Dunedin, Otago and the road south

After a fine evening of sampling the local microbrews and reggae, I awoke early the next morning to seek out the location of the brave company willing to rent a car to a backwards American. Upon arrival I was informed that my car was not yet ready and was told that things should be set in about an hour or so. Given that my travel schedule was rather flexible I wasn't concerned, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and gathered my belongings before returning at the prescribed time. Once again I was informed that my car would not be ready for an hour. Now that I now had all of my gear with me and was sufficiently caffinated, I elected to remain on their rather comfortable couches and do sudoku puzzles. As I pondered numbers and boxes, I began to think that perhaps I was not the only one whose car lay at the other end of the magical hour, given all the huffing and puffing going on at the counter by some other foreigners in a big hurry to relax. In between tourist's chest beating and laying siege to the office, I struck up a conversation with the agent and discovered that it was her very first day on the job and that the car shortage had to do with a big screw up at the airport rental counter, not hers. After trading horror stories about working in the service industry, she taught me the Hertz secret handshake and gave me an upgrade and extra day for free. That, and because my car was much smaller than anything the other renters were looking for (they all wanted SUV's), I drove away only 2 hours behind schedule while their faces turned from red to purple. Maybe there's a lesson here...


It has been my experience that even people who live in places with a so called "laid back attitude" still drive like maniacs in the right circumstances, and yet in New Zealand this just isn't the case. Kiwi drivers are perfectly content to drive an easy 10 km/hour under the speed limit, and should you choose drive faster, they will happily pull off onto the shoulder to let you by. This attitude may have something to do with lack of superhighways, or a built-in wariness to their roads being spontaneously overtaken by flocks of migratory sheep. It is a bit difficult to get somewhere if you are in a hurry, but maybe that's the point. Besides, it gives you plenty of time to listen to the radio.

There are really only 3 radio stations on the south island, one for pop, one for classical, and one that plays the greatest hits of the 60's and 70's. Once you left the tower range of one city, the same station would appear at a different frequency in another tower range. Even the advertisements were entertaining. Radio jingles in many western countries have been replaced by testostorne excitement (Monster truck ralley this SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY) or the ever-annoying converstional sales pitch ("Hi John! That's a nice tie...do you know where I could buy a flatscreen tv with a 2 year warrenty?"). But in New Zealand, jingles still rule the airwaves and in fact are surprisingly effective (after about an hour I found myself musing whether or not I might could use a new microwave at any point in my travels...the jury is still out).


As I pulled through the Canterbury plains the skies lightened and I started passing road signs cautioning me against wind socks. I puzzled over the meaning of these signs for some time, and looked to the surrounding countryside to determine what changed immediately after passing one of these signs. In the end I decided it had something to do with hills, or perhaps dreadlocked mullets (which were suddenly everywhere). The landscape went from green to brown, irrigated crops to pastures and sheep, and I decended into the small city of Dunedin. On a side note, the sheep population in New Zealand used to be about 40 million (compared to about 4 million people) until 10-15 years ago, until cheap imports from China made sheep farming less profitable. So while the sheep to human ratio is still rather comical (today it stands at about 4:1, or 16 million sheep), it has been in decline.


I had found a place to stay in Dunedin using the website couchsurfing.com, a sort of travellers network of places to stay across the world. Essentially you make your couch or spare bedroom willing to host travellers (or make yourself willing to meet them for coffee or a drink and show them around), and people can search your profile and request to come and stay with you. The beauty of it is that you can do the same thing when you are abroad, and get to meet local people who are travellers themselves with an intimate knowledge of where you are. A comfy bed/couch, a place to cook and do laundry, interesting people to talk to, and the whole thing is free! What a great idea!


My hosts for the next three days were Debbie and Hamish, a couple whose kids had grown and moved out, leaving them with a few empty bedrooms and seats at the dinner table. I got in just before dinner and cooked some mussels for Debbie (Hamish was out of town), and after dinner we took a drive out to a random hill outside of town to check out a glow worm nest. That's right...a glow worm nest...next to a waterfall. No pictures of this one (the worms aren't big fans of flash cameras), but imagine being in a very small planetarium during a star show (with a waterfall). Not a bad way to start a visit.


My intent in coming to Dunedin was to pop over to Central Otago and visit some contacts in the wine industry there, but after chatting with Debbie I found out that "popping over" to Otago takes about 3 hours, so I took the day off of heavy driving and decided to explore Dunedin instead. I started the day by venturing out to the tip of the Otago Pennisula, home to the world's only albatros nesting site that's shared with human inhabitants (and some blue penguins thrown in too). The road to the tip of the peninsula was a bit challenging, driving along the left side with no shoulder for about 40 kilometers, the margin of error being the ocean. I had hit the big leagues of rental car driving.


The peninsula itself was pretty amazing, imagine the best parts of Vermont (sleepy little towns with history), Oregon (the scenic beauty), and Scotland (rolling hills covered in sheep and even a castle!). It was very hard not to wander off amongst the towns, but I was on a mission. There was a large tourist site marking the end of the peninsula that charged an entrance fee, but thanks to Debbie I found a free vantage point along the edge of a cliff face that was just as good. As I waited I was joined by another couple, and we debated whether or not the large birds flying around were albatross. To be safe, I took lots of pictures of what turned out to be well fed seagulls, but if these were albatros I couldn't understand what the fuss was about. Just as I was beginning to loose heart, a clumsy duck looking thing jumped off the cliff and spread its wings, and then kept spreading them. While the bird was only about 2 feet tall, its wingspan was easily over 10. This, at last, was an albatros. How do they fly? They don't, they simply unfold their wings and glide around. It was well worth the wait. I hadn't been expecting to see any blue penguins while I was there, (they tend to only be active in the morning and the evening to avoid sea lions), but I spotted something swimming around in the water far below me and snapped a picture. It sure as hell looked like a penguin anyway.

Leaving the point, I came across a small beach up to road and decided to try and find get a shot looking up the bay towards Dunedin. Part of the beach was closed off as a wildlife reserve, but I managed to find my way along some rocks towards the water. I was just about to leap down to the water's edge when at the last possible instant I noticed the rock wasn't composed of the usual rock-like components, but was actually a large mass of blubber. I had come about 2 feet from bounding right onto a napping sea lion! While I was quite unnerved...the sea lion didn't seem to care. It opened an eye, looked at me, scratched its unmentionables and rolled over with a groan, which was answered but similar groans from several directions. Half the damn rocks were sea lions...I was in the middle of a colony! Thankfully their groans were more of the "some asshole has wandered onto the rocks again, if anybody is up to the task you can chase him out...I just can't be bothered at the moment" variety, and I was able to cautiously back away with limbs intact (after taking a few photos of course).

I wound my way back along the highway, taking the upland road for a change of scenery, which offered stunning views of the Pacific and even the site of New Zealand's first cheese co-opt! Upon my return to the city I stopped at the world's steepest street (or steepest 6.3 meters of street anyway...take that Japan!), and took some video of myself driving down it. The locals who lived on that street gave me dirty looks, a group of Asian tourists at the bottom waved and cheered me on.


The next day it was off to Otago for some wine-tasting, but first I had to pass through some strangely familiar scenery. It was a bit uncanny, at any moment I expected a marauding band of orcs carrying two hobbits to go dashing across the road, pursued by a ranger, an elf, and a dwarf. No such luck though...must have been too cloudy.


Otago is full of Cristom alumni, and a day really wasn't enough time to spend there. I saw Bannockburn and Cromwell and tasted at some fantastic wineries, but couldn't help feeling like I hadn't even scratched the surface. I may be heading back down to Queenstown post vintage when the funds have been replenished, maybe I'll even throw myself off a bridge or two (it was invented here after all). I returned to Dunedin to Debbie and Hamish and had a lovely evening talking wine and politics (things usually not to be mixed in strange company, but the conversation was very polite and really interesting), and awoke the next morning with the bread trucks. It was a long way to Renwick and Marlborough, longer still with the two lane highway. Not that I really minded all that much.