After early morning on board the Milford Mariner, we disembarked to retrieve Busby from his overnight car park. (Actually, it was a coach park so his personal space was accordingly larger.) We headed back along the road towards first, Te Anau, and then Queenstown.

The morning was clear and sunny which made the touristy attractions en route more appealing than they had been under the grey skies of our inbound journey. The only stop we made, though, was at Francine’s swathe of lupins to see what some sun might do to their array of colours.

We filled up with fuel again at the cheap unmanned station in Mossburn and took the opportunity to top up our caffeine levels, too.

Our secondary [backup] satnav cable had failed completely two days ago heading towards Milford Sound so now we made another visit to the Maui base on our way into Queenstown. Fortunately, it still failed when the staffer plugged it in so we were issued with a replacement and yet another spare, “just in case”. The new cable got us to our campsite with no glitches.

We checked in, drove to our so-called pitch and plugged in to the mains. No power. I tried another connection point. Same story – no power. Our mains connection cable had failed again.  [Sigh, or utterances to that effect.] Once again I undid the van-side connector and jiggled with the cable, ramming it home more securely before retightening the connector. Relief, we had power but we’ll need yet another visit to Maui on the morrow.

More fun was to come. Quite close to our gravel parking space was a small shack with two toilets and two showers. It looked basic outside but was actually well appointed within. Franco needed to avail himself of the toilet and entered. I locked the door. There were actually two locks on the door, one integral to the handle and the other mounted above the handle. I threw both locks.

Nature having been attended to, I undid the separate lock before attacking the integral lock. You can sense what’s coming next, can’t you? Would the integral lock turn? No, of course not. I tried again, this time attempting to turn it in both directions because I couldn’t really remember which direction had engaged it. No movement in either direction. [Ed: well, you’d had your movement by then :D] I tried pulling the door towards me before again trying to undo the lock; still no joy.

This was far too much like a scene from Carry on Camping. Sid James was locked in a toilet that refused steadfastly to release him. I actually considered trying to climb out of the window but it was seven feet up and, from the toilet seat on which I would have had to stand, there was a stretch of about three feet. Apart from also doubting my 64-year-old agility – a man’s gotta know his limitations – I’d have had to exit head first through an 18-inch/0.5m gap to fall inelegantly onto the four waste and recycling wheelie bins positioned five feet beneath the window on the outside.

Barbara Windsor (a.k.a. Francine) had now heard the commotion caused by Sid in the loo and turned up to lend assistance. Sid explained through the now-fully-open-though-perhaps-not-open-quite-enough seven feet high window, that Barbara’s tits were very nice but that he was stuck in the loo. After suggesting a few things that I’d already tried and/or discounted, such as clambering out of the seven feet high window, Barbara wiggled her way off to see the site staff and summon assistance.

Sid sat back on the loo seat for a few minutes to wait during which time Charles Hawtry, another camper, had seen and heard the interaction between Barbara and Sid, in his multiple failed attempts to escape. He tried to help. I saw arms through the obscured glass fiddling with the outside of the locks and door but again to no avail.

Enter Kenneth Williams, the site manager: “Ooooh, ‘allo, I don’t like the look of this!”

I didn’t much like the look of it either. Kenneth got me to explain that I understood how locks worked, that there were indeed two locks, one of which I had undone successfully, but that the second integral lock refused to budge. More shoving and rattling of the door and its locks ensued as the cast of Carry on Glamping continued to assemble.

Eventually and for completely unknown reasons, with a mixture of Kenneth Williams pushing and working the outside of the door while Sid James pulled and worked the inside of the door, the problematic integral lock at last swung into action. Sid was out in the fresh air and reunited with Barbara and her impressive chest.

Roll credits.

Glamping? I know I’ve been here before but check out the crowding and pitch quality on this Queenstown Top 10 campsite. Only pictures can convey what will almost certainly be my most undying memory from New Zealand. I’ve seen it with my own eyes but still cannot believe it. For this you pay NZ$50 [~£28 depending on current exchange rates] per couple per night. I’ve never paid £28 for a campsite in my life. The facilities on the campsites are excellent – they need to be ‘cos you can’t really do much on the pitch – but the pitches themselves suck.

I felt most concern for the couples in what are little more than converted cars, pitched on very limited gravel, with no space in the car, save the driver and passenger seats, and no space outside the car. Sure, you can sleep there but that’s all.

Our Milford Sound overnight cruise was one from Francine’s bucket list. She’d booked it back in February. At 16:00, our check-in time, the nice folks opened up the bus parking area (the buses now had departed) for overnighters car parking. Francine checked in and got our boarding passes while I abandoned poor old Busby for his night alone.

We were on the Milford Mariner, the bigger of two boats sleeping 60, and we did have our double en suite cabin. It seems that sometimes people end up on the smaller Milford Wanderer, sleeping about 36, and may end up sharing facilities. This was reported by a friend of ours thus we are not quite clear on the precise arrangements, so beware. It worked as advertised for us. The cabin was bijou but very comfortable.

Witty safety briefing by the captain given and the  crew introduced, engines fired up and we were on our way in perfectly blissful weather. If there was a downside to the perfectly blissful weather it was that there had been 8 or 9 days of it and the usually gushing waterfalls cascading down the vertiginous sides of the Sound were mere trickles compared to their usual volume. Nonetheless, we were both very happy to have the sun.

I haven’t seen a Norwegian Fjord but this was how I imagined they might look, near vertical mountainous sides ultimately rising to a mile above sea level. Mitre Peak, the famous one, climbs to 1692m. A modest looking waterfall that we passed was actually tumbling over 150m but it was dwarfed by the cliffs above it.

The Sound is not actually as long as I perhaps had expected, given that we were on a 17-hour overnight cruise; it is only really about 15kms before the mouth opens out into the Tasman Sea. The form was that we’d cruise for nearly an hour, then moor in a sheltered bay where some water activities were offered. The Mariner carries two tenders with outboard motors, together with a squadron of sea kayaks. Francine and I were happy to remain on board enjoying a beer and views from the top deck as most of our fellow passengers took to the water. I was actually hoping that a whale that the crew had glimpsed on our way out would catch us up but no such luck.

Kayaks and tenders recovered, the captain weighed anchor and took us out into the swell of the Tasman Sea. Turning across the swell caused some fun as a table full of drinks was upset by the sudden bounce of vessel. Dinner was at 19:00. I hung on to our ice bucket suitably tightly. Food was buffet style, very good (French chef), varied and plentiful. It was billed as three courses but we could’ve done with four since the mains were a mixture of salads, seafood and roast meats, a mixture of which made strange plate-fellows. They did invite us up for a second plate of the mains. Francine kept hopping up, with due apologies to our fellow diners, to take pictures as we cruised through meal time, which was not ideally suited to her chosen leisure activity.

Another sheltered haven was found in which to moor the vessel overnight, together with the companion vessel, the Wanderer. The sun sank lower, darkness grew, more stars appeared and the Southern Cross became visible just above the mountain tops. We’d made some Aussie friends at dinner who pointed it out to us. It was upside down compared the the two national flags. Odd. After counting satellites for a while, we hit the sack.

The evening had been good but the next morning made it, I think, for both of us. The early morning was peaceful and Francine enjoyed the light.

As the morning progressed and breakfast finished, much to my apprehension not being the world’s greatest mariner, we headed back out through the mouth of the Sound into the Tasman Sea again. Apprehension soon disappeared as the crew spotted three Humpback Whales nearby. I rode the waves wedged up against the handrail as we made for them. [Yeah, right!] Normally, whale-watching photos of dolphins and whales show a dorsal fin breaking the surface together with a short length of back breaking the surface – good to prove you’ve seen them but otherwise rather dull. These whales moved around our boat for about 15 minutes with rare, fleeting appearances of their tail flukes. Finally, I managed to catch a tail fluke on pixels. It’s not the classic shot, that would have water dripping of it, but it is a tail fluke. I was happy.

On the way back in to disembark, the Mariner took us to within touching distance of one of the permanent waterfalls, now reduced by the dry weather but impressive nonetheless. Francine was in her element playing with it.

One of those obscenely large cruise liners had been dropping off supplies to the Milford Sound settlement – not enough room to moor up – and was on its way back out to sea. Apart from the atmospheric light, it does tend to add a sense of scale to the Sound, I think.

It was another stunning morning but all good things come to and end. We disembarked at 09:15 and retrieved Busby. Francine declared herself to be delighted with the experience.

And so we approach the main event. Francine booked our overnight cruise aboard the Milford Mariner on Milford Sound way back in February; some dates were full even then. The cruise was tonight. Today we made our way from Te Anau to the Milford Sound “settlement”. Unfortunately, following yesterday’s beautiful blue skies, this morning had dawned grey and overcast with low clouds shrouding the hills/mountains surrounding Lake Te Anau.

There is but one road into and out of Milford Sound so our return journey tomorrow morning would necessarily retrace our inbound steps. It’s as journey of 120kms (allow 2 hours) so leaving at 10:30 and with a check-in time for our overnight cruise of 16:00, we had time to dawdle at various touristy attractions en route.

At the first of several stops, Francine tried a shot across the lake for reflections but in all honesty, the solid grey sky didn’t really do it justice.

There was better fortune at a second stop when we spotted an expansive swathe of mixed colour lupins, with a suitably situated parking place, actually part of a Department of Conservation campsite. Naturally, there were several cars already there with people taking various shots of the mass of lupins. The good thing was that the parking area was inaccessible to the swarms of tour buses which leave from Queenstown every morning on day trips. Francine is fond of saying that she doesn’t want harsh shadows for flower photography. She certainly had no shadows of any description this morning.

The first part of the road to Milford Sound was proving pretty easy. Our next stop was at the so-called Mirror Lakes. This time we did run into tour buses – seven of them, most of which seemed to be loaded with Orientals armed with their selfie sticks and assorted cameras. Orientals appear to be  a strange breed – well, several breeds – in that they don’t tend to take pictures of just scenery, they really want themselves standing in front of said scenery. Standing in front of said scenery is often accompanied by a strange Churchill-like V-sign made with both hands. I presume this has nothing to do with victory, which is what Churchill meant, but I confess to being bemused about what it might mean. Stupefying! In any event, the Mirror Lakes weren’t doing their job today in the lack of sun, not that that deterred our Oriental friends. We didn’t bother.

Still with time to burn, we were attracted by a 45-minute nature walk advertised at the southern end of Lake Gunn. This was decidedly a botanical nature walk with no critters in evidence but the woodland did look positively primordial, again, with most of the trees with smothered in mosses and lichens. So, a clean and damp environment, then. We stopped here for lunch again but could not fling open Busby’s rear doors because a sand fly scourge descended upon us. Sand flies, Francine has decided, are somewhat worse than mosquitoes because they gnaw a bare patch and leave anticoagulants to keep the blood flowing. Charming!

There was a stop at which we were supposed to be able to see a Kea. Keas are a New Zealand native lumbering parrot which can actually fly. We did see one but it was marching along the tarmac of the parking area so it wasn’t a great photo opportunity. Had to be done, though, for the sake of completeness.

By now the 120kms journey was beginning to be feeling arduous due to all the stopping. I was relieved to make our last stop in the queue to get through the 1.2-kilometre tunnel just before the descent towards Milford Sound itself. Like most of the road bridges in New Zealand, the tunnel is a single lane so is traffic light controlled. The wait can to proceed can be up to 5 minutes. I was even more relieved when, on exiting the tunnel, we did so into brighter weather with the clouds breaking and allowing sun to shine through. Perhaps our Milford Sound cruise would be brighter than we had been led to believe.

We parked and killed an hour before check-in time by staring at the imposing scenery of the landward end of the Sound.

Busby was going to be spending a night alone in a car park. Mind you, most car parks are at least as good as many of the New Zealand campsites, short of an electric hook-up, of course.

Our Wanaka Top 10 campsite left a little to be desired – all soap dispensers in the washrooms empty, for example – but it was quite well situated as we left to visit the shores of Lake Wanaka itself. We pulled into the first off road parking area to be faced by bunches of lupins, all be they yellow [fussy chaps, photographers], fronting the shore. As I parked Busby, Francine headed for the lake front.

There are a few classic subjects that landscape photographs love and one of those is a lone tree with its feet in water. There is a famous example of this type in the English Lake District on Lake Buttermere. A friend of ours has found another, even better example, in the Snowdonia National Park of Wales. Purely by chance we had stumbled into the iconic New Zealand example of its type. And what a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. I snapped a few while Francine gave the surrounding waters her Lee Big Stopper treatment. [The naturally imposed blue cast means that they’ll take some processing before being ready for display, though.]

We were heading for Te Anau, well beyond Queenstown on the one road in and out of Milford Sound. Being one of the tourist hotspots, we’d booked a spot in the campsite to be safe.

Leaving Wanaka behind we headed through very pleasant, if unspectacular countryside – the trouble is that parts of New Zealand sort of redefine spectacular and expectations get adjusted accordingly – towards a famous historic hotel at Cardrona. A spit before Cardrona is what has become a possibly more famous sight. I parked but Busby’s key fob failed to lock the doors a few times before I managed to get it to work. Worrying.

Years ago a tourist with a bizarre sense of amusement clearly thought it would be a jolly wheeze to leave her bra tied to a wire fence. Humans being little more intelligent, on the whole, than sheep, first dozens then hundreds followed suit. The fence is now covered with bras and has become known as Bradronda. Bizarre it may be but at least it has been turned to good use by having been given a collection box for donations towards breast cancer.

Busby unlocked but I again had trouble locking him at the hotel where we stopped for a cup of coffee. Now I was certain I needed to call into the Maui office in Queenstown.

The drive to Queenstown twisted and climbed its way through a landscape that looked a little more like desert, similar to the Desert Road on North Island in some respects. Clearly it isn’t desert, though, since there are chain bays spaced regularly along the road. The descent into Queenstown rounded several sharp hairpin bends which stop the wary driver looking at the scenery. The occasional glimpse proved it was a impressive, though.

We found the Queenstown Maui centre, had the power cable checked and the battery in the key fob renewed. We swapped our also temperamental Kiwi Satnav which occasionally failed to run on vehicle power. Poor electrical connections seemed to have been a feature, though not terminal problems. Our package also includes a change of bed linen and towels, which Francine collected.

We were both expecting the road between Queenstown and Te Anau to be somewhat slow and arduous but in fact it proved to be relatively straight and fast. At least our journey back this way should be relaxing. At Kingston we had lunch and I had something of an epiphany, reversing Busby towards a lake shore and throwing open the rear doors to give us a lunch view. It’s taken two weeks but maybe I’m getting the hang of this campervan lark. 🙂

Fuel prices had still been high in Queenstown (NZ$1.56) and I was expecting them to be high in Te Anau, being a centre for trapped Milford Sound tourists, so I was mighty surprised to find an unmanned automated fuel station in Mossburn selling diesel at NZ$1.26. Had I taken a wrong turn and ended up back on North Island? I’ll have some of that. I should be able to have some more of it on the way back from Milford Sound, too.

Another word about diesel in passing. In New Zealand, diesel fuel is untaxed at the point of sale so is considerably cheaper than unleaded fuel. However, diesel is taxed after the event – there’s a charge based on mileage [does one ever say kilometerage?] which I think it’s called a Diesel Recovery Charge, or some such. Our package includes a flat rate charge for that so we don’t have to worry.

Te Anau looked very pleasant and, after our newly checked short electric cable failed to reach at our first pitch, we were rewarded with the best pitch on site, right at the edge and facing the fence, unsociable gits that we are.

Franz Josef Glacier Township must be one of the noisiest places on the planet. Living under the flight path of Heathrow is mere drone compared to Franz Josef. We awoke to a beautifully clear morning, the campsite being overlooked by some spectacular snow-capped mountains with a crystal clear blue sky above. The crystal blue sky was an irresistible invitation to all those rich tourists who want an aerial view of the Franz Josef Glacier itself. The sky is constantly filled with the noisy chop, chop, chop of helicopters. It’s like Apocalypse Now. All that was missing was the Ride of the Valkyries; well, and maybe the 0.5 inch calibre machine guns, which had been replaced by cameras, hopefully.

Despite the constant drone above, the morning was delightful. Apart from anything else, we were so thankful for our apparent change in meteorological fortunes. We were planning to head over the Haast Pass to Wanaka, a distance of some 270kms so we had time to go and see the Franz Josef Glacier itself, which is just about 5kms from the township. We secured Busby for travel and set off via the local supermarket for some essential supplies, such as beer. We were ahead of the rush of grockels and got to the viewpoint all alone.

The Haast River is a narrow blue ribbon snaking sinuously down a white rock sided wide valley. It’s an impressive sight that the tourist board apparently thought nobody would want to stop and stare at. There are bugger all parking places and from most of the few that there are, the view is obscured by bushes. Consequently, photographing the scene is a touch tricky. Some sense of the colour maybe conveyed by this, though. The occasional jet boat screams downstream.

The problem was compounded by our trying to get into parking spots only too find no room at the inn. Maybe this was a combination of it being a sunny day and a Saturday to boot … and perhaps it being roughly lunchtime. By the time you’ve pulled into about half a dozen stopping points either finding no space or no view, frustration can begin to set in.

Crossing the col and descending towards Wanaka felt a little weird in that there was still a river but it was now flowing in the opposite direction. The change seemed seamless but there was the water going the other way. The valley opened up and we began passing a couple of large lakes, still sided by snow-capped mountains. This was the sort of scenery we’d come for.

The campsite was adequate by New Zealand campervan standards, though the pitch was only just as long as the van. Plugging in I had no electricity. I tried two other outlets and still had no electricity. Unscrewing the connectors on my cable, one end seemed insecure so I suspected a bad connection. With no toolkit, I could do little but push the cable home and attempt to secure it better. It worked. Phew, at least I can keep the beer cold.

We’ll be passing through Queenstown tomorrow where there is a Maui depot. I’ll see if we can get the cable swapped.

Today we planned to drive down the west coast road from Carters Beach (nr. Westport) to Franz Josef Glacier Township. There was an initially threateningly black cloud bank above us but this cleared to sunny intervals as the morning progressed. [I’m auditioning for a job as a weather forecaster.]

This coast road is breath-taking. Much is made (by Americans) of the California coast road south of San Francisco (California 101?) but let me tell you that this New Zealand equivalent knocks it into a cocked hat.

Our first tourist stop was at Punakaiki – Pancake Rocks. There’re blowholes here given the right tide conditions, which we didn’t have, but the interesting thing for those who find rocks interesting [not me – no heart beat] is that the rocks look like a stacks of pancakes. Maple syrup sir? I think this is to do with multiple sedimentary layers and erosion but don’t quote me. They do look fascinating in an inanimate sort of way, though. Francine clicked away while I followed along.

‘T was time for a coffee. Outside the Department of Conservation Reserve of Pancake Rocks is what looks like the inevitable tourist trap conglomeration of businesses; gift shops and the like. One of the likes was a café. I was prepared to pay top tourist dollar for a reviving cappuccino but, to my surprise in this captive market of swarming tourists, our coffees were what, it seems, is the standard price for a cappuccino, NZ$4.50. the coffee is both good – cappuccinos are often a double shot by default – and good value.

The lack of captive market mark-up does not apply to fuel, we had read. We were advised to fill up in Greymouth, our next landmark, because fuel prices rose to rip-off levels in the more remote points further south. We complied. Greymouth also marked a change in scenery. Francine described the hedges beyond here, seemingly sculpted by the on shore wind, as cloud hedges, poetic old thing that she is.

We made a late lunchtime stop at Hokitika [pronounced Hoe-ki-tikka], largely because it is the centre of a whitebait industry and, like the green-lipped mussels, it would be rude not to try some. The standard method of preparation is as a “patty”. We picked a cafe and ordered a “whitebait sammy” (white bread sandwich) each which, when they turned up, consisted of a whitebait fritter – lots of small fish in beaten egg. This, I assume, is the patty. Whatever it was, frankly all I could really taste was the egg and not the fish. Pleasant enough but, rather like the mussels, a little disappointing.

Now to the most interesting part of our day’s journey for me. In New Zealand many of the road bridges are one lane bridges where it is sometimes necessary to wait for opposing traffic already on the bridge to clear it before proceeding. We joined a small queue waiting to gain access to a single lane bridge. The wrinkle here was that the one lane bridge was a shared road and rail bridge; both cars and trains ran across the same bridge. Eventually oncoming traffic cleared and we were able to proceed, sans train.

Further on, an even more interesting arrangement was encountered. A convoluted road sign showed a line drawing of a roundabout with a rail line running right through the middle of it. We were in luck. As we approached behind a handful of cars who, happily, seemed to know what they were doing, lights began flashing and bells began ringing. The cars stopped half way around the roundabout as a goods train clattered by. Weird!

Traffic excitement over, we arrived in Franz Josef Glacier Township and checked in to what has been one of the better campsites so far.

Back to those fuel prices. On North Island, I had paid as little as NZ$1.11. Some stations, notably the BP stations, were more but NZ$1.15 was not unusual if one was careful. Having crossed to South Island, the basic fuel price seemed to have risen to NZ$1.45. In the more remote Franz Josef, the price rose to a whopping NZ$1.75. To be fair, the fuel does have to be shipped quite a distance along the more remote roads but that’ll be in tanker loads. 30c a litre seems like a steep mark-up.

We both much preferred today’s improvement in the weather.

‘T was time to move on. Three nights in one place on a touring holiday? Ridiculous. We had to make tracks towards a reservation for an overnight cruise in Milford Sound boarding the coming Monday afternoon. To do that, we’d be averaging ~250kms a day for the next four days.

We left Kaiteriteri in good weather. The initial part of our journey to Westport-ish, on the west coast, took us on a minor road, perfectly good and sealed, actually brilliant, through a picturesque rural valley with swathes of bright yellow Broom covering many of its hillsides. IMHO, Broom is so much more attractive than Gorse, being a bright, clean yellow compared to the slightly dirtier yellow of Gorse. It’s not prickly either. Unfortunately, Broom has assumed the status of “invasive weed” here in New Zealand and is regarded rather as Rhododendron and Himalayan Balsam are in the UK. Our pretty Broom-infested road eventually joined State Highway 6 and, after a cappuccino at the café handily situated at the junction, we turned towards Westport.

The second half of the drive was through what could have been the attractive Buller valley. However, as we climbed up towards the col to begin the descent into the valley,  the clouds climbed down to meet us halfway and the hilltops disappeared. A very wetting rain began to fall. “Bother!”, said Pooh, crossly, again.

There being little point in stopping anywhere, we continued to Westport. Actually, we continued to our campsite at Carter’s Beach 10kms west of Westport. As we approached the coast we left the miserable conditions behind in the mountains and both the weather and our mood brightened accordingly. We were booked in and chose our pitch.

About 5kms further west again is a seal colony, a natural attraction for us nature lovers. The seal colony is at the enticingly named Cape Foulwind. Which genius thought that one up? Whether Cape Foulwind is so named because of inclement weather or because of the aroma drifting off the seal colony remains unclear. In any event we parked and went investigating.

The “seals” in question are so-called New Zealand Fur Seals. Here, I have to repeat my little lesson on seals and sea lions. I say repeat because I had to recite it about the so-called Cape Fur Seals that we saw earlier this year in Namibia. In common with the Cape Fur Seals, these New Zealand Fur Seals are, in fact, sea lions – they have ear flaps and walk on their limbs. No matter, the vernacular/common name we’re stuck with is seal and I’ll have to live with it. This is low season on seal/seal lion colonies but I spotted half a dozen or so from the high observation platform. Neither the high angle of view nor the very harsh lighting (the sun was now out again) was really favourable for photography but I clicked, as one must.

The seal colony solved an avian mystery for me. Back at Anchorage after our coast path walk, we’d seen a brown, flightless, chicken-sized bird wandering about almost oblivious to humans. Here at the seal colony, we saw them again, several this time, wandering about in a similarly oblivious manner, though get closer than about 2 metres and they ran off. An information board identified our feathered friend as a Weka. In common with most native New Zealand birds, many of which lost the power of flight due to their having been no predators away from which to fly, Wekas are not doing well. The problem is that some idiot decided it would be a good idea to introduce the possum to New Zealand. Flightless birds tend to nest on the ground, possums love to eat birds’ eggs. Enough said. Mankind screws the ecosystem yet again. We have been seeing kill traps tucked amongst the trees on pretty much all our walks through various forests/woodland. Traffic also takes a toll on possums but it ain’t enough, a concerted effort is required.

Beside the seal/sea lion colony is an expansive beach. While I was communing with wildlife, Francine played a little game with the landscape available. Eventually she’d tried enough angles and came back to join me.

Heading back for the campsite, Francine spotted a lily pond that was accessible. The sun was still shining and it was warm, about 17°C. I spun around and we accessed it. The pond was relatively teaming with Odos. There were three species, I think, including the Common Redcoat damselfly again. Neither of the dragonflies seemed interested in resting very much, so we spent an interesting hour or so trying to catch them in flight. The light was not advantageous again, being very harsh and into our faces, but we managed a few possibly identifiable shots. One of them finally settled briefly near Francine; it looks like a Hawker of some description so probably Aeshna brevistyla but don’t quote me until I can get on the blasted Internet properly. Another looked different to anything we’ve seen hitherto so I’m pretty sure this will constitute two new species.

Good start to the day and a good end.

My crossed fingers didn’t work; the morning dawned just as grey as yesterday’s evening. “Bother!”, said Pooh, crossly.

We’re at this campsite for two nights to give us time to say hello to an old acquaintance from Australia 16 years ago. It’s our first independent, non Top 10 campsite. It comes with free wi-fi but only a paltry 50Mb a day. Francine’s phone is set to automatically upload its phone camera pictures to Dropbox. Mess with photos and 50Mb don’t last long. Sure enough, our connectivity was soon cut. Top 10 sites give us 500Mb. Enough said.

There is a reportedly excellent walk here which requires a ticket on a coastal boat. The boat drops you off further up the coast (not accessible by vehicles), in the Abel Tasman National Park, and you walk back choosing one of a couple of possible distances to suit your abilities, to be picked up by the boat again at an appointed time. Our UK neighbours did it when they toured New Zealand a few years ago and loved it.

Under threatening grey skies we ummed and ahhed. The weather really didn’t look the greatest though I must admit that the temperature was about right – we certainly wouldn’t overheat. Our consensus of opinion was that we’d likely spend NZ$130 on conditions not right for sightseeing. There were walks from the campsite that would get us the exercise our legs craved.

Walk #1 was a circuit around the lagoon. It began less than scintillatingly along a road. When we cut into some woodland, however, things got much more interesting. Francine spotted a diminutive white flower that was clearly an orchid, even to my untrained eyes. There was a small cluster of them and we both clicked away happily. The bloom on these little guys are no more than a centimetre wide and they stand 7-8cms tall. We have no idea what it is and with no Internet connection worth a damn …

The walk had an optional side circuit which we took. On the uphill section of the circuit Francine spotted another of the Greenhood Orchids which, given its somewhat different size and shape, could well be a different species from our previous encounters.

On the downhill section of our loop, Francine spotted another diminutive white orchid, a similar size too our first, which is what I immediately assumed it to be. No, on closer inspection this one does look different. I had a very happy camper on my hands.

After lunching on the remaining smoked and marinated green lipped mussels from yesterday, we tried to find a second walk. We began well enough, following a pre-printed map, but soon descended into confusion as development seemed to have altered the roads and landscape somewhat. The good thing is that Francine has found yet another plant which she is convinced is another orchid.

The middle of the day brightened for lunch but it was regrettably short-lived. The afternoon skies returned to their irritating solid grey colour. The one ingredient that is indispensible for landscape photography is light and light seems to have been dispensed with.

The orchid tally is doing well, even if the landscape tally isn’t.

Today we waved goodbye to North Island, taking the Interislander Ferry [which Kiwi Satnav insisted on pronouncing Inter-is-lander] from Wellington to Picton on South Island. Our latest check-in time was 08:00 and we’d be warned of heavy traffic on a Monday morning commute so, in typical Franco fashion, I set an alarm for 05:30 intending to leave the campsite at 06:30. With Francine skipping tea, we actually left at 06:10. There being no traffic worthy of the term heavy, we made the 11kms by about 06:30. Just three cars sat before a closed gate proclaiming that check-in would open at 06:45. We waited. Duly, a couple of staff arrived and opened up. The booking that Francine had made from the UK before leaving worked like a charm and we were soon in queue #2 waiting to board at 08:00.

The weather was grey; very grey; not to say threateningly grey. Francine amused herself with her camera as we waited.

Boarding went smoothly. The sailing was full, as was the premium lounge so we couldn’t pay to escape the kids. Ferries seem the same the world over. The captain used seaman’s language to indicate that the crossing would be rough in the strong wind; “there will be some movement”, he said. Movement sounds so much more appealing than rough. The stabilizers calmed the ferry’s “movement” and aircraft-style seats kept us comfortable enough on the 3½-hour crossing to Picton. Regrettably, the clearer weather that we experienced in mid-channel did not continue to South Island and conditions in Picton resembled those in Wellington, heavy and grey.

Ignoring Kiwi Satnav, we took the scenic route, Queen Charlotte Drive, towards our destination of Kaiteriteri. This first half of our journey was decidedly the most twisting roller-coaster road that I have ever driven, running along the mountainous edge of one of the many sounds on this island-strewn coast. It would have been fabulous scenery were it not for this bloody weather, which soon began throwing rain into the heavy, grey mix; hardly the artist’s palette that Francine had been hoping for for her landscapes.

In Havelock, the centre of the green lipped mussel industry, we consoled ourselves with a green lipped mussel lunch. Well, it would’ve been rude not to. We chose a sampler platter to share between two. Out came a mountain of mussels prepared in seven different ways: steamed, grilled with bacon and cheese, grilled with persillade, grilled with sweet chilli sauce, battered, smoked, marinated. The helping was so generous we couldn’t manage the smoked and marinated, so we took those for supper.

So, whadda we make of green lipped mussels. [The commercially grown ones, incidentally, are marketed as green shelled mussels.] Well, first of all most of them are absolutely huge compared to those European ones with which we are familiar. Most of their shells were each about 4cms long. The mussel contained therein is so large that it must be equivalent to about six of ours. Equivalent to six in size, that is. I don’t know whether their texture is down to the increased size or the different species [these are endemic to New Zealand] but they are considerably tougher/chewier than I’d’ve liked, sort of a mussel flavour with a whelk texture. They were an interesting experience, pleasant enough but I won’t be rushing back for more. I do rush back at every available opportunity for more of our European mussels, preferably the Scottish rope-grown mussels or the French equivalent, Moule de bouchot – both are sweet, tender and an absolute delicacy, IMHO.

We’ve arrived at Kaiteriteri, largely to reacquaint ourselves with a former neighbour of Francine’s brother from Sydney. He now runs a backpackers hostel and restaurant beside our campsite.

If only the weather would brighten up, Francine could play on the beach. My fingers are crossed.

Morning dawned calmer but mizzly. The mizzle soon turned to rain and we began our 300km journey to Wellington in the clouds, which were trying to drift along below our 800m altitude. Busby’s temperature read 7°C. Yuk!

We’d made the right decision; the part of North Island between Ohakune and Wellington was almost as drab as the weather, compared to what we had experienced further north. As the kilometres ticked away and we neared Wellington, spells of sunshine appeared. The temperature soared to 16°C and the price of diesel soared from NZ$1.15 to NZ$1.45. No matter, having a full tank is more important than the price, which is still cheaper than in England, even at top dollar. Actually, though we’d been warned not to pass a fuel station without filling up, I suspect that relates mostly to the more sparsely populated South Island. [80% of Kiwis live on North Island.] Fuel stations have been frequent in North Island.

We arrived at 15:00

Since there is little else to report, what of the camping experience so far? We are trying two things for the first time: a campervan and New Zealand campsites.

Campervan

Our unit is a Mercedes van conversion. It drives very well. It’s 7.2m long and 2.8m high. I can stand up in the middle without worrying about my head. Any activity to the side requires care but a little more familiarity is lessening the occurrences of [Bump] “bugger!”.

The weather has not been warm enough to live outside so we have had to put the bed down and up every day. This activity is a back killer but then my back is 64 years old. For some reason, perhaps because I’m stretching the length of it rather than the width, it’s more difficult that in our caravan. The bed is full width but you sleep lengthwise, the van not being as wide as a caravan. The bed is firm and comfortable though not quite my length – I assume a slight angle and let my feet overhang beside the “wardrobe” door. The day time configuration provides a very pleasant wrap-around seating area with a cleverly adjustable rear table.

The fridge is excellent and the 3-burner hob is adequate though I suspect you’d really use only one ring at a time, the hob being recessed with no overhanging pans possible. (Modern caravans suffer the same problem.) It has an extractor hood, which is great even if noisy. I suspect we’re weird cooking and eating in the van – most of our fellow travellers both cook and eat in the well equipped campsite kitchens (see below). Bugger that, I prefer my privacy.

Storage was tough to begin with but we’re coping, now, though remembering where you hid something specific can be challenging, as can getting complacent about movement resulting in another [Bump] “bugger!”

The necessary-for-our-overnight-comfort toilet compartment is adequate but very dangerous on the [Bump] “bugger!” front. Too loud a [Bump] “bugger!” may result in a woken partner, resulting in yet more physical or mental pain.

There are two tables, both necessary as central supports for the bed. One table may be mounted on a pole at the front behind the driver and passenger seats which can be spun around to face backwards. In fact, the seats have to spin around before the table can be mounted. Spinning the seats around is a game. Driver and passenger doors must first be opened, the chair must be slid fully one way (forwards, think), then it can spin 180° given pulling on the correct lever. This, of course, upsets my driving position which must be reset after the reverse operation. I’ve tried it only once, so far.

Living in the van is a bit like one of those children’s puzzles with 15 tiles and 16 (4×4) positions, only one of which is empty. Shuffle the one empty space until the desired arrangement of tiles is met.

Everything sort of scrooks or rattles in transit. It isn’t just the contents of some of the cupboards which could, given practice, be stuffed and quieted, it’s some of the cupboards themselves. You get used to it and it isn’t too bad. It was expected.

It is cramped, though. Our caravan is a full metre shorter than this van but is considerably more spacious. I could live full time in Guillaume; I could not live full time in Busby. The van does the job but that’s it and the job is touring New Zealand. The job is not camping for the fun of camping. It is nice being able to stop in relatively regular car parks en route to see sights or go shopping; that isn’t often possible with a caravan in tow. So, as we’d suspected, it’s designed for a different use.

The Campsites

We have been camping, mostly in France, for over 30 years, going from a tent to a caravan (very small at first). A normal French campsite has a pitch size of 100m². An Aire Naturale pushes the pitch size up to about 200m².

When we retired and thought of camping further afield, like Spain or Italy, I got concerned about campsites advertising pitch sizes of 84m². or less, say 60m².

We have been staying on Top 10 campsites in NZ thus far. Top 10 is a franchise that supposedly sets standards, a bit like ACSI in Holland/Europe. [Mark of the devil but that’s another story.]

As I have mentioned, the NZ campsites seem generally to be very well equipped with cooking, washing up and dining equipment. These facilities save your own gas, water and waste water. Very good. What they are not well equipped with is space. Our first few sites gave us hard-standing of the same length as the van with a pitch width between units of a similar dimension. That’s a paltry 50m². That was the largest pitch we’d had until today, which is slightly longer. Fortunately, thus far, all fellow campers have been considerate and quiet.

No sites seem to have been equipped for hand washing of clothes, either. That’s a Francine thing – rinsing manually washed clothes is nigh on impossible. The expected form seems to be a machine load or nothing.

Our site at Ohakune last night, whilst perfectly pleasant, pushed shoe-horning in campervans to new extremes. We saw multiple units with less than a metre between them. Even if the weather was good, you wouldn’t sit outside in conditions like this. Pictures speak a thousand words so cop an eyeful of these.

Our first site facing Shelly Beach was a site we could’ve stayed on for the enjoyment of being there but none of the others have been. Once again, the campsites do the job but that’s it and the job is specifically touring New Zealand. The job is not camping for the fun of it.

Mental Adjustment

We are used to being away in our caravan just for the enjoyment of being on a campsite in the caravan. That attitude gets you disappointed here. Both van and campsites are a means to an end rather than an end in themselves. Both enable you to tour and see New Zealand. Stopping on a campsite and sleeping is just something that must be done to achieve that goal.