But…How are you planning to move around?

This is a question often asked: Do I need a car in NZ?
The truth is YES YOU DO.

Seasonal work in NZ honours its name ’seasonal’ meaning that job opportunities move from region to region.
Within a region your contractor or your orchard could also require you to work in one location during the morning and a different location for the afternoon.

Most packhouses and orchards are located outside of town and trust me there are no buses or public trasnport to take you there.
There is always the good all reliable push bike – if you are keen on fitness: work + excecise)

As a seasonal worker having a car – either your own or sharing it with friends – comes always handy:

* You are free to move around the New Zealand regions
* You can easily go to work to a different seasonal employer and/or orchard.

What do you need to check when buying a car?

You are planning just to stay a few months either picking fruit or working on a farm or orchard, however pickapicker.co.nz suggests you take these recomendations:

* Request an AA (Automobile Assoc.) report:

In most cases you will need to pay for it. In other cases vendors already have checked the car at AA, meaning your car is rad worthy and has no major problems.
The last you need when touring New Zealand in a restricted budget is to have a faulty vehicle.

* Check the WOF (warrant of Fitness): This is a mechanical certificate that states your car is in working order. Make sure the expiry date is current (not expiring tomorrow)

* Check the Registration: Transort NZ requires your car to be registered. A 3 month registration could cost you just under NZ$70, better check the current one is still valid.

Regards,
Eduardo Perez

At approximately thirteen past two a.m. on the closing Saturday night of Oliver! (a musical production put up by Showbiz Queenstown) the Memorial Hall stage was covered… in cauliflower. There were also a few pieces of carrot, some very dried out and yellowed broccoli pieces, and one sad, floppy parsnip.

“Just look… at that stage,” said Fee, the woman who had played the role of Nancy.
“Yeah,” I replied in mock consternation. “I wonder who did…that.”

Scene: late Saturday, mid-May, 2010, but we had partied like it was 1999. The Queenstown production of Oliver! had commenced in a marvelous blaze-less blaze of glory, and the cast and crew had stayed up till dawn rejoicing with mini spring rolls, sauvignon, top hats, and fresh nostalgia. The confettied cauliflower had come from an impromptu celebratory food fight. We had taken the week old vegetables off the prop tray (no longer needed) and chucked them, delightedly, at our fellow thespians. It was certainly a night to remember, though with how much some of us had to drink, parts of it may very well have been forever forgotten.

As some of you may be aware, over the last two months I have been involved in Queenstown’s production of Oliver!. Starting in mid April, I jumped on board as the ‘assistant stage manager’ and spent my evenings attending rehearsals, learning choreography by mere osmosis, shushing children, and moving scenery (well, a chaise anyway). I had a very small part to play, but as they say, ‘there are no small parts, only small actors.’ (Whatever the heck that ever meant.) I’m no midget, but I did enjoy and complete all my little bits and pieces to help the marvelous musical machine run smoothly.

Let’s start at the beginning. From what I’ve heard, it’s a good place to start.

For the first few weeks I was a privileged observer. I drank a lot of the complimentary tea, sung along quietly during the group numbers (I got louder as I memorized) and smiled shyly but earnestly at any and all veiled quizzical looks.

It was sort of like this:
remember when you took dance class as a child? In the last fifteen minutes of class, all the parents would start congregating around the indoor class window, watching each pirouette with admiration and affection. Of course for me, this metaphor works a bit differently. Having never been a parent, I was watching a child I was, let’s say, babysitting take aforementioned lessons, grinning proudly as the wee one became a bona fide ballerina over time.

If you managed to follow that metaphor, hopefully you walked away with the point—those first two weeks of rehearsal were a beautifully illustrated story book for me, a story book I was perfectly content reading aloud to myself in hushed tones with a flashlight under my duvet.

And then it was sort of like this: remember when Bastian was reading the Never Ending Story aloud to himself in hushed tones with a flashlight under his duvet?
And then suddenly he’s… in it?

Once I was three weeks into the rehearsal process, I may have well been riding that floppy eared luck dragon. I quickly began to get to know not only the other crew members and production team (who were utterly delightful) but a good percentage of the cast. The milkmaid, a handful of hungry orphans, Mr. Percy Snodgrass, Bill Sykes and Nancy (the happy couple, may they rest in peace), all of London (the posh and the paupers,) the artful Dodger, Doris the budgie, and many more… all welcomed me into their world and began, in this order, to know my name, give me rides home, invite me out, and subsequently tease me for being a vegan and/or an American.

Flash Forward: The show had opened successfully and to wide, wild acclaim. As for me, I was having a marvelous week—the show was up and running, I was loving flitting about backstage, and the icing on the (ha) cake? My birthday was coming up on the 19th. Naturally, I was having a wee soiree, and naturally, all aforementioned individuals were invited. Other than hoping to see a fair amount of shining faces at my shinndig, I did not expect or require anything additional. On Wednesday, when my birthday came around, I was well-wished and sufficiently doted on, and considered the recognition of my birth a pleasant success.

You can imagine (or don’t, I’m going to describe it to you) my surprise, when, before the actors took their places, I was treated not only to a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday” sung to me by the full cast and crew twice (it was repeated per the instruction of my friend Nick, who demanded, ‘Now, once more, with feeling!’), but to an extravagant chocolate/ sweet muffin/brownie birthday cake trifecta, decorated in pirate themed candles and accompanied by two signed birthday cards, one of which featured the famed Disney Princesses and sang, “Every girl can beeee a princess….” whenever I opened it.

I practically cried.

Out of happiness, of course, not because I had so desperately needed to hear I could be a princess.

Standing there, blushing and smiling like Miss America (and gazing lustfully at my cake) I recalled earlier in the day when Emily and Susan had asked me if I had received any cake on my birthday, because this was, clearly, a requirement for celebrations of this nature. No, I had said. I’m far away from home, and I’ve never had cake unless I was celebrating with my family. Because who was going to make me a cake if not my mom?

“See,” Susan said, jolting me out of the recollection with a knowing grin. “You don’t need to be with family to get birthday cake on your birthday.”

As far as I am concerned?
I was.

****

Alright, so, this isn’t my usual subject matter for my column here at this website. But I wanted to share my Oliver! experience with you, because even if you are never involved in a musical in a country not your own, the point I am getting at is this:

If you’re going to be in a town for more than two or three weeks, get involved with something. Everyone goes to the pubs. Everyone goes to the regular haunts. But have you gotten to know the real place you’re in? The real people who live there? What is their actual life like–the day to day? What makes this particular place special? Integrate yourself in some sort of community endeavor… the rewards will blow you away.

Don’t stick to the obvious. Don’t stick to the easy.
Stretch yourself, stretch your thinking, and reap the benefits.

Enjoy your week, fellow nomads.

There is an advantage to being a poor traveler.  There is an advantage to scraping money out of thin air with a crow bar to pay for rent, food, internet and the odd cup of joe to give me this requisite buzz while I type.  The benefits? This rather penniless era of my life allows me to reflect on decisions of spending past, identify and then weed out the problems of spending present, and grace you with my personal epiphany: a new and improved budget for spending future. So don’t say, “Bah Humbug,” Ebenezer, this is serious.*

GHOSTS OF SPENDING PAST
AucklandWhen I arrived in Auckland, I felt like Paris Hilton without the sordid history—rich. My US dollar was going a bit farther than normal, and I proudly had—brace yourselves—3,000 dollars.** Whoa, nelly! That’s money in the bank, y’all. I knew eventually I would need to get a job, but for the time being, looking at those pretty numbers… well, crown me King Midas.  

I had spent the last few years in a large buzzing town, but Midwestern Illinois could never  compare to the proud leering buildings and scenic scummy sidewalks of urban grandeur. The last Metropolis I had lived in was my one true love, New York City, and although I never forgot our love affair, it had been a few years previous. Landing in Auckland, I instantly recalled what it meant to live in a lively hub. Here I was, a lone bee in a bee hive swarming with ambition and taxis, with a solicitous plethora of take away/fast food places, outdoor markets, and restaurants, each of them oh so alluring. Like New York, Auckland quickly seduced me into a long full embrace… and promptly pinched the contents of my wallet while I was lost in inner-city delirium.

Big cities like Auckland and New York aren’t necessarily malicious, but they are an abstract form of the Dickensian pick pocket; they feed off the loose dollar of the kind and unwary. People who grow up in places like New York, London, Tokyo, Berlin, Paris, Moscow—they learn, early on, how to function and keep a hold of their precious money. But for us small town folk, we are destined to learn the hard way. Walking down Queen Street in central Auckland, I was dumbfounded. I had never seen so many Sushi places in my entire life, and when they were selling 8 piece Vegetarian Sushi at only five dollars a box, I developed, one might say, a wee bit of an addiction. What was five dollars in the grand scheme of things? And another five? And another five?  

Doing the math? Fifteen dollars in the grand scheme of things. Standing alone, it wasn’t much. But when I was doing that every day, in the ‘grand scheme of things’ I was hemorrhaging money. Adding insult to injury, I didn’t both to keep a checkbook or a written record of my transactions. I simply relied on my memory. I do have a great memory, but this was still a very unreliable method.

Unsurprisingly, by the time I left Auckland I had spent about 1,500 of my 3,000. And here’s the kicker: I was only in Auckland for two weeks. Yes, some of this was for accommodation, and yes, I did have to eat. The point here is that I didn’t have to eat OUT. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit I hadn’t even considered going grocery shopping and making food in the hostels, but if I could, as Cher sings, “turn back time,” I would have done this as much as I possibly could. Had I cooked for myself, I would have saved myself about one thousand dollars, thereby upping my financial chances to do more future travelling and/or participate in certain worthwhile but expensive activities like skydiving or visiting the Doubtful Sound.

I ate a lot of delicious food, but I wasted a lot of my funds because I did not stop and think. As stated before—I don’t regret anything, but I want to save you the same headache.

Stop and think. Do you need that curry? Didn’t you have sushi for the last three days? Will you really wear that bracelet? Those heels? Aren’t heels a bit impractical as a traveler? (Yes.) Wouldn’t a peanut butter and jelly sandwich do the trick? Or a scrambled egg? Even a frozen dinner? Couldn’t you make your own pasta at home?

The answer is yes. It is always, always yes.
 
The only catch to this advice, of course, is if you are sitting here reading this, shaking your head sadly because you do not know how to cook.

No excuse. It’s a life skill, trust me on this one.
Learn, mate.
___________________________________________________________________________
*The first paragraph is a play on the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future in Charles Dicken’s The Christmas Carol, featuring Ebenezer Scrooge as both the antagonist and protagonist. There is also an excellent film entitled Scrooge with a similar plotline, starring Bill Murray.

**I’m aware that’s not that much money. That’s the joke.

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April marks the ‘begining of the end’ for harvest in Hawkes Bay and the begining of the season in Bay of Plenty.

138 Seasonal Workers registered with pickapicker.co.nz in April 2010/

pickapicker.co.nz enables Seasonal Employers to contact temporary workers. Play the video below to find out how easy it is.

Featuring this month Chez La Mer; a great backpackers situated in Akaroa.

Chez La Mer has a lot to offer for those interested in staying short or long term in Akaroa. Click on the map below to find directions to Chez La Mer

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Hostels and accommodation providers in general can contact travellers visiting their region using pickapicker.co.nz.

The video below will show you how easy it is to offer your accommodation services.

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Bonjour, and welcome to Chez La Mer. The French translation is “Sea house” or more accurately, “the house of the ocean.” Because Chez La Mer is situated on the main street of Akaroa, a French inspired Kiwi village on the lovely Banks Peninsula leading out to the Pacific Ocean… their chosen title is quite fitting.

From the outside, Chez La Mer Backpackers could almost be a gingerbread house (sans Hansel and Gretel and that evil witch) with pink icing, the abode is so inviting and beautifully extravagant.  Other backpackers in the area stand with equal regal air, but none of those buildings seem to smile quite like this one, or curtsy quite so gracefully. But as with most well wrapped gifts, what matters is what lies beneath the ribbons and bows. So what’s in the box, Chez La Mer?

A five star hostel, that’s what’s in the box. Walking past the white picket fence and well-tended garden through the front door, you’ll find not one, not two, but three kitchens, one of them outdoor with a grill at your disposal. All spices, cooking oils and even certain sauces are provided free of charge, as well as the use of an international and specially compiled recipe book. There is real brewed coffee in the morning if you wake early enough to beat the rush, as well as free tea and sugar and, while we’re talking of free things—free washing powder with your guest laundry. Should you wish to bake cupcakes or a traditional sweet from your home country, Chez La Mer will provide you with enough ingredients to bake for the entire hostel.

There is a lovely garden surrounding a fountain at the heart of the hostel, with tables and chairs placed throughout where you can sit and munch in peace or with a friend. There is also a hammock in the ‘courtyard’ of Chez La Mer, and it is comfortable, hung conveniently in the shade, and in great condition.

Feel like exploring Akaroa but don’t feel like walking? Chez La Mer offers bikes at your disposal free of charge. Only requirement? Wear a helmet. And yes, those are provided too. Chez La Mer has a lovely living room with a stereo system and many, many cds—anyone can play them, and trust me, everyone does. There is a book swap, a large collection of magazines and travel books amongst it, and a piano with a variety of sheet music included for the travelling Mozarts in our midst.  Internet, you ask? Bien sur! Instead of those pesky coin operated nightmares that eat your dollar coins like a hungry, hungry hippo, Chez La Mer sells passwords for 50 megabites of internet through the Zenbu wireless system. The megabites last much, much longer than you’d think, and as a result, you get much more internet time than if you’d paid the standard dollar-for ten-minutes rate.

As far as rooms go, there are three large general dorm rooms with beds at $25 a night, $22 with a BBH card. Don’t have one? First of all, you must get one—it’s a phone card and a magic discount card all in one. And secondly, you can buy one at Chez La Mer! If you’re travelling with a slightly larger budget, there are five other rooms of varying posh and prices, and each of these rooms comes with complimentary towels (unlike most hostels, where one has to purchase them separately.)  Don’t worry about getting cold in the night—at Chez La Mer, every guest is given a hot water bottle already snug inside a safe hot water bottle cover. The duvets are clean, comfy, and brightly decorated, and the ambiance is bubbling over with travelers integrating and sharing tips, stories, and the pleasure of new company.

The owners, Sarah and Roy Borrelli, have travelled widely themselves and are originally from the United States. “We’d done a lot of travelling ourselves,” Sarah said, “and we knew what we liked and what we didn’t like, so we knew what to provide.” And provide they do.  Fun fact—Sarah also works for St. John’s Ambulance, so if you pass out on too many free worldly baked goods, you’re in good hands.

On top of this, they have an active wwoofing group working both in the hostel and on Roy’s sailing ship, the FOX II (image, left.) This ship takes anyone keen out into the cerulean blue Akaroa Bay where you can see penguins, dolphins, seals, and even an albatross if you’re lucky. If that doesn’t convince you, there is free tea, coffee, cocoa and biscuits on the way back into the Bay. I’ve taken the trip, and it’s lovely—it’s also fun to watch the sailors actually working to make the ship catch the wind—like the discovery channel, but live! And as an added bonus, when you book your excursion on the FOX II via Chez La Mer, you receive 10% off.  Not only are Sarah and Roy themselves charming and playful hosts, this delightful couple manages to pick only the best, most friendly and personable wwoofers. The hostel is always buzzing with good energy and (due to their lovely baking policy) vibrant hunger inducing smells.

Chez La Mer is, as mentioned early, to be found in the heart of Akaroa, on Rue Lavaud. Akaroa itself is a beautiful community, with more character than you can shake a stick at. The beach is clear and elegant, the walking tracks are accessible and the craft market has some beautiful jewelry and paua shells if you’re looking for souvenirs. Be sure to see a movie at the Akaroa Cinema—a wonderful place with such shockingly large cookies they can barely be wrenched from the jar they sit in. The Cinema plays an array of foreign films and blockbusters, and Chez La Mer has a folder with all the newest Cinema news, times, and blurbs. There is a French Patisserie, and on Wednesdays near the Toy Library, there is a marvelous little op shop if you’ve got an eye for a bargain. Down near the waterfront there is a delicious little dairy free gelato cart which you must frequent, and do go dolphin swimming too, it’s an incredible experience. Sarah and Roy can help you with information about all of the above, as well as more information about Akaroa, general travel, and community events.

Listen up: Chez La Mer IS the best hostel I have stayed at, and that is not empty journalist lip service, mates. Chez La Mer is not just the ocean’s house, but your house, my house, and our house too.
So come on home.

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A Kiwi Cup of Tea
Anecdotes for New Zealand Nomads, Neighbours, and Natives
by Sarah M. Duncan

Do not be fooled.
Jet lag is everything they make it out to be.

It was my first day in New Zealand and I was exhausted. I had forced myself to stay up as long as possible, but at twelve noon, I was teetering dangerously on the edge of a sleepy collapse.

As my head drooped to my chest a third time, the door thundered open and two rather lumbering males tumbled in.

“Hi…He, he’s on his way,” said the stouter, red-haired fellow.
“Who is?” I asked.
“John.”
“John?”
“John.”
“Other John,” the other, a tall brunette boy, chimed in.
“Other John?” I parroted.
“ Yeah, well, I’m John too,” clarified ginger John. “And that’s Nigel.”
“I’m Nigel,” said Nigel.
“Got it,” I said. “But there’s another John?”
“Yeah. He’s coming,” John confirmed. “He’s kind of like… our leader.”.

Other John, “their kind of like…. leader,” arrived shortly after this vaudevillian conversation. Official introductions commenced, banter began, and alliances were formed. John and Nigel went to sleep (defying the rules of Jet Lag,) and Other John and I hit the streets of Auckland to explore. Bada bing, bada boom, long story abridged, John and I became fast friends.

Throughout the next two weeks, Other John and I went on daring frivolous adventures all over Auckland. We had a whale of a time at the zoo, Rangitoto, Devonport… But eventually, Reality cleared its throat, grabbed my attention and offered me employment in Wellington, a metropolis twelve hours south. I desperately needed a job, so I took it.

A lot happened over the next six months, (enough to fill about seven pages single spaced) taking each of us separately to various locations all across both islands. And although I rarely saw Other John during that time, we managed to stay in close contact by visits, Skype, text, and the old fall back, the telephone. This seemed to work seamlessly until early March when communication began to decrease, but I chalked this up to the fact I was rather hard to contact. I was here, there, everywhere, and often didn’t have cell phone service or internet. So when luck left me with a few extra days on a rental car, I drove out to Queenstown (where he was staying) for a long overdue visit.

As you all know, I had a grand time in QT, so grand I decided to grab a flat, find a job and settle in for a few months. And although I liked QT, I especially liked the chance to reunite the John and Sarah duo. There was one teensy weensy little problem.

After only one week in Queenstown, the hard truth was impossible for me to overlook or blame on lack of internet or phone reception as I had prior. I no longer heard from or saw Other John much at all, despite being closer to him in proximity than I’d been since those two weeks in Auckland. If we had any contact, it was in a group setting or initiated nine times out of ten by me. I realized, slowly and with a heavy heart, that there was no longer a place for me in his life, or at least, not the same place I had been so very fond of holding and had, to be frank, never wanted to trade. I’d like to say I shrugged this off, but a Thursday night three weeks in found me crying over Other John Brand spilled milk. So did my flatmate Kate, who offered me a tough reality check.

“This is travelling, Sarah,” she said. “I had a friend, a really great friend, and we travelled all of South Asia together. Then she decided to go to Japan, and I decided to go to New Zealand. Haven’t heard from her since. It’s been six months. But that’s travelling, you know? People come and go. In life too, obviously, but especially when you travel.”

Jessie, another flatmate, sympathized but held the same opinion.
“It’s frustrating though, aye,” Jessie said. “’Cause I really mean it when I say I’ll stay in touch. Not everybody does though. And this isn’t the last time this’ll happen to you, babe. It happens a lot when you’re travelling, aye. Some people just say they’ll write but don’t, or some might really want to stay in touch, aye, but it just doesn’t happen. It just… doesn’t. I know though, babe. It sucks, aye. It sucks.” Aye, Jessie. Aye.

I suppose it’s a life lesson above all else, but it particularly applies, or so the consensus asserts, to we travellers. My guess as to why? It’s because travellers… travel. And that email you wrote down? That phone number? Probably fell out of a pocket along with copious receipts and an old boarding pass. Undeniably, some will stick with you for life, but it is more likely most friends you meet along the way—even great friends, like Other John– will come in with the tide of Father Time and leave with that same companion.

Relish each encounter, long, brief, recurring but inconstant. Brave the instability. Love anyway. Give out those emails, those phone numbers, Facebook each other till your fingers bleed. And miss them, because you will, when your snow globe shakes and all the pieces are required to reposition.

But love anyway.

Because life, as they say, is short.
And life will, as they also say, go on.

***

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I regret nothing. An important preliminary statement when one is about to go over past decisions with a fine toothed comb, preaching alternative choices. I beg pardon if any of this information is overly obvious, but I pass it on not to patronize, but because I was so clueless and had to learn by experience alone.

Experience ain’t too friendly of a teacher, so I thought I’d save you the tuition fees. If you already know all of this, pat yourself on the back. Go on, don’t be humble. Don’t be shy. Give yourself a pat! There you go.

For the rest of us….

NEW ZEALAND, I WISH THAT I KNEW WHAT I KNOW NOW…

Part I: Baby, It’s Cold Outside

FACT. There are two main types of wind in New Zealand, a Southerly and a Northerly. A Southerly wind comes directly up from Antarctica and is, as you can probably surmise, very cold. In particular, the southern coastal cities like Wellington and Invercargill get the most Southerlies. When I boarded the bus to move to Wellington, I had not been properly forewarned. As a result, two days into my stay there, the cells in my body went into a sulky violent hibernation, peeved I hadn’t warned them about the upcoming frost.

The rest of my insides solidified into organ shaped popsicles. See, I hadn’t thought to bring a winter coat, so certain was I that because New Zealand was an island, the climate was bound to be more or less ‘tropical.’

Moral? Google more, freeze less. And my dear fellow Americans, do bother to convert the Celsius to Fahrenheit, because I sure didn’t.

Ask yourself the following. What season is New Zealand in? What season is it going into? What are the daily temperatures? How much does it vary from city to city? For example, the temperature difference between Auckland and Wellington may not seem too vast numerically, but that wind chill is a killer. New Zealand is a temperate climate, which means for the most part, NZ gets all four seasons for a good chunk of time every year.

Don’t panic. I’m not demanding you pack your winter coat, hat, gloves, electric blanket, and gumboots if you’re not flying into NZ during their winter—your backpack will be heavy enough, believe me. But I am insisting you avoid packing only tank tops, flip flops, shorts, skirts, and t-shirts. Educate yourself. Be prepared. Know that the majority of New Zealand homes and buildings do not have central heating or insulation, so expect to purchase your winter gear in New Zealand if you plan to stay for all four seasons. But regardless of when you’re arriving, do pack a light all purpose coat, a jumper/sweater, and some sensible shoes that can withstand rain, won’t give you blisters from arduous walking, and aren’t too heavy to haul around with you.

Now when I say ‘sensible shoes,’ I don’t mean kitten heels, crocs, stilettos, or cheap moccasins. Once, on a school jaunt to England, a friend of mine took a large separate suitcase packed full of just shoes; she insisted on wearing some style of high heels the entire trip. The catch? We were only in London for two weeks. And it was winter there. Sensible shoes, my friends, sensible shoes and sensible clothes. Bear in mind you’re travelling to a different country, not LA’s fashion week.

In summary, the weather is as follows and applies equally to both islands:

North? Warm. South? Brrr.

Write it, say it, read it, chant it.
Those four words will aid you greatly. Heed them well.
Drink your milk. Call your mother. Wash behind your ears.

And may the force be with you.

Tramp - Ruahines

It didn’t take us long to plan it and decide it. It’s become kind of a tradition to go for a tramp during a holyday break (which usually happens at the same time the weather turns to shit!) so here we were again.

This time heading to the Ruahines.

The Ruahines offer several options from the one day tramp to a multiple day journey, which will take you to some unique as isolated spots.

What would make this trip a bit different to previous ones was that Carlos Tapparello had joined us.

Carlos is Evandro’s dad who was visiting from Brazil and stayed during the end of 2009.

At the begining of the tramp

This time our journey would take us to Daphne Hut. This hut stands by the Tukituki River (lots of trout!) and offers a unique relaxing spot right next to the river.

TO arrive you have to walk about 500 meters in the river.

Lucas and Marianella had joined us as well, and this would be their first NZ outdoor’s experience. Lucas and Marianella would stay in Daphne Hut to meet us again at the begining of the track 2 days later.

On the way to Daphne Hut

Daphne Hut | Ruahines

From Daphne hut we carried up to Howletts Hut. I must say the steep climb wasn’t the easiest but it certainly offered some amazing views.

You could see up in the horizon that the weather was closing in and that must definetely we were about to get soaked !

Rain started before Howletts. The view of the hut’s roof (is the fisrt thing that pops up to your eye) was of great relief.

The place was cold, a remark that nobody has been there for the last day or two.

It was nice though to find enough branches to burn and get the fire going.

Howletts Hut was build several decades ago.

Photos and notes at the hut allow you to travel to those days when everything had to be carried on the back of a horse or by foot.

Dinner was as nice as it always is when you are in the middle of nowhere, some salami and a soup, followed by a cup of coffee and endless stories about hunting in the Brazilian jungle, told by Carlos.

The morning arrived, however the sun never came out !…it was still raining from the previous night. We had to carry on to Longview Hut if we want to meet Lucas and Marianella back where we parked the truck.

At Howletts Hut

On our way we came accross a couple of hunters. The Ruahines is very well known for its deer hunting.

We arrived to Longview hut soaked to the bones and as hungry as you can imagine.

We started to doze, when a group of about 10 tramperers arrived. They certainly made our stay more enjoyable.

One of the great things about tramping in NZ is that you meet nice people while tramping.

Longview Hut

The weather was giving no signs to ease down, and the night followed with more rain and thunder.

All of a sudden it occur to me that there was no way that with this weather Lucas and Marianella would have made it out of the river.

We could not do anything but wait.

The following morning we started the final part of our journey, to realize back at the truck that we probably had to come back to Daphne Hut (a good 3 hour walk return) to find out about Lucas and Marianella.

Once we arrived at the river detour, we realized there was no way to cross the river.

What just a couple of days ago was a timid stream running no higher that your ankle, this time was roaring with logs and rocks and could easily swept you away.

We had no option but to return to the truck and leave a note at the little hut by the car park.

To our surprise later that night, I received a call from our stranded friends saying that they manage after 7 hours to get out, and they were very confortable sharing a nice steak at a locals lodge.

New Zealand begins where the road ends.

For more information about this track click here

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Sunrise at Panekiri - Waikaremoana

Yes, this is my humble opinioin ‘New Zealand begins where the road ends’.

New Zealand offers an enormous amount of possibilities when it comes to outdoors & recreation. You have worked hard, so reward yourself with a great NZ experience: Great Walks, daily tramps, fishing, hunting, etc…..you name it!

I love the challenge of going out there and coping with the minimum necessary; nothing like waking up to the sounds of nature, no TV, no ‘bloody’ cell phone, just you and your tramping gear….ahhh and your mates!

At the falls - Waikaremoana

Well….it might rain, it might get cold, it might get windy and very uncomfortable but WHO CARES !! This is New Zealand and to enjoy it at its best you must go beyond (far beyond) the road.

The crew from Spain, Brazil and Ecuador

One of my favourite walks is Lake Waikaremoana – I’ve done it 4 times, clockwise and counter clockwise, and under every possible weather combination -. I guarantee you will enjoy every single minute of this walk. Must warn you, you need to be ‘medium level’ fit and take plenty of energy food (yeahhh !! lots of chocolate)

“I must warn you…you don’t know what are you setting yourself up to” seems to be Sarah’s (my partner and mother of my 2 girls) advice to those friends who are keen to tag on any tramping mission.

The view from Panekiri Bluff is breath taking, and I can guarantee you that regardless of the weather you will feel enormous excitement just from being there. The way up there is not the easiest, but the reward of conquering it is great.

I have had the pleasure to share this experience with friends from New Zealand, Argentina, Guatemala, Chile, Brazil, Spain, and naturally my home country Ecuador….yes! I took my sister there who swore to never tag along again – I bet she would love to now –
Share your backpacking experience with us and feel free to add your photos! Our readers love it !

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