The Brotzman Adventures -Day 3

Pancake....Rocks?

It has been a while since we last saw Team Brotzman in action...a full week in fact. Although computers and internet were more than abundant, even amongst the bush of the West Coast, there was simply too much happening for Team member Nicole to find any extra time for a detailed account of the experience. So today, now that the dust has settled and all is falling back into its normal, everyday place, she shall begin where she left off: recalling the amazing tales, the great feats and the pure abnormality that was THE BROTZMAN ADVENTURES.

On day 3 we left from Addington station in Christchurch for Greymouth on the West Coast via the Tranz-Alpine train ride. Rated number six in the world on the list of most renowned rail experiences, we were not disappointed. We passed from Christchurch and through Arthur’s pass. We were moving slowly enough so that the scenery did not pass unnoticed. The flat lands of Christchurch became hills; the hills became bigger hills; and before we knew it, the bigger hills were mountains, jutting high above us against the grey sky. (yes it was an overcast day unfortunately, but spectacular nonetheless). The grasses were a grainy yellow and trees were scarce. We passed along bridges that looked high over river-carved gorges, the water still running through them was a deep blue. Sheep, cattle, horses, and all the other prerequisites for a farming community stood with such perfect placement, as if someone had chosen exactly where to put them in order to deliver the full New Zealand experience. And then it all went black.

We were passing through the Southern Alps, through a tunnel nearly 15km long. The darkness sent people back to their seats, encouraged them to close their eyes, forget the world outside this abyss. And suddenly light.

It was as if we had traversed an entire continent rather than a tiny island. The world before us had completely changed. Before us lay a landscape that can only be described as an artist’s work on canvas. As if some brilliant painter had been given the most vibrant palette and he had created a picture of paradise. The greenest jungles stretching high atop mountains, the deepest turquoise waters rushing along beneath us, around us, beside us, and towards the end, the bluest skies awaited.

While on the observation deck of the train I struck up a conversation with a man who seemed rather knowledgeable about photography. I say that he seemed rather knowledgeable because he was wearing quite a flash camera around his neck and taking great care in his photographs. Well, this man turned out to be from Texas, while his wife was from Syracuse! After a brief chat about cameras, journeys and life in upstate New York, I decided that buying a high quality digital camera may be the best route to go for a beginning camera enthusiast. (more to come on this later).

We also encountered a group of German tourists who ordered about 7 rounds of alcohol right as the train pulled away from the station in Addington. Funny that the rest of the car was ordering breakfast at the very same time. Needless to say they were pretty rowdy by the time we reached Greymouth. Who knows, maybe in their time zone, it would be night and time to drink. Or maybe they just like drinking...a lot.

Once we reached Greymouth we got hold of our rental car and made our way to a local cafe for lunch and trip planning. The silver Camery was a treat to drive as it’s probably 20-some years younger and simply a much smoother ride than my Mighty Honda. It was also automatic transmission, making it easier to navigate the winding, steep roads along the West coast. After finishing lunch we headed to Punakaki, some 100km or so north of Greymouth.

Punakaki provided us with a close-up view of many natural New Zealand...things. The first was a cheeky little Weka who found my finger to be a great delicacy. I was amazed at how tame this little creature seemed, but after researching the species found that the Weka are more bold and adventurous than tame. The fact that we found him near a tourist spot probably made him more courageous though and I’ve concluded that extending my hand, food-less, to Mr. Weka in a place that he’s probably been fed before was a very stupid thing to do. The nip didn’t hurt, but I yelped, more out of shock, and he fled into the bush behind the carpark. This would be the beginning of my uncharacteristically awful experience with animals throughout the remainder of the trip.

But the pancake rocks, the pancake rocks...oh the pancake rocks. They were fantastic. Bits of rock, layered one on top of the other. Like many geological formations they were created through erosion and mineral deposits over millions of years. The giant pieces of seaweed looked like huge brown sucker-fish clinging desperately to the rocks as the sea tried in vain to pull it down into the depths. Along with the pancake rocks were blowholes...yes folks, blowholes. And as the ocean came crashing into the rocks it would rocket out of these hidden hollows sending buckets of water into the air, much like when a whale shoots water out of his spout. And although the tide was low, we were lucky to get even a small demonstration AND because of my natural talent with a camera, capture it on film. So we watched in awe at this natural spectacle (a word I will use often throughout these blog entries) and guffawed at the fact that it all felt man-made. Like some sort of Dinsneyland attraction. It was all set up much like one, with winding roads leading to the big show, a beautified path that took you through well-kept jungle, but not too well kept to suggest it was fake.

After the pancake rocks we had another cup of coffee (something that became essential towards the end of the trip) and decided to make our way to Franz Josef. In reality we decided we would try to make it as far as we could...and by we, we meant I, since I was the only one driving. So we took off. And I drove. And drove. And drove. Vroom goes the Camery!

We chatted about life and love and global warming and how three little Brotzman-roadians could save the world from environmental devastation, George W. Bush and racial discrimination. And just before dark we pulled off to stretch our legs, surprisingly at a place I had been the last time I had come to the West Coast with my wretched ex-flatmates nearly 5 months ago. Here is where we had animal encounter number two. A fiesty little goat, chained to a tree with a very strange collar around his neck fashioned much like a historic picture frame. Well, with all my luck lately with animals I thought it a good idea to pick some yummy long grass and feed Mr. Goat. He appreciate it greatly...until I made the mistake of patting him on the nose. And as I, ever so gently, tried to express my sympathies for his current position in life, he semi-reared and retreated back to the tree he was tethered to. His sudden movement, once again, made me yelp and stagger backwards, nearly onto my ass. And this should have been my second and LAST issue with any sort of animals the rest of the trip, right? Yeah...right.

We continued on, my double-shot mocha fueling me much like the unleaded petrol that fueled the camery, only stronger. And despite the nay-sayers in the back (not so much nay-sayers but just, polite doubters with comments like “if you’re tired you can stop.”) I made it all the way to Franz. We stopped at the first place we could to find food and upon walking in the door felt a rush of rustic, country hospitality. The smell of beer was in the air, a large screen TV sat at the front of the bar set at the Sky Sports channel and a group of locals sat laughing and hooting (yes hooting) just like a stereotypical bar. Adelle, the woman who apparently owned the joint and the hotel associated with it, sat at bar knitting (how convenient!!!). We spoke candidly and ordered quickly as they would be closing soon (soon being an hour). The meals came out rather quickly, and over a few mugs of Monteiths we ate probably the best fish and chips I’ve ever had. The taste of the beer reminded me of summer back in Binghamton, crazy parties with the CVSP crew, late-night bonfires and ridiculous drunken antics. After dinner we asked about accomodation and found that the hotel we were at was closed, but it’s sister hotel was open down the road. The name of the hotel chain sounded a bit familiar and I found that my assumptions were correct. The Scenic Circle hotels are one of the nicest chains of hotels owned and operated by New Zealanders. Way over our budget. So to make a long story short, we drove around town, searching desperately for a place to rest our heads and found nothing. Finally we came upon Chateau Franz, a mix between a backpacker’s and a motel. And after a very strange encounter with the motel attendent, one that I don’t care to recount, we decided to stay there. The rooms were fabulous...warm, cozy, a full kitchen in the Knapp room and a gorgeous view of the glaciers as we came to find the next morning.

We fell asleep quickly that night....it had been a very long day, and an even longer day was to come. And since this entry has been exceedingly long, as most entries will be from this journey, it is time to say goodnight and until next time my faithful blog-readers.

-NMK

ps I really don't feel like doing pictures tonight...but there are many. About 300. that's probably the reason I don't feel like going through them. Anyway, they will be coming soon. Some for each day, I promise. :-)