The West Coast and Big Old Glaciers

A nice dinner at the local Thai restaurant, green curry, phad thai, tom kha soup etc. It was fairly busy, which was strange for us. New Zealand? A full restaurant? To show you how things are here, a couple walked in at 8:15pm and I was seriously worried they would not be served! Ridiculous. Afterwards we enjoy a jam night at a bar close by, before retiring later than planned!

With a knock-on later than planned start the next morning. Dad had asked reception whether we could pay the day before because we'd be leaving at the crack of dawn. Well, paying at 9am is not normally an issue at motels! We head off on SH (State Highway) 6, which runs all the way down to the Glaciers and beyond, a distance of about 250 miles. The landscape changes gradually as we approach the west, becoming greener and less dry, though the weather is quite fine today.


Look what I've found!

We stop in the rather drab Westport for a bite to eat for lunch, then carry on along the coast. A sign on the way in said "If you want England, go to Christchurch, if you want NZ, go to Westport"! Not a good advert for the Kiwis! The road across to the west was quite painful, swerving left and right almost continuously. The coastal road is better, though not without bends, and we whizz down through Greymouth and Hokitika at a fair pace, only occasionally getting stuck behind the camper-vans which seem so incredibly popular for touring here.

It's noteworthy that people are very polite drivers here, and almost always pull over to let faster vehicles through. Also although this SH6 road is a primary state highway, there are occasional single-lane bridges where one direction or the other has priority. Dad of course, slams on his "clutch" whenever he's not sure what's happening. The funny thing is that the traffic seems to be so light that these bridges, so the single lane doesn't seem to be an issue. There are postcards on sale here that are entitled New Zealand Traffic Jam, showing a flock of sheep in the road, but it's true - a shepherd moving a flock about would be the closest you'd come to congestion, certainly on the South Island.

The next stop for us after Westport are the "Pancake rocks" at Punakaiki.


And we're only half way to the Glaciers!

These are interesting limescale formations that look like stacks of pancakes, and have formed rock features that produce blowholes for the waves coming in, with blasts of water searing into the air. Not today though - the waves are booming about in the caverns below us, but not enough to give us a soaking (that would be much appreciated in the hot sunshine!).


Ka-boom

Finally the long haul down to the Glaciers. There are various stretches along here where there are no petrol stations for a couple of hours drive, so we need to watch the fuel gauge, and we almost run out coming into Greymouth! It's hard to believe that there are glaciers here to be honest, we're really near the coast, and the landscape is of small hills densely covered in trees and foliage. However, suddenly in a gap between the hills some juicy mountains and glaciers appear.. We must be here! We find our favourite motel chain Bellavista, and book a "Helihike", i.e. where a helicopter takes you up the glacier then you go walking on the ice, for the next day.


Snowy stuff as seen from Franz Joseph Township

Helihike up Franz Joseph
There are two glaciers in this area, Fox and Franz Joseph, both in the Westland Tai Poutini National Park. Fox is the slightly smaller quieter one, Franz Joseph bigger, more famous, slightly more accessible. Normally I'd go for Fox, but as we're pushed for time, and for some reason Dad is tired after driving about 500km, so we visit Franz Joseph. This enormous glacier normally advances at 1m per day, but sometimes ramps it up to 5 or 6m per day, about 10x the speed of those in the European Alps. The Maori knew FJ as Ka Roimata o Hine Hukatere, which means "Tears of the Avalance Girl", a beautiful name. The more usual name was given to it by an Austrian, Julian Haast, who named it after the Austrian Emperor at the time.

The glaciers are here because NZ's South Island is right in the path of the Roaring Forties winds that come from the Southern Indian Ocean, laden with rain as they hit the Alps here, depositing a ridiculous 17m of rain per year high up above us, which falls as snow and feeds the glacier. This snow builds up, gets squashed, and becomes ice, flowing down and squeezing into a relatively narrow valley, plus dropping steeply down towards the temperate coast where we are staying.

Incidentally, I now have the answer as to why the ice is blue. When under lots of pressure, all the oxygen is squeezed out of the ice. Without the oxygen, the ice reflects all but the blue spectrum, and therefore appears blue to us. Goddit?

So, we turn up at The Helicopter Line's offices at the appointed hour, and are kitted out with their very heavy leather boots (compulsory), socks, waterproof jackets and crampons. For some reason a size 10 is ample for me, which is surprising. Either NZ sizes are bigger than the UK or their manufacturer is very generous with sizes. We walk out and wait for our helicopter ride up. Soon our 'copter is here, and we hop in, belting up and putting headsets on. Dad reveals that he used to ride helicopters when he worked on a gas rig in the North Sea! Who would have thought! Apparently it was such hard work that he took up Chartered Accountancy afterwards.



We lift off effortlessly, and whizz up the glacier. The ice is something to behold.



The pilot takes us up to the top of the glacier, then circles around, banking so we all get a good view, before dropping us on the landing "site" that the guides have cleared this morning. Out on to the ice, we step down a small staircase cut into the ice to a rocky area where everyone is waiting.



Here we put our crampons on, strapping the metal teeth which will give us grip on the ice to the bottom of the boots. This done, we set off, following our young female guide who has an enormous ice-pick, and helpfully clears a way for us.

We start walking up the ice and towards the edge, the ice crunching beneath our feet, though if you reach out with your hand to touch, you find it very hard.



There is water trickling everywhere, and in spots you can hear a bubbling or gurgling noise below, presumably where water is dropping down through the glacier. Everywhere there is white coloured "slush puppy" ice, with occasional cracks and holes showing the deep blues of crevaces.



Our guide finds a hole that for some reason we're supposed to climb through. It's a painful process all round!



Dad grazes his knees, in the process polluting the glacier, tut tut. We then trudge further up, through another cave and a small tunnel.



All around us are strange ice-sculpures, and at one point she asks us not to stand underneath a wave of ice in case the top breaks.



The ice moves up to 6 metres a day in the middle, and so there are often ice-falls, which of course can be very dangerous, especially when some of the peaks of ice can be 80m tall. It's very hard to judge the size of everything on the ice, until you see some humans far away, to put things in scale.


Dwarfed


A successful day



We return to base, I'm so happy to put my own boots and socks back on, then we enjoy a celebratory late lunch, before setting off to drive to Wanaka. The drive is along a good road, is incredibly quiet - we overtake one camper-van the whole drive, and very beautiful, passing through forests, along the coastline, turning inland at Haast, heading up to Haast Pass at 563m, then down along the enormous and broody-looking at dusk Wanaka and Hawea Lakes.

We arrive in Wanaka in the dark. It's a small town in a lovely spot, and everyone seems very fond of it. Not long for us to enjoy it though, as tomorrow morning we go to Queenstown Airport and fly to Christchurch. I've picked up some tickets to watch the Canterbury Crusaders vs the Stormers in Jade Stadium at Christchurch!

Abel Tasman Coastal Tramp and Sea-Kayaking

In the morning we hire a car in Nelson, which will save us time and make things more easier all round with our packs - plus we can return it elsewhere, which is handy. It's a smallish red Toyoto Corolla. Automatic. Dad doesn't know how to drive automatics, and therefore likes to use the brake pedal as a pseudo-clutch. It's somewhat nerve-racking experience being in the car with him. I soothe my nerves with a nice Green Tea Frappuccino at the Starbucks across the road from our motel - we'd stopped for breakfast and I'd almost not noticed my favourite Starbucks beverage on the menu.

Before setting off, I have to change my internal Air New Zealand flight, which as usual is a complete chore, the guy taking about 20 minutes to switch an **e-ticket**. I had bought it in Brazil from United, but at the end of the day it's an electronic ticket with his own airline, how hard can it be? The change means I'm flying out of Queenstown not Christchurch, which will give us a bit of extra time towards the end of our South Island tour.

We drive north to Motueka, following the beautiful coastline - the sea water is a lovely milky turquoise shade of blue, and find a nice place to stay, Nautilus Motel, before carrying on another half an hour to Marahau, the base town for Abel Tasman. This national park, New Zealand's smallest, is effectively a thin strip of coastline with paths following the water, in places crossing estuaries that can only be passed at low-tide. Access to the park, if you're not going the whole length, is by "water taxi", i.e. boats from various companies that shuttle up and down the coast to a schedule.

Our plan based on the time we have is to taxi up to Te Pukatea Bay, then walk round to Anchorage Bay via a spit of land, Pitt Head, that has a mirador. Strangely we all board the "taxi" at Aquataxi's base office - the boat is still on the trailer, then are pulled, with lifejackets on, by a tractor along the main road, down to the beach and into the sea.


Taxi!

The driver takes us to see Split Apple Rock, about which various legends exist, then heads north.


Straight down the middle

About 45 minutes later we are dropped off on a lovely beach, and potter about for a few minutes before marching off up the path, which leads through dense forest of all types.


Not a bad spot

We soon are high above the beach, looking over the bay and the rusty sand.




Kayakers heading round the coast below

Dad wanders off and I lose him. I begin to worry. Is he suffering from the curry we had last night? Did he step on a thistle with his bare feet and plunge off the cliff?



I pass a German couple who tell me that the old man with the bare feet is a few minutes ahead of me, and so I rush ahead and find him scrabbling about having lost a screw for his glasses. Sigh!



We descend down into a little bay with a couple of houses behind it, where we drop our bags and go for a swim. It's cold. It's very cold! You can tell it's cold, because round on the next beach, Anchorage, which is busier, no one is in the water.


What do you mean, my hand looks strange?

We wade in, grimacing! There are enormous mussels sitting on the sand floor, which are not much fun to step on. Soon it's time to head back, so we board the water-taxi and speed back along the small chop.


Bouffant

We drive back to town and have a quick beer at Moorings Bar and restaurant, then pick up a few bottles of Abbot Ale and Founders Ale on the way back to the motel. The Abbot is good! It's been a long time since I've had a good pint of English beer! Later we head out dangerously late (8pm) to Gothic Gourmet, a restaurant in a former church, which looks pretty awful from the outside owing to the colours it has been painted, but inside is fairly tasteful, and with a few pews and a painting of our Lord and Saviour could be holy again.


Tight and green lipped

I order the green-lipped mussels, a local speciality as I understand it, followed by an unpronouncable local fish. Dad has the spinach and ricotta filo parcels, something I'd be happy to order myself. And a portion of chips finds its way on to the order books somehow. Accompanied by a bottle of "Anchorage" Sauvignon Blanc from just outside of town - we see the vines on the way to the park.

Returning for a second dose


Next day after a traditional local breakfast of vegemite on toast, we head back to the park, and specifically to the small town of Kaiteriteri, which is next to Marahau, for kayaking. We are in a tandem kayak, Dad insists on the back, which also has the steering. We hire for 4 hours, and set off in glorious sunshine, heading up the coast towards where we walked the day before.



The coast is rocky, with lots of outcrops, caves and lagoons, and it is a tidal lagoon that we first meet and head into. What a wonderfully-peaceful place, with flat water, grass where the lagoon empties at low tide, and what looks like it may be a road. We drift for a few moments, just enjoying the tranquillity and the birds singing.

All along the coast here are houses tucked discretely into the hills above, often almost hidden amongst the trees. It's very quiet in fact, there are a few other people kayaking, but with such a large space to move in, we don't come close to anyone else all day.


Having seen the price compared to the UK, Dad suggests we move on before we get upset

Further up, we reach Split Apple Rock which looks like an enormous round boulder split perfectly in two. This is our boundary for these kayaks, so after having a quick poke about in a few small inlets, we head to the beach, pulling the kayak up and finding a spot to have lunch. We eye the sand suspiciously for sandflies. We've heard so much about how awful they are, but we're not convinced we've actually seen any, and certainly (touch wood) don't seem to have been munched yet.


Surprising amount of storage space

A few clouds roll back and forth now, taking the edge off the sun. We eat our rolls, and some celery that Dad found as a "salad", then Dad wanders about on the beach as I have a snooze. He joins me, until I wake him up taking this photo!:


Beached

We potter back along the coast. My arms feel tired, I think all the blood has gone to my stomach to soak up lunch. We pass our start point, then head to try to enter into Kaiteriteri Lagoon at the end of the beach (voted top 10 in the world by the Guardian apparently) but with the tide going out, the small inlet into the lagoon has water gushing out like a fast river, making it impossible to head up. It reminds me of the kayak arcade game in London's Trocadero centre. If you've tried it, you'll know what I mean. Anyway, I steered Dad into the oncoming torrent and we were pushed around and back into the swell. Who hadn't put his spray-deck on? Not me ;)



Having spotted a waterside bar, we agreed that after we returned the kayak, we would head there for a pint of nice cold beer, but there was still the whole bay to paddle back across. Suddenly however a transformed Dad started padding fantastically fast to shore! Who is this athlete behind me?!

Later in the evening we crack open the bottle I bought for him in Mendoza, Argentina - an Alta Vista Grande Reserve 2004 Malbec, which funnily enough they had in business class on LAN out of Easter Island, so I'm rather familiar with the stuff. Very nice.

Tomorrow: the West Coast!

Vineyards by Bicycle

The Marlborough area around Blenheim is very flat. Hence it makes sense to travel round by bicycle. Assuming there is no wind. Therefore on a very windy and blustery day (north-westerly) we hired bicycles and set off to visit as many wineries as we could manage in a day. The English chap who runs the outfit recommends some wineries for us, and proposes a route. I'd say he suggested no more than about 25 wineries. I love a challenge. We set off in a north-westerly direction.


The happy look before we start


Same person several hours later

On our bikes, Dad with the comfy seat, we cycle along the roads lined with vines. There are two other couples doing it today too, a pair each of Dutch and Swedes. The bikes have special panniers designed to hold bottles of wine in case we have the compulsion to purchase, which is of course why the they do tastings. The majority of wineries offer tastings for free in their "cellar doors", or shops at the winery, but a couple charge us $NZ 3-5. Dad usually uses the old "do you have a distributor in the UK" line, very classy, and even takes the name and address for the authentic "I might buy your wines" look!

The bikes here seem to have their brakes reversed, so I would be worried about going over the handlebars, but for their complete ineffectiveness anyway. I'm also worried about my right pedal snapping off, and there are strange noises coming from the chainset. Interestingly the chap tells us not to bother locking the bike for safety, partially because in NZ they are very strict about wearing cycle helmets, so as long as you take that with you, the bike is effectively immobilised!

Matua Malborough

Our first stop of the day, and we've been told that they have a nice rosé. The first wine we try is a riesling, which in general I am not keen on, but surprisingly this one has a great burst of flavour, and is well-balanced, not too sweet.



The nice lady here explains that Matua is now owned by, of all the companies, Fosters! As she puts it, one of the world's "most well-known yet least consumed labels". Oh dear. She does say that they don't interfere in the running of this place though, it's more of a marketing and distribution thing. The big Montana winery is owned by Pernot, so the independent labels are now sadly in the minority. I try the rosé. It's not especially nice.

Kathy Lynskey


Next up to the independent and "boutique" (read "small") winery owned by Kathy Lynskey. They produce about 6,000 cases a year, and go for the premium market, plus produce an award-winning and quite mild (first pressing) olive oil - lots of the vineyards here are lined with olive trees as wind-breakers, though as the girl here points out, olive trees are not very suitable for this task as they don't have deep roots themselves and tend to fall over. They do like the chalky soils though, which is the same as the grapes, hence they mix well together.


Lots of lavender about

Kathy Lynskey's merlot is good. I wonder if this is the time to make the first purchase.


MmmmmmMmmerlot!

Next on the the small village of Renwick, which is more or less in the middle of all the wineries. We have been tipped off that there is an English pub somewhere here, and indeed, a few minutes later we hit the Cork and Keg for a couple of pints of best and some nuts.

Cork and Keg


Happiness is a good pint

The problem in New Zealand is that although there is the suggestion that there is some good beer, it all tends to be a bit fizzy and chilled. I'm not an entirely happy boy, but it's still a world apart from Becker or Cristal from Chile! I'm not allowed a second pint, we have to move on. Hmph!

On our bikes, we go in search of lunch, past more vines and the all important grapes.





Cellier Le Brun


We were supposed to eat here but the restaurant is closed Mondays and Tuesdays, which is, as the lady there helpfully points out, "a real shame as the food is really good". Thanks. Anyway, whilst we're here…

The interesting feature of Cellier Le Brun is, as the name implies, their cellar. Luckily they are quiet, so she offers to show us.



The winery was built at the edge of a small hill so the cellar could be cut into the hillside. It's a large cavernous space, lined with cobwebs on the ceiling, and on both sides, densely packed bottles of wines, at least two layers deep. It's impressive, and cool, away from the hot sunshine baking the outside.

Out of the cellar, we sample their sparkling wines before moving on - she has suggested we head up to another winery to eat, Wairau River.



Wairau River


In a lovely spot, and across the road from Nautilus, another brand I recognise from back home, we find Wairau River. This is a family-run winery - the parents live the other side of the estate by the river, and the five children all help out - some running the restaurant, others helping with the wine. We sit outside in a pretty spot and order blue cheese soufflé for Dad and mussel chowder followed by salmon for me, washed down with a bottle of their Sauvignon Blanc. There is a cheese platter on the menu, but we have to move on as we're running out of time, plus we've been told there is a nice cheese platter at Grove Mill.



Grove Mill


We arrive in a panic, as there's not much time and cheese to be eaten, but by the time I've finished trying their wines, we have 25 minutes to get back to the bike base, and we haven't started the cheeses! I organise a take-away, and we set off along the main road, the quickest route back. It's a fair way to go still, but we make it back with enough time to spare that I can suggest the second pint was appropriate at the Cork and Keg after all.

Into town, pick up bags from the friendly Bella Vista Motel, then we take the bus to Nelson and I enjoy a nice snooze on the way, despite the chap pegging it along like a maniac. Two hours later we arrive in the dark, and wander up the main street, Dad getting occasional stares - I imagine they are thinking "why is that elderly gentleman backpacking?"! Out in the evening, we suffer the usual problem of everywhere being closed. It would seem everyone in NZ eats dinner at 6pm then promptly goes to bed. We manage to get into an Indian restaurant just before they close at about 9:30pm - only us and the wildest insomniacs eating at this crazy time of course. Tomorrow we head to Abel Tasman National Park.

Tahiti, Cook Islands, Dad, Dolphins and Wine

Through Tahiti
So it's good bye to Easter Island and hello Tahiti. Just for a night though, from 11:30pm to 7am at the delightful Faa'a Airport [GPS: 17.55434S, 149.60759W], "sleeping" on the floor. It rained incessantly all night, but sunrise looked pretty. Soon we'll fly across the date line, and it will be tomorrow! I shall chew on the "what happened to Thursday?" question on the flight there, another 7 or 8 hours to Auckland. Interestingly there seem to be no international flights out of Tahiti during the day - after my 7am flight, the next one is 10pm. I wonder why.

The flight stops off at Rarotonga, the capital island of the Cook Islands, and we get to disembark for an hour whilst the plane is refueled, so I can honestly claim to have visited the Cooks! From the air the place looks great - another island on the list to return to. Apparently the Cook Islands have approximately the land mass of the UK Channel Islands, spread over the geographical area of Western Europe!

I change planes at Auckland, and a immigration person grills me on drugs in South America, trying to lead me into it in such a ridiculous way: "So did you try anything there? No? But you were staying in hostels, everyone else was doing them, how much were they paying for them?" etc. You're asking the wrong person, I have no idea! I can tell you how much Tahitian lager costs on Easter Island though - too bloody much!!

Into Christchurch and I'm liking New Zealand already. Everything works and is well thought out - free showers at airports, information everywhere. I buy yet another adapter for the plug sockets here - they look a bit like US/Japanese but with the pins twisted slightly. Why oh why?!

Shuttle to the hostel, the Jailhouse, which is a converted jail with original metal doors, staircases and railings etc - a very interesting place. No Dad. Hmmm. He's supposed to be here. I can only assume he's missed his connection in Sydney or has balked at the idea of staying in a hostel and has gone elsewhere! By now I'm so incredibly tired that I can't think straight to work out what to do, so I slee, hoping he'll turn up at some point.

Which he does, at about 11pm. A late BA flight meant a missed connection, then his bags never made it out of London. Rather inconvenient.


Dad sleeping in a hostel bunk bed!

The jailhouse is actually a nice hostel, clean and very quiet, and so we sleep for a few hours until 6am, when we need to head for the station for the train up the coast to Kaikoura, which means "Crayfish food" and is a pretty coastal town with about 4,000 inhabitants. The train is primarily for tourists, with a conductor who points things out to us as we run along the coast, with the Southern Alps on out left and the Pacific on the right.

In Kaikoura we find that all accommodation seems to be booked up so we end up having to take a "luxury twin" somewhere on the sea front with spa bath and a nice view. Oh well, someone had to take it. Then it's time to head out to our Dolphin Encounter!

Dolphin Encounter
This is something I had booked in advance, where one has the chance to swim with wild dolphins, as all the books rave about it so it's very popular. I don't tell Dad until it's too late that this is something one can spectate as well as participate in.


Yes, you could have just watched, but it's too late now!

We are kitted out in wetsuits, masks, flippers etc, then shown a information video, which explains safety procedures and strongly makes the point that the dolphins we will swim with are completely wild, and therefore we should not be disappointed if they don't "play ball" (or decide to murder us, I read as the unspoken other message). The onus is on us to entertain them and interest them, not the other way around. The video also talks about the other wildlife which is abundant here, including albatrosses and the occasional orca or even sperm whale!

On the boat, we head out to where the dolphins were last spotted, about 45 minutes South along the coast. The weather looked bad earlier, and strong winds were forecast, but as it turns out was remarkably good the whole afternoon.


Dolphins, you say. Not sharks. You're quite sure?

The reason why Kaikoura is so interesting in terms of wildlife is that there is a deep oceanic canyon on the seabed, bringing water from the Antarctic, which is cold but nutrient rich, and mixing it with water from the north, which is warm and therefore sends the nutrients to the surface, providing the source for a big food chain unusually close to shore. Close by to where we are in our boat the water is apparently a mile deep, even though we are only a few hundred yards out from the beach.

We find a dolphin pod of about 150 dusky dophins. These are slightly smaller than other species of dolphin, but still about 6' fully grown, and are known as the "acrobats of the sea". This pod has a mixture of adults and younger calves, who are about half the size.


OAPs were provided with additional assistance

With a blast of the boat's horn, we head into the water, gently so as not to scare the dolphins off.



Immediately there are dolphins all around us, mostly underwater, but one can see fins everywhere. These dolphins typically breathe every 2-5 minutes, and apparently are conscious breathers, i.e. they think about each breath, and even when sleeping, half of their brain is always active, to ensure they don't drown.



Soon they lose interest in us and swim off. At this point the horn goes on the boat, we all jump back on, catch them up and jump back in. This happens several times. Sometimes they are interested in us and linger, sometimes not. The water is warm, at about 18C - as good as it gets according to the guide. The company operates all year round, and in winter it falls to 9C or so and the coast is covered in snow! Brrrr!



To keep the dolphins interested we have been given various tips - firstly to behave like a dolphin in the way we swim - diving down underwater, circling, and most amusingly, singing to them, or at least making funny noises. Also keeps the spectators entertained on the boat. We're not supposed to touch the dolphins, though I don't know whether they're told the same about us. I find myself that swimming in a circle seems to keep them most entertained - they seem to view it as a race with you, and frequently I had several dolphins all whizzing round with me, until I ran out of breath!





I also tried a few times to keep up with them swimming, but this was futile, especially when trying to sing to them at the same time. They can burst at up to 30 km/hr underwater, keeping up with our boat, so me trying to swim with them was never going to work. The thing I found interesting is how easily they zip along - even at pace, it doesn't look like they're wiggling their tails madly, they just gracefully whizz along seemingly without effort.





Out of the water for the last time, we enjoy a warm shower by shoving the shower into our wetsuits, then are provided with hot chocolate and ginger biscuits as the boat circles the dolphins for photo opportunities, and boy are these dolphins photogenic - they take this chance to get especially acrobatic, flipping all over the place, sometimes a pair doing an aerial flip simultaneously. Our guide explains lots about them to us, with only occasional interjections from Dad:


You say that, but…



There is some reason to some of these displays. In addition to being fun for them, they use them to scare or shepherd fish into an area so the group can feed. On the way back we encounter a seal flopping about, who dives as soon as we get near him. The chop is also picking up slightly now, and the boat bounces along in the sunshine as we near shore.




A happy boy


Well-earned muffin and a cup of tea to celebrate

To Blenheim, Marlborough, and the Montana Winery
Next morning, it's raining, and we cab to the station just in time to catch the train up to Blenheim, the wine-capital town in the Marlborough region and sunshine capital of New Zealand, which is famous for Sauvignon Blancs in particular.


Pretty Blenheim

After a spot of lunch at one of the few places that seemed to be open on Sunday, we cabbed it out to the Montana's Brancott Winery. Montana itself is one of the most famous labels from New Zealand - and they also own Stonebridge, plus the renowned Cloudy Bay Winery is nearby.


Navigating like a woman

The winery is about a 10 minute drive back out of town, the road following the railway we had come in on, in Riverlands. The area is very dry, apart from the lush greens of the irrigated vines, is very flat, but has dusty looking hills of sandstone (called greywacke) behind. Inside, we buy tickets (NZ$10, or about £3) then wait in the shop for the tour to start. Dad looks very at home in front of a large rack of Montana wine!


Where do I start?

The tour is fairly informative, but quite fast, and disappointingly we don't get to see lots because of work going on.


30 million litres of wine apparently


Would they miss one? Could he carry it?

The tour ends with a tutored tasting of a few of Montana's wines, including a Sauvignon Blanc, a Chardonnay, a Pinot Noir and a Late Harvest dessert wine.


Tasting happiness

Finally we pay an extra $5 to try some other wines in the shop - 5 different Sauvignon Blancs, though the lady who pours them out talks so much that we end up having to drink the five glasses in about a minute because our taxi is waiting! An enjoyable afternoon, and back to the hotel for a siesta methinks! Tomorrow… wine tours by bicycle!