Travels with Lilyput resumes

Time for some new experiences. I finally made it to Harwood's Hole with the walking club. Check out this photo of the lake. Yup. It's hobbit country all right. The Hobbit film makers have booked in locally, specifically near this atmospheric place.

I've also enjoyed getting mucky with clay at the Motueka Pottery Club and making new friends at the Mot newcomers' coffee mornings.

Sarah and Laura from Bavaria. 

Then several Couchsurfers turned up. Chris bought groceries for her two-night stay; this was much appreciated. It is certainly not expected and I don't think any the less of the other travellers who didn't. Everytone contributes in their own way to this energy exchange. Luca the man from Rome and I watched some cool black and white movie DVDs; South African Cuan was a real cheer germ/all around good guy and the German girls Sarah and Laura were just so easy to host.

Dad loved to say that I collected these travellers “off the street”, whereas there is a website and a good process of references so you get a pretty reasonable idea of what your visitors will be like.

Ready for a break from Motueka I hung about until the last surfer left and then drove south.

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Heading for Dunedin to see the girls, I decided not to bust a gut driving long distances, so a mere two hours from Mot, we returned to the Kiwi animal park at Murchison. It’s now a favourite flopping place, especially cosy cabin 13. Lynn who runs the place is so friendly. It was her birthday so I made a card and gave her the book I’d just finished about women travellers. I particularly liked the story about the woman who traded her only pair of sandals for some tobacco leaves. In Africa! Yes, I know how that can feel.

To each his or her own: Murchison ducks go their own way.

Always intrigued by place names, I noted Rainy River Rd, Macbeth and Blackadders Road before the Lewis Pass. The sign at St James (sic) Walkway asked that visitors Toitu te whenua (leave the land undisturbed). All very DOC-PC: pity people who organise the signs can’t do apostrophes.

We stopped at Tophouse, an old watering hole above St Arnaud, famous for someone topping himself way back and for being NZ’s smallest pub. On the pass itself, there is a small settlement of maybe 12 dwellings at the Boyle River Settlement. These were all modest unlike those in the Alpine village of Hanmer that attracts so many campervans and scads of generic young people. By the last statement I mean that they all look the same not just because they’re young but because they tend to favour the same mode of dress.

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Kate and Ken’s home, an old church at Oxford, was ideally placed for my travels. It was easy to find for someone who is geographically challenged (I find Christchurch a challenge). Lily and I were treated to a beautifully comfortable bed in K and K's big bus. Kate, my ex Jim’s younger sister is a fabric artist par excellence. She was busy negotiating a long-term supply of carded wool for her felting. It’s not so much the wool; it’s the carding process that’s turned awkward for small traders.

It appears that NZ’s carding plants are scarce, since some of the hugely expensive carding machinery has been taken to China. Think brands like Icebreaker that manufactures in Dragon Land. Kate’s home-based business Heavenly Wools is set to go up a notch as a result of this sourcing problem. It’s a wise trader who knows how important it is to fulfil orders promptly.

I was sad to leave after just a night because they had made me so welcome; they even invited me on an excursion to Lake Sumner that I had to decline. Ken said the fact that I could not be flexible with my time means that I am not entirely “free” yet. But then there’s the old adage to keep in mind that visitors start to stink after two days. We all had a hilarious session with artists Mark and Areta. The latter turns out to be the niece of Liz Wilkinson, a good pal from Bethells. NZ is such a village!

Apropos of nothing, Ken makes some mighty fine scary looking knives.

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Lizzy Kramer's new Doc Martens.

I was welcomed back to the Christchurch Kramer whanau where my sister Bridget, husband Simon and their three children are so hospitable. The Ks have just returned home having their house fixed by the earthquake commission. Number 8 Trent Street has had a fresh coat of paint, new paths and plumbing fixed to the tune of around $40,000.

The family is in thrall to Oscar the Cairn terrier.  Oscar was an inspired buy during the season of earthquakes. He and Lily are pretty good friends. Miss Fancy Pants is getting nastier as she ages, but Oscar is such a force of nature, he eventually overcomes all objections. Lily’s personality is glacial compared to Oscar’s; he thrusts himself about.

Bridget and I shared some thoughts about our Dad’s continued well-being and the pitfalls for him living alone.  What is to be done? When?

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I’d always heard about the Canterbury town of Geraldine. People say how pretty it is. I felt it was a bit on the “all fur coat and no knickers” side of things: a bit showy for my taste.

I liked Waimate better. Six kilometres from the Highway 1, just before Oamaru this small town hasn’t had the “Resene colour palate chucked at it.” So says my son-in-Gilbert. I found the town’s drabness refreshing in a landscape of tourist trap towns. Waimate the wallaby town says take us or leave us. (Later on I will pass through the “town of opportunities”.  Such breathtaking hyperbole in Milton! But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

Found a superb $10 duvet and cover in the Waimate’s Red Cross shop for Louise. That night's lodgings was another animal park but I couldn’t be bothered paying the $6 fee to see the animals, as I wanted to leave early to see the girls.

It was pleasant to linger in courteous Oamaru long enough to have several passers by asking if I was lost. It’s OK I just look that way. I stumbled into an imposing Oamaru stone building on main street and only later realised it was the Opera House. Down by the sea Bobby Sands lives on in graffiti.

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A lone bagpiper plays outside the Scottish Shop in George Street. The night after Guy Fawkes I spot two burned couches in one street. This must be Dunedin! (To be continued.)