We woke in Levin after the coldest night so far.
For once, we won the struggle to keep the fridge cold while the engine was off.
DOC campsites are basic and apart from the squat and drop toilets, there was little else by way of facilities. Flowing temptingly past the campsite was a small mountain river. Across it was a reinforced concrete bridge that had long since collapsed into the water. There was a convenient pool on the downstream side of the bridge and so we decided to bath in the crystal clear water before breakfast.
The key to entering cold water is not to hesitate.Wading in slowly only prolongs the agony. A single kamikazee splash and gasp is hard but your body quickly becomes acclimatised to the artic temperatures and the breath slowly finds its way back into you lungs.
After frolicking in the river, secretly hoping that there wasn't a dead goat leaching into the water upstream, we dried off, ran around to warm up our hypothermic bodies and had breakfast, feeling more refreshed than at any time since we picked the Hippy Camper up from Auckland.
We drove the last few miles to Wellington, past relentless 'No Engine Braking' signs and 100kmph speed limits that noone seemed to be about to exceed; not because Kiwis are all responsible drivers but because the fear of fish tailing off a ravine edge is always at the front of your mind.
It rained, fogged up, blew through and then shone as the four seasons fought for control of the weather in the short distance we had yet to cover. Catteries seem to account for at least 30% of the per capita income in the North Island. Either Kiwis love cats and holiday alot or they are all a front for some sinister international cat smuggling ring.
We rounded a final bend and saw the sea for the first time in 1,500km of driving; an odd feeling bearing in mind that there is no part of the nation that is more than 128km from the surf. Suddenly crash barriers appeared ahead of us in the centre of the road and the reason quickly became apparent as the Hippy Camper drifted toward the centre line whilst we admired the beautiful coast line to our right.
Reaching the Capital, known as 'Windy Welly', the absence of yachts suggested strongly that it shouldn't have to take ten million years of volcanic activity to bring Wellington and Sydney (The City of Sails) together to create the perfect sailor's paradise.
We pulled up at a waterside park by the old ferry terminal. The facilities were excellemt and the charming proprietor explained that he was waiting for New Zealand's imminent hosting of the 2011 Rugby World Cup when parking would be at a premium. Although expensive, 50 NZ dollars seemed like a modest sum for exclusive use of such prime waterfront real estate between sea and skyscrapers.
Before we headed for the South Island, we walked to the Te Papa National Museum. We took in the great views of the city from the cable car and then walked down through botanical gardens and the beautiful Lady Norwood Rose Gardens. Tea and toast followed the obligatory pictures outside The Carter Observatory. For no apprent reason that any Wellingtonians could fathom, the flag on the Parliament building flew at half mast and and a 21 gun salute boomed from the shore front battery close to our home for the night.
We had dinner at The Waterloo Hotel, once the greatest hotel in southern hemispehere, but now reduced to the ignominy of a back packers hostel, albeit the biggest and best in town.
When I say town, of course I mean city.
And when I say city, of course I mean The Capital.
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| Bath. An Unspeakable Horror Lurks in the Cold Stream. |
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| Te Papa National Museum |
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| Cable Car Above Wellington. |
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| Lady Norwood Rose Garden. |
We woke in Levin after the coldest night so far.
For once, we won the struggle to keep the fridge cold while the engine was off.
DOC campsites are basic and apart from the squat and drop toilets, there was little else by way of facilities. Flowing temptingly past the campsite was a small mountain river. Across it was a reinforced concrete bridge that had long since collapsed into the water. There was a convenient pool on the downstream side of the bridge and so we decided to bath in the crystal clear water before breakfast.
The key to entering cold water is not to hesitate.Wading in slowly only prolongs the agony. A single kamikazee splash and gasp is hard but your body quickly becomes acclimatised to the artic temperatures and the breath slowly finds its way back into you lungs.
After frolicking in the river, secretly hoping that there wasn't a dead goat leaching into the water upstream, we dried off, ran around to warm up our hypothermic bodies and had breakfast, feeling more refreshed than at any time since we picked the Hippy Camper up from Auckland.
We drove the last few miles to Wellington, past relentless 'No Engine Braking' signs and 100kmph speed limits that noone seemed to be about to exceed; not because Kiwis are all responsible drivers but because the fear of fish tailing off a ravine edge is always at the front of your mind.
It rained, fogged up, blew through and then shone as the four seasons fought for control of the weather in the short distance we had yet to cover. Catteries seem to account for at least 30% of the per capita income in the North Island. Either Kiwis love cats and holiday alot or they are all a front for some sinister international cat smuggling ring.
We rounded a final bend and saw the sea for the first time in 1,500km of driving; an odd feeling bearing in mind that there is no part of the nation that is more than 128km from the surf. Suddenly crash barriers appeared ahead of us in the centre of the road and the reason quickly became apparent as the Hippy Camper drifted toward the centre line whilst we admired the beautiful coast line to our right.
Reaching the Capital, known as 'Windy Welly', the absence of yachts suggested strongly that it shouldn't have to take ten million years of volcanic activity to bring Wellington and Sydney (The City of Sails) together to create the perfect sailor's paradise.
We pulled up at a waterside park by the old ferry terminal. The facilities were excellemt and the charming proprietor explained that he was waiting for New Zealand's imminent hosting of the 2011 Rugby World Cup when parking would be at a premium. Although expensive, 50 NZ dollars seemed like a modest sum for exclusive use of such prime waterfront real estate between sea and skyscrapers.
Before we headed for the South Island, we walked to the Te Papa National Museum. We took in the great views of the city from the cable car and then walked down through botanical gardens and the beautiful Lady Norwood Rose Gardens. Tea and toast followed the obligatory pictures outside The Carter Observatory. For no apprent reason that any Wellingtonians could fathom, the flag on the Parliament building flew at half mast and and a 21 gun salute boomed from the shore front battery close to our home for the night.
We had dinner at The Waterloo Hotel, once the greatest hotel in southern hemispehere, but now reduced to the ignominy of a back packers hostel, albeit the biggest and best in town.
When I say town, of course I mean city.
And when I say city, of course I mean The Capital.
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