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Ice and a lemon

“Sweet”, “sweet as”, “schweet”; words and phrases that you hear a lot on New Zealand’s South Island. “You can park over there.”- “Sweet as!”; “We’re going to climb that mountain.” - “Sweet as!”; “The doctor says I need a colonoscopy” - “Sweet!”

Maybe it has something to do with the lifestyle or the landscape - or both - but life for South Islanders certainly does seem more laid-back, carefree and, yes, a good deal sweeter than it is for their northern compatriots.

We arrived on the South Island on 6^th November, just a day before a close-fought New Zealand general election that gripped spectators as far away as, erm, the Cook Islands and Tasmania (possibly). Labour Prime Minister Helen Clark - or ‘Hilin’ as she is known around these parts – was facing a tough fight after nine years in power, although her personal popularity ratings remained much higher than those for her party.

Our first stop was Nelson which, with a population of 43 000, is a fairly big town by New Zealand standards. Almost by accident, we ran into an election rally for the National Party which was being addressed by then Leader of the Opposition, now Prime Minister elect John Key. Two hundred or so mainly elderly supporters stood quietly and listened to Mr. Key’s five-minute speech while a solitary, bored-looking policeman kept an eye on them. Across the road, a couple of Green Party activists waved their banners politely and tutted. The Million Man March it wasn’t.

As if sensing this, Key went out of his way to draw parallels with the US election and carve out a grander narrative for the occasion. “America has voted for change, and I think there’s a mood for change in New Zealand too,” he proclaimed, although he didn’t sound too convinced himself. Well, in a sense he was right. Two days later his party emerged with the largest share of the vote, and the complex process of putting together a coalition government under the country’s ‘MMP’ system of proportional representation began.

Putting such political concerns behind us, we headed to the Abel Tasman National Park on the north-western tip of the island. This is a good place for all kinds of outdoorsy activity and, accordingly, we walked and kayaked around the coast. Towards the end of our kayaking trip, the sea became not inconsiderably choppy, as John Major might have said, but luckily we’d gone out with a guide who was able to shepherd our salt-encrusted hides back to shore.

Next, we followed the well-worn backpacker trail down the west coast of the South Island to take in such natural wonders as the Franz Josef Glacier and Milford Sound. As the rolling Welsh hills of the north gave way to the Pennine, then Alpine slopes of the south-west, it finally began to feel that we were indeed in foreign parts.

Reaching the town of Franz Josef, we took a guided walk up onto the glacier, which has receded and advanced somewhat unpredictably since it was given the name of the Austro-Hungarian Emperor in 1865. (Perhaps in sympathy with Austro-Hungary itself?) This was probably the single most expensive thing that we’ve done on our travels so far but it was certainly worth it, if only to hear the lady at the tourist information office say the word ‘glacier’ for what must have been the 500^th time that day.

Ascending the glacier was slow work but could be done without a steep climb, thanks in part to the steps cut into the ice by our guide.  On our return, just as we were stepping off the ice, a bright green parrot swooped down and started hopping around cheerfully among us. This, we later discovered, was a kea bird, an alpine parrot that thrives in the cool, wet mountains of southern New Zealand. If the appearance of the kea seemed incongruous, then so did the nearby rainforests; as lush and green as those in the tropics, they’re fed by the 7 metres or so of cold rain that falls here every year.

Further south still, at Milford Sound, we saw penguins flip-flopping and fishing by the shore.   The Sound itself – a steep southern fjord – was covered with a blanket of mist and fog, so while we could get a sense of the grandeur of the place we weren’t quite able to see up to the tops of the slopes. The captain of our tour boat – a cheery old fellow with a twinkle in his eye -  decided to cut his losses and focus on the wildlife instead. So we saw seals, basking like big grey slugs on the rocks, and then penguins, swift and graceful in the water, kings of comedy on land.

From Milford we proceeded north-east, across a verdant mini-Switzerland to Queenstown and Wanaka. Both are extremely pretty towns with mountains and a lake apiece. The first is bigger and brasher, the second more peaceful and, according to the 2004 Lonely Planet guide, the adopted home of Shania Twain. The prospect of seeing the singer doing her weekly supermarket shop was an exciting one until both Rosie and I realised that we have only the sketchiest idea of what she looks like. Oh well, maybe we’ll see Sam Neill walking the dog. 

Near Queenstown is Arrowtown, a Gold Rush settlement, preserved much as it was in the 19^th Century. We did what every other tourist there does by hiring a pan and rushing down to the river in the hope of a sudden and miraculous strike. There is apparently still gold in the river, but we didn’t find any of it. We did find lots of green and brown though, which must count for something.  

On the way out of town, we stopped at the Amisfield Winery, the world’s southernmost commercial vineyard. I was driving, so could only sniff and dip my way through their repertoire, but Rosie was able to do the full tasting. The results? Well, they turn out a mean sauvignon blanc - all zesty and crisp, with a bit of fruit  - and the pinot noir’s not bad either.

A couple of bottles of either would probably be just the thing to fortify the spirit before going for a bungee jump, something that a lot of people come to the Queenstown area to do. We parked at the Kawarau Bungy Centre and, in rather cowardly fashion, watched some jumpers throw themselves off a bridge a couple of hundred feet above a roaring gorge. (Look, I have a doctor’s note, OK?) Disappointingly, all of the jumpers were either extremely brave or had done it before, so we didn’t get to see any of the jelly-legged antics that we’d secretly been hoping for. Or maybe that was just me. 

The weather turned for the worse, and we turned towards Christchurch and fresh, moderately-priced adventure. Sweet as!

A kea bird, yesterday