In Christchurch we got up early to catch the bus to the train station. In fact, we were 30 minutes early and that gave us the opportunity to talk to a nice Australian guy who was travelling around New Zealand for a bit before heading to Samoa for a 6-week medical internship. Eventually, two train station shuttles screeched up to the sidewalk and started tossing bags into trailers and people into seats. At one point I looked up to see Mom sitting in the shuttle but wasn’t sure if I would have a seat.
I barged in front of a girl who was sitting on the street next to her luggage. She turned out to be the somewhat ditzy girlfriend of the Australian guy. He had to argue with the bus driver to get her onto the shuttle because she’d waited too long to get her luggage to the trailer and there was no more room. The driver had to unpack the trailer and repack it to get her luggage on board.
Regardless, we all got to the train station safely and on time. Mom innocently jumped the queue to get seat numbers which earned her a few looks. Once armed with seat numbers we dragged our luggage to the last car of the train, where two guys were tossing luggage into the car with joyous abandon.
Our train car, car L, was the third from the front. We had seats in the middle of the car, in front of two elderly gentlemen from Singapore and next to a few folks from Australia. We were all excited about the trip and there were smiles on everyone’s faces when we finally started rolling along the tracks.
The train passed through the backyards of numerous scrungy businesses and homes until we reached Rolleston, when the landscape changed from urban decay to rolling farmland. That was nice, but things really got interesting when the train started climbing into the mountains. We crossed a number of trestle bridges (viaducts) but I couldn’t get a good look at them because the viewing platform behind our car was full of people angling to get a good photograph. The conductor assured us that the bridges were fantastic, so I’ll have to believe him.
We arrived at Arthur’s Pass around 11am. The train stopped briefly to drop off and pick up passengers, and we were allowed to step off the train briefly. It was quite cold, probably around 4C but it felt colder because I was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and a skirt. Arthur’s Pass was quite a depressing stop, but I couldn’t help thinking it would look absolutely beautiful with a coat of snow on the churned-up ground and on the rooftops of the derelict buildings.
Brrrr! Me at Arthur's Pass in totally inappropriate clothing:
The trip from Arthur’s Pass to Greymouth was quite uneventful. The best of the scenery was behind us, plus we had to keep stopping to call ahead and change tracks due to work on the rail lines. We arrived in Greymouth at 1:30pm, more than 30 minutes later than scheduled.
The platform at Greymouth was crowded with people waiting to get onto the train, and was overflowing with people as soon as people started to disembark. We struggled to the rear of the train to collect our luggage, which was being thrown off the train into throngs of people. It took me close to 20 minutes to find our four pieces of luggage amongst the people and the odd piles of bags left strewn about the platform.
We looked at the town and realized that our hostel was on the side of a hill. I saw a cabbie pull into the train station and waved him down. He explained that he had to drop another couple off but that he would return to pick us up. I stepped inside the train station to look for a map of the town and was shocked when Mom yelled at me because the cabbie was loading our luggage into his cab. I jumped into the cab and he dropped us off at the hostel – grand total, $4.50, but worth every cent.
The hostel was situated in a building that used to be a monastery. The chapel had been converted to a sitting room and lounge. The halls were lined with beautiful dark wood and the doors had handles exactly in the middle, which meant they were about 5 feet from the floor. I felt like a little kid because I had to reach up to the handle.
After we settled in we walked from the hostel into town. It was a Sunday so very few shops were open. (That’s one surprising thing about New Zealand – most shops close at 4pm during the week and hardly any shops are open on Sundays. Even in the big cities you feel like you’re walking through a ghost town on Sundays.) A jade shop was open so we spent some time admiring the jewellery. We also went into the gift shop at the railway station. We bought some food at the grocery store and were walking back to the hostel when it started to rain heavily and the sky lit up with fork lightning, followed a few seconds later by rolling thunder. We had umbrellas but our feet and clothes were still wet when we got back to the hostel.
Greymouth's main street, shut up tight on Sunday:
We had some pasta left over from Rotorua, so we cooked up another batch of spaghetti sauce and boiled the remaining pasta. It was delicious and we thoroughly enjoyed our “home-cooked”meal.
After dinner we went up to our room and I put my Amelie DVD into my laptop. Mom was enjoying it but I was starting to feel quite hot and stuffy-headed. Eventually I asked if we could stop the movie (just before the ending, too) so I could go to sleep. Mom knew something was up and I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She went into full Mom-mode and insisted that I take some Tylenol Flu. I did, then passed out.
In the morning I felt awful, but with Mom’s encouragement I managed to get up at 8am to have some coffee and to collect our rental car. They’d told us over the phone that we’d have to drive a larger sedan but when we got to the rental car agency they had a small Toyota Carolla for us, the same make and model we’d driven around the North Island. The only problem was that someone had left the window open over night and half of the back seat was soaked with rain water. We took the car anyway, thinking that the water would evaporate shortly. It did, but it left behind a foul odor similar to that of spoiled cream.
It was raining when we left Greymouth, but we stopped at the side of the road a few times and got out to admire the crashing surf. It was unlike anything we’d seen in New Zealand and we were marvelling at the height and ferocity of the waves. Thinking that we’d seen the best of the coast, we got back into the car and were making good time when we saw a bunch of cars parked at the side of the road and a collection of cafes. We pulled over and discovered that we were at the entrance to the Te Papa Atawhai Pancake Rocks and Blowholes park.
The wild coast north of Greymouth:
We walked down the path and were astounded by the layered pancake rocks. That was just the beginning, though – the raging surf had cut into the rocks and created holes. When the surf crashed into the rocks some of the water was forced up through the holes. The sound was amazing and we were covered in fine sea spray from the spurting water. We spent close to 45 minutes in the park and were almost reluctant to leave.
Pancake rocks:
Blowholes:
The non-wheelchair accessible track around the park:
View of the coast from the park:
The rest of the drive to Nelson was quite boring. We found our way into the city center and to the trust information center. There was a huge lineup so I found a free map and a hostel brochure and navigated to the hostel without asking for help. We booked in and then walked around the area, then bought a few groceries and returned to the hostel. We had left-over spaghetti for dinner and were in bed by 8pm.
Mom slept fitfully but I was drugged to the gills and slept soundly until 6am. We got up and showered, had a bit of breakfast, then drove to Kaiteriteri for a half-day cruise along the coast of the Abel Tasman park.
Most of the people on the boat wanted to hike in the park, so they were ferried from the boat to shore by Zodiac at specific beaches. Mom and I – as well as six other oldies – stayed on board the whole trip and looked on somewhat enviously as hikers returned to the boat, flush with stories about the great hiking.
Split apple rock along the Abel Tasman Park coastline:
Soaking up the sun and wind on the ferry:
We got back to Kaiteriteri around 3:30pm and drove back to Nelson, confidently navigating the roundabouts and rush-hour traffic and parking next to the hostel as if we were locals. We hadn’t had lunch and were quite hungry so we walked around until we found a place with an interesting menu. The Victorian Rose Bar was situated in the oldest building in Nelson and in the past the building that housed an insurance company, the city council and so on. It was lovely and we settled in to a fantastic meal. Mom had lamb and a crisp green salad while I had chicken with salad and a small but satisfying pile of French fries.
Tomorrow we’re off to Picton. Not sure what we’ll do. Perhaps we’ll walk along the Queen Charlotte Track. Perhaps we’ll go on a mailboat tour. More on that later.
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