The Marlborough Sounds Chocolate & Wine Festival

Marlbough Sounds in the North of the South Island is known for its world renowned wine. In particular it's Savignon Blanc. The climate is perfect for the grapes, situated in a valley that competes with a town on the other side of the mountain the the most hours of sunshine a year. 2000 plus. Needless to say we found it rather convenient that we would be in town just in time for the Marlborough Sounds Wine & Chocolate Festival. However, considering this particular Fetsival is one we invented ourselves, you really shouldn't be that surprised to discover that there wasn't an overwhelming turnout. Two people at final count. The origins of this Festival were simple. We picked a little winery, 'Mahi' and went for their free tasting. We tried a generous helping of 5 wines. Two Savignon Blancs, Chardonnay, Gewurztraminer, and a Pinot Nior. Jon sipped and, being the constant designated driver poured the remainder of deliciousness into my waiting glass. An hour or so later, after learning all about Marlborough wines, for example, for a wine to say 'Marlborough' on it ALL the fruit must have been grown in the Marlborough valley! Anyways, as we floated out of the winery high on life and fermented grapes, a bottle of our very own Marlborough delicacy in tow, my darling husband turns to me, its (for moments like this one that I married the man) and he says 'Hey, why don't we go buy a (massive) (side note: I didn't say, 'massive': Kristen just assumed I meant massive...go figure) bar of chocolate and have a wine and chocolate festival?' Ahhhhh The sweetest words to ever have fallen upon my ears. It started to rain as we exited the corner store with our jumbo chocolate bar of heaven. It is the first rain we have had in weeks. The weather has been unbelievable. If you can imagine anything more fun than sitting in a van, in the rain down by the river (aka: our campsite) with an award winning bottle of wine and a massive chocolate bar I would like to hear it. Nothing right? As a result of this year's reviews I highly suspect this inaugural Marlborough Wine & Chocolate Fest will be the hit of the season come next Spring. Maybe next year they will even splurge on actual wine glasses....

Things Are Going South

Jonathan relied on the 'ancient' alarm clock to get us up in time to catch our 8am ferry from Wellington on NZ`s North Island to Picton, on the south. We discovered just before we were headed to bed that our alarm watch didn`t work. So Jonathan took one for the team and drank three bottles of water assuring that he would be up bright and early, if not before. The truth behind this 'bladder alarm' has yet to be verified, but, sure enough, at 6am on the dot my darling husband was awake and racing to the bathroom.

The ferry ride from Wellington to Picton is a photographers dream. I found a spot of morning sun on the front deck and happily clicked away for the next 3 hours. Wellington's harbour is a sight in itself, but then in the distance snow capped mountains come into view, and finally you are in the Marlborough Sounds. Like the Island Queen in Parry Sound our massive ferry squeezed its way through narrow passages into pristine waters and in between towering green mountains. A Christchurch native pops into our conversation by pointing out a salmon fishery on the coast. He tells us all about the massive earthquake that devastated CHristchurch about 8 weeks ago. The earthquake was a result of a fault line that no one even knew about until the quake. He says the earth quake only lasted 30 seconds but it felt like an hour. It was 4 am, so like most he was in bed. He said the quake was so strong that he couldn't even get up. Houses on the lake opposite his literally slid into the lake and the people who lived in them still don't know if they will be able to re-build at the site.

Straight from the ferry we drove south down the most gorgeously distracting highway to Kaikoura. The wind swept the massive waves along the huge sandy beaches or tossed them dramatically into cliff alongside the road. Ocean spray from the tips of waves in the distance completed the magical atmosphere. I held my camera out the window clicking in hopes of capturing at least a smidge of the wild, seemingly abandoned coast. The abandoned feeling probably comes from the fact that only 1 million people live on the whole of the south island. The road, of course, is the main highway to Christchurch, the biggest city on the south island. It's a whole new world down here.

Before the 1980s no one wanted to even come to Kaikoura. It was nothing but a small fishing town Kai (meaning 'food') and Koura (meaning 'crayfish', aka lobster). Once word got out that there was a whole lot of accessible sea life in this tiny seaside village. The tides changed, coming in full of tourists. I fell in love with the town before we even got there. Twenty or so kilometers north was a small roadside sign saying 'Seal Colony.' We pulled over, even though the clearly self explanatory sign should have prepared us, we were delighted to see and actual seal colony frolicking just below. Seeing animals in their natural habitat is extraordinary.

In Kaikoura, snow capped mountains practically fall into the ocean. There are few places in the world where mountains are so close to the sea. It is spectacular. The problem is deciding where to look. You look at the sparkling water and feel guilty for not paying more attention to the majestic mountains. So you turn to the mountains and you miss the dolphin just off shore. What's a girl to do?

Other reasons I love Kaikoura include the magnificent Kaikoura Peninsula Cliff Walk, the FREE ocean-front camping, accessible fresh water tap, friendly i-site ladies and, of course, the seals. After our cliff walk we settled ourselves at the Kean Point carpark and watched another seal colony for the entire afternoon. The seals played and lazed and lazed and played (emphasis on the lazing) and so we followed suit. We set up our beach chairs on the edge of their colony and became, for a few hours anyway, honourary seals. Don't you feel bad for us?

ps. We finally got around to trying the Hokey Pokey ice cream (solely because of your request, mom). These are the flavours in our cone: Hokey Pokey, Goodie Goodie Gum Drop and Mint Chocolate Cookie Smash!

pps. We are starting to gather contacts for Southeast Asia. If anyone knows anyone we could meet up with or any volunteer opportunities we could piggy back, please let us know. Thanks!

Geo-thermal heat & a NZ Blizzard

Central North Island is all about shaking and jiving. Of the earth's plates that is. You can smell that you are approaching Rotorua before you can see it. That eggy sulfur aroma fills your nostrils and you know you are in the land of sizzling streams, smoking lakes and exploding mud (either that or you are dangerously close behind Uncle Dan). Rotorua has always been revered by the Maori (NZ's indigenous population) and today 35% of the it's population is Maori. There is an interesting Anglican church in a traditional Maori village called Ohinemutu inside Rotorua which has successfully integrated ancient Maori traditions (mainly carvings in building structure) with Christianity. In the village was also a traditional meeting hut along with various other beautifully detailed Maori carvings. After exploring the church we went for the cheap geo-thermal thrills in Kuirau Park. Most of the geysers and hot pools in the area are on privately owned land and therefore cost money to see. Kuirau Park is right in the centre of town for all to admire. This volcanic area has a large steamy crater lake, several pools of boiling mud and a couple hot mineral baths for dipping. The most recent eruption in the Park was in late 2003 which left most of the park, including the trees covered in mud! Fortunately/unfortunately there was no such mud bath during our visit.

We headed further south to Taupo, the crater of a massive volcano disguised as a lake. After milling about the lake for a bit we headed into town and, seeing Merrells on sale, found ourselves in an outdoors store. Barry, the young Kiwi sales assistant was knowledgeable and friendly, telling us all about the surrounding area, the volcanoes in Tonganariro National Park, and the benefits of Merino wool socks. He told us that the volcanoes are still very active and in 2007 a small earthquake accompanied the eruption and a poor hiker in a hut on the mountain lost his leg when lahar (like lava) flew through the door! Jeez Louise!

Before venturing into volcano land, we indulged our sweet tooth at the Honey Hive. This magnificent store had active bee hives in glass enclosures, bee stats, bee movies, bee books, and, most importantly honey. Of the free sampling variety.What a delicious way to spend and hour... or two. Did you know that a worker bee (always infertile females) only live about 6 weeks and make a total of 1/2 teaspoon of honey over their entire lives?!

Next to the Honey Hive was Huka Falls. 22,000 litres of water every minute cascade dramatically over 10m into a swirrling pool. Its not quite as magnificent as Niagara, but it lacks the suffocating hotels and tacky souvenir shops, which is a major bonus. The water is moving so fast that the falls is a beautiful aqua colour, a result of the massive amount of oxygen mixed with the water.

We were lucky enough to learn about a free campsite beside a emerald green river and headed there for the night. There was a sign at the entrance that said the site didn't open until Nov 1st. It was Oct 29th, but the camp was quite busy. Jonathan went on a quest to get to the bottom of the situation and returned with new Kiwi friends Bill and Lindy. And Lindy arrived with cake for us! Delicious home made ginger and coffee cakes, which we devoured for dessert. Such treats are of high demand in these parts, we discovered when a dozen tiny ducklings bravely waddled up to our feet and did what I'm sure was their best attempt at puppy eyes. Who can say no to cute little fluffy ducklings begging for just the tiniest bite of cake and a cuddle. Who are we trying to kid. I can. This is cake we are tallking about here. Ducks eat weeds, not cake. (My aunts are now saying 'awwwwwww, Kristen is so mean!') Anyways, Bill explained that this perfect campsite had been left to the community as a free campsite in a will. Since then the township has been trying to close it down, but for some legal reasons they can't. Yaa for the law!

We ventured into the Volcano lair the next day. The three peaks of Tongariro National Park were a gifted to NZ in 1887 by the local tribe who saw this as the only way to preserve the area of spiritual significance. This makes Tongariro NZ's first National Park and the fourth National Park in the World. We spent 2 days hiking in the mountains. Other than the volcanoes we saw stunning waterfalls, gold coloured streams, a river adorned with dozens of inukshuks and water flowing through cream terraces. On one hike, on a relatively sunny afternoon we felt a cold breeze blow over us, and low and behold, it was snowing. Not huge flakes or swirrling gales, but beyond a doubt, snow. Last week I was in my bathing suit on a beach and today it is snowing. It was magical. Until Jonathan started humming ' Walking in a Winter Wonderland.' Camping is cold when you are in the mountains, it turns out. After putting on every single piece of clothing we had, and still not getting a wink of sleep we jumped into the front seats, put the defrost on full blast (which we needed, because there was frost on the INSIDE of the van) and took off in search of sun to warm our bones. Its amazing what a difference a bit of warm morning sun can make.

From the Park we headed to Windy Wellington, the Nation's Capital on the southern tip of the North Island. There were flags everywhere 'Wellington-Named by Lonely Planet as the Best Little Capital on Earth' or something like that. And it was impressive. Wellington has a huge magnificent harbour, beautiful beaches and lots of walk ways all right downtown. Like in Vancouver, everyone we saw looked fit and practically glowed of good health. Intimidating. Do they even sell ice cream here? Because I can't find any. Our first port of call was the National Museum, 'Te Papa' which loosely and affectionately translates to 'Our Museum.' Fitting. Te Papa is hugely interactive. You can touch, play with, light up, listen to or watch in 3D almost every exhibit. Plus, it's free. Our guide book says the museum is an 'innovative celebration of the essence of NZ' which sounds about right. Te Papa has the world's only Colossal Squid on display along with Maori art, lively displays of NZ culture over the decades, photography, trees, birds, sea life, geography and geology. Fascinating.

NZ fact: Similarities in language between Maori and Tahitian indicate close contact in historical times. Maroi is about as similar to Tahitian as Spanish is to French, despite the 4294km separating these island groups!

NZ fact: The Mouse that Roared: In 1984 Prime Minister David Lange barred nuclear -powered or armed ships from entering NZ waters. As a result the US threw NZ out of ANZUS, the country's main strategic military alliance which also included Australia , delaring NZ 'a freind but not an ally.' In 1987 the idea became law with the 'Nuclear Free Zone, Disarmament & Arms Control Act.' NZ continues to demonsrate it's conscience through it's current un-involvement in Iraq.

The Coromandel: It's Always Nice in Paradise

The Coromandel juts out into the Pacific Ocean forming the eastern edge of the Hauraki Gulf. It has a string of mountains down its spine, some of NZ's North Island's best white sand beaches along it's eastern coast and cute gold mining towns along it's west. Although its only a few hours from Auckland, it feels like an isolated world away.

First thing first, we stop for ridiculously expensive gas (From $1.84-$1.99/litre here!! Think about that next time there is pandemonium when gas tops $1 at home) It's a gorgeous day. Jonathan says so to the cashier when he goes in to pay for the gas. 'Well, of course, It's always nice in paradise' the cashier replied. Good start. With a spring in our step we headed up the west coast. We stopped in the dramatic Coromandel Forest Park to take in the mountains and then headed straight for the top. Since there was 35km of windy, steep gravel road between the last town and the campsite at the tip of the peninsula, we decided to go stay at the 'closer' campsite, only 28km down the gravel road. Now 28km is not far, say, between Niagara and St. Catharines, but let me tell you, 28 km down a NZ gravel road takes at least an hour. We bump and swerve along as camper-vans twice our size try to squeeze between us (driving on the left, keep in mind) who are dangerously close to the edge of a guard-rail-less cliff and the steep mountain side which is hemming them into our lane. Or their lane. Who can tell really. There probably only is the one lane. Anyways. We arrived safely at the site to only to remember that it is a NZ long weekend. Labour Weekend. The site is packed to the gills with elaborte camp fortresses, beer drinking men and screaming children. Ahhh camping is so relaxing. We squeeze ourself into a little alcove wondering how this gem of a (almost) private area could still be available. What did we miss? In NZ at these Department of Conservation sites there is generally a grassy area, or serveral grassy areas that you simply drive on to, stopping to camp where-ever suits your fancy. We grabbed our chairs and headed to the rocky beach to watch the fisher-people, kayakers, scuba divers and the sunset.

The next day we decide that parents of screaming children would most likely not torture themselves by driving the extra 7km up (and down, and up again) the increasingly steep narrow gravel road to the most remote campsite, at the very tip of the peninsula, Port Jackson. With this as motivation, we were back on the road. Every hairpin turn had me closing my eyes and grabbing for my camera almost simutaneously. Port Jackson is a 2km beach with camping on the small dunes, just our of reach of those nasty high tides. It is perfect. We set up our little campervan (aka:parked it) in a little spot between two native Puka trees, right smack dab on the ocean. And what to our wandering eyes do appear? Killer whales breeching in the bay! At least 3! Maybe a pod! We watch them in wonderment when our camping neighbour comes over to make sure we see them. He says that they come almost everyday and sometimes they ever sweep in around close to shore! And do we want some fresh water to fill up our jug?

It is still pretty busy here, being the Sunday of the long weekend, but every Kiwi on the beach is so friendly and wants to talk. 'How are you liking your Holiday?' ' What do you think of NZ?' 'Where are you going next?' 'How long are you staying up here?' 'There's a nice hike at the end of the beach over there you should try...' Once Jonathan goes to brush his teeth and doesn't come back for an hour. But I'm not worried. Between the exuberant Kiwi friendliness and Jonathan's need to smile and say 'hi' to everyone, including passing livestock, (isn't it great how lovingly Kristen portrays me in these stories?) we have a recipe for hours and hours of distraction. Needless to say, he returns to our heavenly site with stories of lore from Terry, a Kiwi luger.

Terry was on the 1989 NZ Olympic luge team at the Calgary Olympics. It is amazing in itself to have made it to the Olympics. That celebrated accomplishment is one shared by every individual who competes in the games, winter or summer. The dedication to training and exercising needs likely to be borderline fanatical for an athlete to be in peak physical condition so as to respond as efficiently as possible to the twists and turns and all the challenges wrought with high speed, high adrenaline and high pressure sporting. The sheer determination that pushes every athlete into the Olympics can't be denied. Imagine the blood, sweat and tears that every Canadian Olympic slalom skier parted with to raise her or his game to the level they did. But without taking away any of that, Terry competed at the winter Olympics in luge and comes from a tropical island. Jamaican bob-sled team, anyone? He trained incredibly hard for two years by putting four shopping cart wheels on a sled and drove across the whole of New Zealand just to climb a new hill and sled (or luge) down it. After knowing and experiencing luge as solely a summer sport, Terry's soon-to-be coach approached him and asked if he knew some countries in the world only knew luge to be a winter sport...with snow and ice. Needless to say it didn't take Terry much convincing and he had flights booked all of Europe and even Canada to have a go with blades on his sled rather than shopping cart wheels (I don't know how his particular wheels were, but aren't those ones that spin around and do everything except roll pretty annoying?). He was such an enthusiastic story-teller. And he was very generous too: by the end of our chat he was asking if Kristen and I wanted to swing back around here at Christmas so that he and his family could have us as guests! Like Charlie describing the chocolate factory, Terry told me the yearly tradition at Port Jackson. Supper is brought in from the sea. Intensely rich pauas (pronounced "pow-ahs") (shell fish) are collected by the hundreds and cooked in butter. A pig is put on a spit. Fish, most often Red Snapper is brought in by the kilogram from the sea and filleted. Every family there would bring a banquet size table and all would be put together into one massive communal dinner table where everyone eats together and shares what they have. Apart from the fact that there didn't sound like a single vegetable made it to this feast, it sounded like an experience we would only have been too lucky to have been apart of. It was more than good enough for us that we were even invited.

Since we could't bare to leave our perfect spot, and it's Holiday Monday and no one wants to travel on a Holiday, we decide to stay another day. Not a hard decision. We go on the short hike to the lookout over the bay (and to Channel Island!) that everyone keeps telling us about. Then, remembering that I saw some open kayaks by the Ranger Station we decide to ask the friendly ranger couple if we could rent them. 'No, you can't rent them.' Awwwwwwww 'But you can borrow them, for free.' This is the best day of my life. We cross our fingers that the orcas are skipping the beach today. We are geeks and love nature shows. Unfortunately we have seen one too many shows where killer whales and sharks mistake kayakers for seals, a favourite snack, and it makes for what looks like a painful paddle. Hoping we didn't bite off more than we can chew, (haha!) we pulled the bright yellow and orange kayaks across the sand (and there is a lot of sand at low tide) and set off into the impossibly clear ocean in search of sea-life (the non-threatening kind). I was thinking of how jealous my mom would be and loving every second of it. (The kayaking, not the bragging, of course) We were out for 3 hours! I was giddy with excitement, and a healthy dose of fear, as we paddle through every nook and cranny, between every rock and into every seaweed patch. We saw loads of spiky sea urchins, pink jellyfish and, the highlight: a sting ray! We return `home`and, after a pancake dinner, had a campfire with wood that our neighbours had left behind. As soon as the sun goes down the kill becomes filled with stars. The kind that even twinkle. Its a truly spectacular sight.

It takes us 4 hours to drive the 100km from Port Jackson down the other side of the penninsula to 'Hot Water Beach.' For once, our snail pace is not a result of Jonathan's 90km/h policy. The roads are just all so narrow and windy that it just takes a lot longer to get to places, once you are off the main highway. The speed limit on those narrow, winding, gravel roads, you may ask. Oh 100km/hr. It's almost like a dare. 'Go 100 km/hr! Try it! I dare you!.'

Anyways, because NZ sits on a hot plate they have a variety of cool geo-thermal activities. Two hours on either side of low tide you head down to a certain part of the adequately named `Hot Water Beach`, with a shovel and you can dig your own hot tub! I dragged Jonathan down onto the sand, which already had a number of people enjoying the self-made hot tubs. Thankfully for us, since we forgot to pack our shovels (I knew there was something I forgot!) some nice people had dug a few holes, which had filled with water and since left. We picked a pool with an unobstructed view of the water. The water was HOT. Hotter than even A. Maryann would want the hot tub. My skin was red instantly and Jonathan barely ventured his little butt down into the pool. Not to be discouraged, since this was too fantastic to pass up, I moved from rejected pool to rejected pool until some Kiwi guys about our age, probably out of pity, yelled 'Second hand pool for sale!' looking right at me. And so, before they even collected their empty beer bottles from the sand, I jumped into their perfectly temperate, perfectly deep, perfectly perfect hot tub and refused to budge until the tide finally came in and booted me out. Stupid tide. Got me again. All good things come to an end though, or so they say. I don't know about that quite yet though. We still have a whole lot of NZ in front of us!

ps. Thanks again to Maureen and Maurice who gave us a 2 for 1 pass for Kelly Tarlton's aquarium in Auckland. We hit it up on our way back through the city and loved it! Kelly Tarlton is NZ's Jacques Cousteau and the aquarium has a really interesting penguin exhibit, sting rays, massive lobsters, and of course, sharks!

pps. The picture of the yellow kayak and my feet pointing out to the ocean with that little mountain like island out there: that's Channel Island! Imagine that weekend cottage commute?