And then about 30 minutes more before the food was ready. The place doesn’t seat more than 15 people, and there are only about a dozen choices on the menu. And yet the lines are long and constant. The burgers are huge and delicious. We’re here for a few more days, and I won’t be surprised if we go back there again.

Back at the motel after dinner, I finally got through to the baggage claim people in Auckland. The nice lady assured my bag had arrived in Queenstown, and should be delivered soon. Three hours later I called back to ask where my bag might be, as we’re only about 20 minutes from the tiny airport. Well, they couldn’t get through on the phone and now Queenstown airport is closed for the night. Tomorrow morning for sure, she said.

It’s now tomorrow morning, and I’m waiting and hoping. We’re leaving soon for our day’s activities. Maybe my stuff will be here when I get back. I’ll let you know.

These things happen

Sometimes you’re traveling and everything goes off without a hitch. Some other times are like yesterday. We were standing outside our hotel in Adelaide at 4:20 a.m. waiting for our ride to the airport for our 6:05 a.m. flight to Brisbane. Roslyn checked an app on her phone and discovered our flight had been cancelled. Bad weather in Brisbane had prevented the flight from getting out. I started working the phones, hoping Virgin Australia could get us on another flight. But no. They couldn’t get us to Queenstown until the next day.

By this time, we’re at the airport. We get a seat in the check in area, and I start calling our travel agency contacts in Australia while Roslyn calls are travel agent back in the US, where it’s mid-afternoon the day before. About 30 minutes go by, and I get a call from the travel agency (their Toronto office!). She hasn’t been able to find us a flight, but she suggests I go find a gate agent and see if he or she can put us on another airline.

I find gate agent Brett. He is sympathetic. He makes a call. No soap. Can’t get us on another airline out of Adelaide. But give him a few minutes to make another call. OK. A few minutes go by.

“Do you have all your bags with you?” he asks.

“Yes, right there,” I reply, pointing to our spot about 20 steps away.

“Come on then,” he commands.

He tags our bags, ushers us through security, and puts us on a cart for a ride to the gate. Brett, gate agent and miracle worker, has found a way to get us and another couple with the same problem on a flight to Melbourne. From there we’ll fly to Auckland, and from Auckland to Queenstown. We’ll arrive about four hours later than originally planned, but who cares?

The first flight takes less than two hours. The second flight takes about four. And because it’s a long flight, they serve lunch; just like airlines in the U.S. used to do.

We land in Auckland and go through the process of clearing customs. I spot Roslyn’s suitcase right away. Where’s mine? It’s not there. Roslyn, who’s operating on about two hours of sleep, starts to lose it. One of the crew members from our flight is nearby getting her bags and sees Roslyn. She rushes up to ask what’s wrong and how can she help. She directs us to the baggage office. There, the nice folks at the desk find my bag. It’s still in Melbourne. They’ll get it brought over on next flight and delivered to our hotel in Queenstown, probably tomorrow. Well alright then.

We flew on to Queenstown, which is spectacularly beautiful. I got a NZ sim card for my phone, we picked up our rental car, and found our hotel with no trouble. Got settled and strolled into town. It reminds me of Banff; not just physically, but also in that all they young people working in the restaurants and shops have come here from somewhere else.

We crashed early, and got a good night’s sleep. Hoping for a fun Sunday some good pictures to share later today. Even though Queenstown is more than a thousand miles closer than Sydney to the west coast, it’s two hours later here. We’re now 18 hours ahead of ET. Our longitude here is 168 degrees east; we’re almost at the International Date Line!

Half-way

Picked up at our hotel at 7:25 and on the 8:30 ferry from Kangaroo Island to the mainland. For about 10 minutes while on board and waiting to leave plus the entire 45 minute trip, we lived the scene from Annie Hall, the one where Annie and Alvy are waiting in line at the movies and someone trying hard to sound smart and impress a girl is just spouting off like a fool. In our case, it was a fellow from Canada, talking at a German woman on matters from automobiles to nationalism to the Holocaust (lots of lies and exaggerations, he said) to the Jewish cabal controlling so much of the world to plots by Big Oil and Big Pharma to control our health care. I couldn’t take a reading, but I’m pretty sure Roslyn’s blood pressure went up to about 240 over 160 at one point.

Because this was really happening and not part of a movie, there was no expert I could pull from the wings to shut this guy up. We decided not to give any additional fuel to his fire by engaging with him. I feared we’d have to endure another two hours of his ranting, when he boarded the bus we were on heading back into Adelaide. Mercifully, no one sat next to him, and he was quiet the entire ride back.

We were picked up from the bus by a driver, who took our bags and asked me what I thought of Donald Trump.

“I wish I could leave him here with you,” I said.

“I ask all the Americans I drive what they think of him,” he said matter-of-factly. “None of them like him.”

Quickly settled back at our hotel, we walked the 15 minutes to the Central Market for lunch and to buy muffins for tomorrow’s breakfast. We’ll be up and on our way to the airport before dawn tomorrow. Final destination: Queenstown, New Zealand, and the second half of our trip.

I can tell you most sincerely that I’ve been looking forward to visiting Australia for many years, and it exceeded by expectations.

The friendliest people I’ve found. I thought everyone would greet me with a “G’day!” But I only heard that once or twice. The standard greeting from people of all ages and in all situations is, “How ya goin’?” Depending on how thick the accent, it can sound like “Hah ya goin’? or “High ya goin’?” or “Hay ya goin’?” I heard them all.

The standard replies to a “Thank you” are “No worries,” or “That’s all right.”

Food in restaurants is more expensive here than in the U.S. But tipping isn’t expected. At many casual restaurants, you sit down, look over the menu, then go up to the bar to order your meal.

The biodiversity here amazes me. So many colorful birds as common as pigeons. Kangaroos and wallabies all over the place. Adelaide is capital of the state of South Australia. Almost nothing is built out of wood here, because the termites are so ferocious. We saw termite nest shaped like domes, three feet high. Utility poles are made out of concrete and steel.

We figured this would be a once-in-a-lifetime trip, because it’s 19 hours of flying and expensive. And it may well be. But it’s worth the time and the expense, and I’d gladly come back here again some day. Good on ya, Australia.

A Taste of Honey

Our first activity on our last day on Kangaroo Island was a visit to Clifford’s, where they keep bees, bottle the honey, and use the honey to make all sorts of edibles. The chocolate-covered honeycomb was good; the honey ice cream, not so much. I”m sorry to say. Cool fact about the honeybees on Kangaroo Island: they’re all from Liguria, Italy. And since bees have a range of only about three-and-a-half miles, they’re not flying off to anyplace else and no other bees are flying in.

We had lunch at a wildlife sanctuary that is home to dozens—maybe hundreds—of koalas that roam freely there. Roam may be a bit of an overstatement, since koalas sleep for 16-21 hours each day. The polar opposite of “busy as a bee” is anything as a koala. But they are awfully cute.

We were then off to the western tip of this almost 100 mile long island. That entire western end of the island is a national park, called Flinders Chase National Park. It’s named in honor of Matthew Flinders, a British Naval officer who did much of the coastal exploration of Australia in the 18th century. Many cities have streets named in his honor, too.

One of the most notable features of the park is a granite formation that bubbled up millions of years ago called The Remarkable Rocks. And they are.

.

Another cool feature there is called The Admiral’s Arch.

And best of all, at least from my friend Harold’s point of view, is the cool lighthouse there.

That’s a wrap for today. Early start tomorrow on our last full day in Australia before we go to New Zealand.

Her Heart's Desire

We were picked up at our hotel at 6:15 this morning; the start of a two-day excursion to Kangaroo Island. A 90 minute bus ride to Port Jervis, then a 45 minute ferry trip brought us to this third-largest Australian island.

Our first stop was a farm the grows and harvests eucalyptus trees, and produces and bottles eucalyptus and other essential oils. The farm owner was a hoot; a man with no use for any government officials and no compunction about sharing his opinions. “That’s some experiment you blokes tried with Trump,” he said with a derisive laugh.

“That’s a generous way of describing it,” I allowed.

Next was a lunch stop, and then we were off to Seal Bay, home to the largest colony of the endangered Australian Sea Lion. They were pretty much just lying on the beach, soaking up the sun.

After that, we visited a raptor rehab project. They take in injured hawks, owls and eagles. A barn owl sat on my lap, and I got to hold a wedge-tailed eagle.

If you had asked me before we left for this trip what I wished for most in Australia, I’m not sure what I would have said. But no question, Roslyn would have told you her heart’s desire was to hold a koala.

Priceless.

Happy New Year!

Today marked the start of the Chinese New Year; we are now in the Year of the Pig. We have been warned by friends who’ve traveled here at this time of the year and by several Australians to expect big crowds of vacationing Chinese, but we haven’t seen that here in Adelaide.

We kicked off the new year by turning in our rental car after about 800 miles of driving. We were having trouble finding the Hertz office, tucked away on a little side street in the heart of the central business district. I finally pulled over into a parking space. I noticed a parking enforcement officer nearby (well I can’t very well call him a meter maid). Roslyn called out to him for help.

“We’re lost! We’re trying to get to the Hertz office on Blyth Street, but we can’t find it and we’re driving around in circles,” she explained.

“What does it cost to hire a car for a drive to Melbourne? I’ve been thinking of doing that,” he said. He had a job to do, but he had as much time as we needed to be friendly and helpful.

After a nice chat about vacation plans, he finally got down the going over the map with us. We were only a few blocks away. He showed us exactly how to get there. Honestly, if Roslyn had asked him to ride with us just to make sure we got there, I think he would have done so gladly.

Our next adventure in this fair city was at the Adelaide Central Market.

This large enclosed space in the heart of the city is celebrating its sesquicentennial this year. Some of the vendors in market have been there for a hundred years. Just about anything you can eat or drink is there. That includes some foods you might not want to eat.

As luck would have it, we were at the Central Market not only on the start of the Chinese New Year, but also on World Nutella Day. The market was helping to host Nutalla Palooza, which included crepes made with Nutella and one of several fruits of your choice. Roslyn went with banana.

Not being a particular Nutella fan, I went to one of the bakery stalls and had a custard-filled almond croissant. We also bought two large muffins for our breakfast tomorrow (we’re getting a very early start and will miss the free breakfast here in the hotel).

When we left the market, we decided to try the free tram. We got on, and started talking about where we might get off. A grizzled fellow with the thick beard and thicker Australia accent asked where we were from.

“Atlanta, Georgia,” I said.

He nodded.

“Figured we’d just go about the city and see what we could see,” I continued.

“That’s what you do when you travel,” he affirmed.

The tram stopped and we decided to get off.

“Good on ya’s,” was his cheerful benediction.

We walked and walked through this beautiful city, which is home to three-quarters of this state’s population. If you’re wondering if it was named for someone (I was), it is. When the city was established in 1836, William IV was England’s king. His wife, the queen consort, was named Adelaide. The king does have a major street named in his honor.

While strolling around our hotel neighborhood yesterday, I saw bunches of rainbow lorikeets eating leaves and nuts in trees lining one of the streets. I went back there today, with my camera.

To see these amazingly colorful birds congregating the way we’d see cardinals or blackbirds in Atlanta just blew my mind.

It was getting near time for dinner. The obvious choice: Chinese. The House of Chow was just a few blocks away. It’s a lovely, moderately priced and apparently very popular restaurant. There weren’t many Asians dining there,which normally would be a red flag. But the food was very good. We shared scallops with snow peas and chicken with cashews.

Roslyn asked our—need I say it?—very friendly server what the Year of the Pig signified. She brought us a few laminated sheets detailing the Year of the Pig and want it meant for people born in the years of other animals. I’m a Year of the Snake guy. The laminated sheet said that in the Year of the Pig, I should smile, breathe and go slowly. I don’t usually put much stock in astrology and the like, but those sound to me like words to live by.