Change In Plans

Greetings from Lake Moeraki, New Zealand!  We are back on the west coast of New Zealand, at the north end of the Southern Alps.  We are seeing firsthand again what 6 meters of rainfall per year looks like.

Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day.  The day reminded me of a story about Zola.  

Exactly a year ago, we were having dinner in Del Mar, California.  India and the kids had been out visiting me in San Diego for two weeks during their Spring vacation.  We were occupied with finding a house to buy, getting Zola and Tallulah into private school, and figuring out what our lives would be like when we moved to California.  

Driving back from Del Mar to our hotel in La Jolla, we got stopped in a police roadblock, designed to catch drunken St. Patrick’s Day revelers.  I was glad that I had not even had a glass of wine at dinner.  Unfortunately, Zola had fallen asleep at dinner, so we had laid him in the far back of the SUV for the short trip.  He was not in a seat, and not wearing a seatbelt, which I was sure would be some kind of horrendous felony in California, the nanny state.  

As we waited in line for the police officer to ask us his drunk-test questions, and to shine his flashlight in the car, I was sure that I was doomed to a huge ticket and fine at best.  In the meanwhile, though, Zola had woken up, and decided to camouflage himself in the back.  He pulled the stroller and some jackets over himself, buried his head, and kept very still.  Del Mar’s finest did not detect him.  After we drove away from the road block, he said he had been reading a spy book, and he figured this was what a spy would do.  It saved me that night for sure. 

We spent St. Patrick’s Day 2009 celebrating in Wanaka.  The day started with what is as close to a routine as we have on this trip:  India went for a run, kids and I had breakfast, Zola did math on line.  It was unusual for us, however, to be in the Dream House, and to have a small herd of alpacas to feed before breakfast.  They are almost comically cute and friendly animals.

PRINCESS AND ALPACA

At Tallulah’s insistence, we stopped at a tourist attraction called Puzzling World as we drove into Wanaka.  The outside of the building had lots of towers and gables jutting out at odd angles, and a sign promising that “Each Exhibit is Unique And/Or the Finest of its Type in the World.”

Puzzling World turned out to be very weird.  The lobby had tables with small wooden puzzles and games on them.  Asian tourists sat in groups, silently working the puzzles with feverish intensity.  The bathrooms featured a realistic mural of  a Roman bathhouse, done with “you are there” perspective.  

The Puzzling World exhibits themselves were all very large optical illusions: a mirrored room with the floor slanted down 15 degrees, and with water, golf balls, and a little sled all seeming to defy gravity by rolling/flowing up hill.  A room full of three-dimensional portraits that appear to move as you walk around with one eye covered.  The kids loved it, but India and I both felt a little nauseated.  We were glad to get back in the car, and continue on into town.

The small village of Wanaka is great.  It sits right on the lakeside, with a few stores (mostly skiing and hiking gear), and a few hostel-type hotels.  It is a very low-key ski town, much less flashy even than Queenstown, its big sister down the road.  The best restaurant we found is called The Cow: its logo is a picture of Queen Victoria, which is funny.  It has a huge outdoor fireplace and picnic tables.  The whole town seems to be gearing up for the winter ski season.  Between staying in the Dream House, seeing the spectacular beauty of the lake and mountains, and experiencing the ambiance of the village, we liked Wanaka a lot.

That afternoon, we drove halfway back to Queenstown, to the old mining village of Cardrona, to go horseback riding.  The riding center was happy to have Tallulah, the littlest wrangler, sit her own horse.  Our guide, Danielle, held Tallulah’s lead rope, and off we went.   This was further evidence that New Zealand is cool.  

We went on a trail ride high up in the mountains, for about two and a half hours.  Instead of just walking the whole time, Danielle had us all (including Tallulah) trot a bunch of times.  To Zola’s great delight, they even let us all (excluding Tallulah) canter.  I am a very poor horseman, and cantering on this big horse was almost as frightening as bungy jumping had been.  It went on for a lot longer, too.

By the end of the ride, India and I were getting nervous that Tallulah was so tired that she would not be able to hold onto the saddle horn any longer.  A few times we offered to take her on one of our horses, but the littlest wrangler rebuffed us vehemently: “I can do it BY MYSELF!”  Despite our worries, she was fine through the whole ride.  Of course, she was an exhausted wreck later on, but it was a happy kind of exhausted.

After the ride, we stopped for drinks at the landmark Cardrona Hotel, the second-oldest pub in New Zealand.  It dates all the way back to 1863!  In Istanbul or Fes, it would be called “the new place.”  Sitting in the sunny and green back garden, drinking Guinness, watching the kids play on the swingset, in touch with our inner Irishness, I thought “This is exactly what St. Patrick would have wanted on his day.”

The following morning, we had to pack up and leave the Dream House.  We shipped another huge load of excess baggage back to Nashville from the Wanaka post office.  It was possibly the most pleasant and efficient shipping experience of my life.  New Zealand is well organized around things like that.  

On the drive out of town, at Zola’s request, we stopped at the New Zealand Warbirds Museum.  The museum has six or seven fully restored old fighter planes, and hundreds of models and exhibits and photos.  Zola still sees war and war machines as impossibly glamorous and exciting.  What India and I noticed was that almost all of the WW2 pilots who are profiled in the museum died in combat during the war.  They were all about 22 or 23 years old.  Not much glamorous about that.

We drove north and west along Lake Wanaka for a long time, and then up into New Zealand’s Southern Alps.  Waterfalls were pouring off the mountains, and the interplay of the clouds and the sunshine made the long views even more spectacular.  It was an amazingly beautiful drive.

Eventually, the road ran along a wide river valley, and came to a t-junction when it reached the Tasman Sea.  We had reached the coast again. We turned right, and crossed a 500-meter-long one lane bridge.  All of the highway bridges in southern New Zealand seem to have only one lane.  It keeps everyone on their toes, and encourages a polite and co-operative society.  

Soon after, we arrived at the Lake Moeraki Wilderness Lodge, where we will be for the next two nights.  There are about 30 rooms here, but only three of them are occupied.  If the rain stops, we are planning to kayak, and hike, and walk on the wind-swept beach.  At dinner this evening, we sat with a glamorous and very engaging couple from Southern California.  Coincidentally, their third son (of four), is an Air Force Academy graduate, and is finishing flight school in Texas now.  Zola thought this was cool beyond belief.  We had a fun, late night at the lodge’s pub.

We continue to be dazzled by the beauty of New Zealand.  What a great place.

Greetings from Wanaka, New Zealand! We are told that the name of this town, correctly pronounced, rhymes with “Monica.” Easy enough for all of the Courtney Cox fans out there.

This morning we were still at Mt. Nicholas sheep station. Our terrific hosts, Bruce and Adrienne, watched the kids again while India and I went for another spectacularly scenic run. I’m running out of adjectives to describe how beautiful this part of the world is.

After breakfast (pears that Tallulah helped Adrienne pick from the orchard, skin, and poach), Bruce led us on a short, sharp hike up a hill near the farm house.

The movie “Water Horse” was largely filmed at the Mt. Nicholas sheep station, with Lake Wakatipu masquerading as Scotland’s Loch Ness. It fooled me, for sure.  In the movie, the all-important artillery gun was emplaced on a steep hill overlooking the lake.  This was the same hill that we climbed this morning. Knowing the location, it was easy to remember the visuals from the many scenes in the movie shot on that hilltop. Actually standing there was a little like seeing a minor celebrity at a coffee shop in New York.

From the hilltop, we could see 40 kilometers west down the lake, to the glacier-covered mountains. Looking the other direction, we could see sheep and horses and domesticated deer grazing far below us in their separate pastures (or paddocks, as they seem to be called in New Zealand). From far off in the woods, we could hear wapiti (big elk-like deer) screeching out their high-pitched mating cries. We stood in the sunshine, reveling in the glory of it all.

We were sad to say goodbye to Bruce and Adrienne, who have been wonderful hosts and companions for the last few days. Tallulah and Adrienne seemed to have forged a particular bond, feeding the chickens, brushing the cats, tending the garden, and playing with the puppies. Lu was very sad that we were not “staying for six more days.”

ADRIENNE'S GIRLFRIEND

Just before we left, for some reason (probably Zola’s unceasing questions about war) we started talking about ANZAC, the Allied force made up of Australians and New Zealanders in both world wars. Both Adrienne’s father and Bruce’s father had fought with ANZAC in World War 2, and both had been prisoners of war. Bruce’s father was imprisoned in Austria for five years. Neither father ever discussed his war experiences in the presence of his children.

Coping in strong silence is a central feature of New Zealand masculinity.  It may explain why the men generally seem a little taciturn, or at least reserved. The second-hand war stories definitely reminded me how spoiled and fortunate I have been in my own life.

During the steamship ride back across the lake to Queenstown, Zola suddenly became very upset. He and I walked up to the bow together, thinking an “I’m the King of the World” moment would cheer him up. He told me he is tired of traveling, tired of always packing and unpacking, tired of saying goodbye. He said he wants us to put him on a flight to Nashville, where he can eat his Gramae’s chocolate cake, and spend time with his cousins. Eventually he stopped crying, and was OK again.  India and I have to ask ourselves, is this trip, this lifestyle consistent with responsible parenting?

After collecting our rental car near the dock in Queenstown, and treating the kids to Nutella crepes from the Hungarian crepe stand, we bid a fond farewell to Queenstown. A few days ago, I suggested that you could have a 2-week vacation in Queenstown, and do two different adventure sports each day for the whole holiday. For fun, we made a list as we ate our crepes, and came up with 28 different activities in less than five minutes. It is an amazing place.

On the way to Wanaka, we stopped at Shotover Canyon, so that Zola and I could do our second jet boat trip. After the initial trip a few days ago, our expectations were very high. On this excursion, we had a driver nicknamed “Chopper,” because he is a former helicopter pilot. One of his colleagues told us, in a friendly way, that Chopper is “a bit loose in the head.”

Chopper gave us quite a ride, scrabbling over the riverbed stones in shallow water a couple of times (a terrible noise), and actually clipping the canyon wall at speed once with the side of the boat. When he wanted to stay stationary for a few minutes, Chopper just drove the boat up onto whatever rocks were nearby, reversing out when he wanted to move again. My sense is that Chopper is tough on the maintenance budgets and the insurance premiums.

The 90-minute drive to Wanaka took us up over the Crown range of mountains: steep and twisty roads.  Queenstown to Wanaka would be an amazing bicycle ride.  We arrived at the house we have rented just before sunset.  As we pulled into the driveway, India immediately said, “This is the house I have been looking for.  In San Diego, in the plans for our house in the Beaverkill, in Cape Town.  This is the place.”

DREAM HOUSE

Her dream house is a long single story, made of polished concrete, aluminum, and floor-to-ceiling glass, combined in simple, clean lines.  The glass walls slide back to open the house completely to the outdoors.  From every room, the view out over the mountains is amazing.   It really is amazing to look at, and over the next few days we will find out how comfortable it is to live in.  The alpacas in the neighboring field seem friendly enough, and the west-facing lawn sculpture made for some very artistic sunset shots.

SUNSET IN WANAKA

Welcome to Wanaka!