#NewZealand17 Picton to Westport - Roadtrip Day 1

I had believed I was overcoming my jetlag, until I woke up at 3am on 25th February.

I lay still and quiet in my bed until 7.15, then got up, showered, dressed, woke Blake and headed down to breakfast.

This hostel was even better than the night before, they seemed to be gradually improving day-on-day. Tombstone Backpackers was situated on a hill by Picton cemetery, overlooking the town which was about 30% ferry port. There was a free hot tub, gym equipment and table-tennis and snooker tables. We even had free towel hire so I didn't have to get my own towel wet and put it back in my backpack after my surprisingly decent shower.

Best of all though was the free breakfast of toast and freshly baked hot cheese scones, which were absolutely flawless. Blake and I ate ours out on the terrace. For the fourth day in a row I reflected that life could not be better than it was at this precise moment.

We borrowed the hostel's free bikes to collect our Toyota Allion from down by the port. The lady who ran the rental place was a character. Like many Kiwis, she came across a bit rude, but I realised that this was just the New Zealand sense of humour, and she meant no offense by it. I quite liked her, and she shared her conspiracy theory with us that everyone in Picton was sick because of the chemicals sprayed on the vast quantities of wood that were exported in the port. She specifically warned against the tap water, which I had already drank, so that was cheery.

 The car was an automatic, which made me uneasy at first, but I quickly adapted to (with a little guidance from Blake) as I drove back to collect our bags. At 10am, with Blake driving, me in the back, and Max riding shotgun, we departed Picton for Abel Tasman national park. Within minutes we stopped to take in the awesome view of Picton and the bay, and this would be a regular occurrence in this journey!

As the person who not only had the big camera, but also the only smartphone which took decent photos, I was designated photographer. We pulled over in a number of places, for photos such as these:

And after a few hours crosses a river which the car hire lady had described to us, which apparently featured in The Hobbit movie. It was extremely beautiful, so we pulled over to take a walk along it, and then we saw people swimming in it, and on impulse changed into our swim gear, grabbed our towels from the car, and jumped in!

After our refreshing swim we spotted a couple of hitchhikers and stopped to pick them up, but sadly we didn't have enough room , so they got in another car which had also pulled over.

We continued on for many miles of stunning scenery until eventually we arrived at Nelson. We bought lunch at a supermarket and ate it in the carpark. I looked at the map and decided we didn't have enough time to visit Abel Tasman national park. One for next time! We continued to Richmond where we stocked up on dinners at the Pack'n'Save (a bit like Costco) and I took over from Blake to drive us South-west on route 6 towards Westport.

It was evening by the time we arrived at Westport. The sun was setting over the pink flamingos in the garden as we cracked open the beer and cider we had bought at Pack'n'Save, beginning what was to be a heavy night of drinking. 

#NewZealamd17 Wellington and the Interislander

I was relieved to wake at the surprisingly reasonable time of 6 o'clock on Friday. After contemplating sleep in my bed for a few minutes, I decided to get up and catch dawn breaking over Wellington harbour, which fortuitously faces East.

Unfortunately for Blake, what I thought was quiet rustling was actually loud enough to wake him, so I told him that I was going out, and he volunteered to come with.

Unfortunately all my photos were taken on my camera, so until I can access a laptop, you will just have to take my word for it that they were fantastic, and the sunrise was a privilege to witness.

There was an awkward moment when a well-intentioned jogger stopped as she passed us and offered to take a photo. "Do you want one looking into the sunset or posing together or kissing?" She asked. "Not kissing!" I yelped. She took a couple of photos of us standing together but I think we're silhouettes. I thanked her and she continued on her way.

There were lots of people out at 7am on a Friday morning. Towers were training on machines outside the boating club. A man glided idilically across the golden water on a paddle board. Three groups of men and women skulled a narrow canoe back and forth beneath the pale sky. I took a LOT of pictures.

After sunrise we bought breakfast and lunch from a supermarket opposite the hostel, packed our bags and checked out. We had a minor drama with the lockers as after putting all of our bags in, the locker refused to either take our money, or give our bags back. Luckily though one of the reception staff agreed to release our bags for free on our return, so we headed out into the hot sunshine of the world's southernmost capital city.

Our first destination was Wellington's famed Te Papa - the national museum of New Zealand. However it was closed until 10, so at 9.40 we headed to the botanical gardens on the other side of town instead. En route we bumped into Max by chance, so the three of us walked up to the cable car.

I made a Google maps whoopsie, and accidentally directed us to the far end of the cable car (funicular railway to the Brits among us) which meant a lot of steps like the set above, but on the plus side, we saved money!

The view at the top was so spectacular we had to use the cafe just so we could enjoy the view. I had a slice of carrot cake big enough to feed a family of four, and bought Blake an iced coffee, as we sunbathed and tried to absorb that I was really here.

We took a stroll around the botanical gardens and I amazingly used my orienteering skills to take us back to the centre of town (along an active earthquake fault line) and on to Te Papa. We saw an aeroplane display overhead, and the sun shone so brightly, I almost felt like I was on a traditional sunshine holiday.

Te Papa, when we got in, did live up to the hype. We visited an exhibition on earthquakes, complete with a shakey house earthquake simulator, animations explaining the earth's composition, and trigger warnings for survivors of the Canterbury and Christchurch quakes. We also heard the Maori creation story, saw hundreds of stuffed native New Zealand animals (including a Kiwi bird!) And a giant squid, apparently the only one on exhibition in the world, which really freaked me out.

All too soon it was time to leave. We collected our bags from the hostel, walked to the train station, and picked up the free shuttle to the inter-islander ferry.

The views from the boat were great, and we played around a lot with Titanic poses and the like, before eventually arriving in Picton, and New Zealand's south island, where our adventure would become a road trip.

#NewZealand17 The Long Train South

I awoke at 3am, jetlag up to my eyeballs. Outside the dorm next door, a woman lay unconscious dressed for a night out. I politely refrained from taking a photo but in hindsight regretted not helping her to bed.

I tried to get back to sleep but the bed was just too uncomfortable. The mattress felt like sleeping on a nest of cables.

Eventually 6am came and I woke up Blake. We soon departed for the station, as the sun slowly rose over the city, casting the skyscrapers and tall palm trees into silhouettes.

A helpful kiwi couple showed us the way there and we stowed our large bags and took our seats, buzzing with anticipation.

The journey started slowly, Auckland's suburbs are pretty but not awe inspiring, and there was the usual pattern of ugly industrial units around the train line.

However, after our first couple of hours, we stopped photographing mountains on the distant horizon, as our train plunged through some of the most amazing scenery I have ever seen.we were provided with headphones for an optional audio-guide on which gave commentary on any sites of particular interest, geographically or historically.

Please excuse the window reflection, because it was only at this point that we discovered the open viewing coach - where the windows had been removed so that you could hear and smell the countryside around you, feel the stinging wind on your face, and most importantly, take photos without any reflection!

The twelve hours we spent on that train were very long, but it was absolutely spectacular, and we both agreed it had been an amazing experience.

Blake and I almost immediately took a liking to Wellington, New Zealand's capital city. We checked in at the YHA, an altogether far nicer (and cheaper!) hostel than the previous night, and walked around the corner onto Wellington's main Street for some late night pizza at a place recommended by TripAdvisor, where we were joined by Blake's friend and travel companion from his adventures down Australia's east coast, Max.

After pizza, the three of us went to a bar for a pint, or in my case, a delicious sugary raspberry cocktail that came in a martini glass, before crashing out in bed around 11.30.

#NewZealand17 Auckland Part 1

Auckland and the surrounding area looked disappointingly like the UK I decided as my plane finally touched down on the runway. My 24 hours flight had been made bearable by paid for WiFi on the last leg, but Blake, my travel companion, was not replying to my message regarding airport collection.

My new friend in the window seat, Simon the Italian, offered me a lift "my friend's collecting me from the airport in his lunch break, we can drop you in town" I agreed. I could always change my mind if Blake was in arrivals.

An hour and a half later, after bio-security vetting and a surprising amount of hassle collecting my portable WiFi device, he wasn't. I got in Simon's housemate's old car and tried not to inhale their cigarette smoke as I gathered small insights into their life of 100% alcohol drinks, enormous houseparties and surfing.

 Simon's friend got out at his workplace and Simon dropped me at the hostel. There I met Blake, and after a big hug we walked into Auckland city for a drink.
I bought a delicious icecream pot from a place called Joy, which had two life-size model cows outside which you could milk into a pail. Here's Blake doing just that:

It was overcast but we walked along the marina and got a coffee before visiting Auckland Maritime museum. At the museum we saw lots of interesting boats and models of boats, most of which sadly ended in tragedy, having sunk either in wartime or due to falling foul of New Zealand's infamously treacherous West coast.

The museum also had an extensive exhibition on Peter Blake, a New Zealand yachtsman who won the round-the-world race the year I was born. 

The sun was shining brightly in Auckland harbour by the time we came out. It was hot and beautiful, and I remarked not for the last time this trip, that life didn't get any better than this.

After the museum, Blake and I stopped in an authentic Japanese restaurant for lunch, bringing back fond memories as I slurped my tofu ramen with chopsticks, and then we returned to the hostel, a nasty shabby place called Station Backpackers, where I took a two hour nap to keep my eyes looking in the same direction.

At 6.30 we walked back down towards the Marina, where we met Nic, an old schoolfriend,and her fiancé. We spent a pleasant few hours discussing mutual friends, and cultural differences between home and New Zealand, before tiredness forced us to our respective beds, via a supermarket dash to prepare for tomorrow's epic train journey.

Skye: 23rd - 26th June 2016

After voting and a quick and uneventful trip to the car mechanics, I took the four hour drive from Glasgow to Skye quite early on Thursday morning. I didn't stop en route, most of it I had already seen as part of my Highland Roadtrip. Proudly, I drove the route about a fifth by road atlas and the rest from memory and lack of choice!

It was a beautiful sunny day, and as I drove up to the Skye Bridge, I was shocked by how vividly blue the sea was! I was really excited to arrive in Skye. I drove straight to the backpackers hostel in Broadford, (the first independent hostel I had come across online) and checked in early at one-forty five. In my recurring theme of creepy independent hostels, this one shared the building with a funeral parlour. There were even two hearses parked outside. I spent a lot of time thinking about whether I was sharing my lodgings with dead bodies, but it was otherwise very pleasant, and a good price for Skye at £20 a night.

Does not do it justice...

A woman on a mission, I stopped only to make up my bed before heading back onto the road in the approximate direction of Skye's famous Fairy Pools (from memory, having googled it) There are not many roads in Skye. This is a common feature of the highlands. It makes navigating by map easy, and GPS essentially unecessary (which was fortunate, as I couldn't get enough signal to use Google Maps). After about a twenty minute drive, I came to the first left (westerly) turning, and there was a handy pub on the corner attached to the Sligachan Hotel. So I pulled off and stopped for a 3pm lunch, including some AMAZING cake (I'm considering renaming my blog "Adventures in Cake" - see my adventures in Berwick-Upon-Tweed). At the hotel, I discovered I was not the first person to come this way in search of the fairy pools. There was a handy if grubby map sellotaped to the back of the till, and I attempted to memorise this in between eating my lunch, and drinking in the stunning view of Glamaig Mountain. Glamaig mountain has an interesting history, as it is a popular mountain for hill racing. Locals were stunned in 1899 when Gurkha Harkabir Thapa climbed to the top of the mountain and back in a mere 55 minutes... barefoot! There is an annual race up the mountain and back (sponsored by the Sligachan Hotel) every July now, but even the fastest competitior in todays high-tech footwear have only been able to knock 11 minutes of the Gurkha's time.

I set off as soon as I had finished my cake for the Fairy Pools, and needn't have worried about directions. I knew when I arrived for the immense volume of (previously almost non-existant) cars crowding both sides of the road. I parked up, and within seconds was terrified as a petrol tanker hurtled around the corner, missing my wing mirror by what seemed to me to be millimetres. I pulled in further off the road.

I followed the mass of tourists for the short walk through Glen Brittle to the Fairy Pools. These pools are in fact a small mountain river which (I think due to variations in the softness of rock) form several little waterfalls and deep blue pools beneath them. Yes, blue. The water looked like the dyed-rivers you see on a good crazy-golf course. I did a lot of reading on this, but couldn't get a conclusive answer. Apparently it is a common finding in glacial lakes and mountain streams, to do with the great purity of the water.

even the grey sky overhead couldn't
obscure the blueness!

It was very beautiful and I could see where the magical connotations had come from, especially framed as we were by the brooding Black Cuillin mountains. Evidently, the temptation was too much for some, who couldn't resist throwing themselves into the pool and breaking the magic for all of the rest of us.  

Definitely not Fairies.

I kept walking until I lost the tourists. Then the drizzly rain stopped and the sun began to come out. There was not a human nor evedence of humans in sight, I was in paradise.

On the walk back, the sun stayed out and the majority of the tourists had gone. It was fantastic! However, as I waited for a gentleman to step out of my shot, I began to be bothered by a new pest. Midges were beginning to appear and settle on my exposed wrists, face and throat. I shook them off, and set off at a faster pace towards the car. However they seemed to be increasing in number, soon I was jogging, trying to slap them off my skin where they were already leaving a number of perfectly circular welts from their bites. As I got within ten metres of Astrid, I squinted in confusion. She looked hazy. I realised then that the midges weren't swarming me, they were just EVERYWHERE. I was struggling to see my car because the air was that thick with their bodies. I have never been so glad of remote unlocking, but as soon as I opened the door, they swarmed in like water. IO slammed the door behind me as fast as I could, hastily trying to crush the lining of midges coating the roof of the car, my steering wheel, my leggings, and of course my skin. I started the car and began to drive, convinced that if I could just get some speed up and put the windows down they would be sucked out, but I kept having to pull over for other drivers on the tiny highland roads. I couldn't get above 20mph, at which speed I was just getting more midges joining the party. I was furiously brushing midges out of my face as I drove, no doubt alarming the passing tourists. Eventually I got back to the main road at Sligachan, and with my speed up the midge numbers finally dwindled into single numbers!

Totally worth it, though.

The Hostel had its own fair share of midges but I ran in with my bags and began to properly unpack, meeting my two friendly norwegian roommates before poisining our sleeping space with insect repellant. 

I walked through the village of Broadford in search of dinner, but found that most outlets were charging £15 or more for a main course, which was quite a bit over budget. As the evening drew in I also began to fret as the majority of establishments closed at 8pm. One advertised "late evening" opening, extending its closing time to a mighty 8.30pm. I was comforted however by some beautiful views across Broadford Bay as I wandered up to the next village of Harrapool. There I found a hotel serving food for less than £10, and settled for the only veggie option - an immense macaroni cheese and chips with salad. I nearly drowned in that bowl of macaroni cheese, it was magnificent. I dawdled back to the hostel and settled down in the cosy lounge, consulting maps and consuming the wifi to set out my plan for the next day.

 

Broadford Bay 

Friday had a gloomy start as I woke to the unexpected remeferndum result. I belive that the memory of driving through Skye's winding mountain roads listening to (miraculously) radio 4 as news of resignations and financial hysteria filtered through, will be permanently etched in my brain, like discovering the death of Princess Dianna whilst we were driving in a family holiday in France, and the horror of 9/11, which I discovered on my way home from Primary School. The weather was supportively gloomy, forebodingly ashen clouds lurking over Broadford as I resolutely purchased an OS Map (as advised by my lovely norwegian room-mates) and headed north to climb the Old Man of Storr, and the Quairing. 

Less than promising weather

I soon hit a rainstorm so intense that I had the windscreen wipers on full-pelt. Happily though, it was over in minutes, and by the time I reached the Old Man, the weather was bleak but dry. The forescast had predicted Saturday would be my best day, so I was full of hope. Storr was impressively craggy, the jagged black rocks forming standing stones like rotten teeth jutting out of the hillside. There were few people around but aware of my inexperience, I followed another group up the (clear, well mantained) track until I was able to overtake them and follow the small group ahead. 

Toothy... I was enchanted.

 Climbing up that first path was not easy, but I made it onto the mountain trail, and I was doing okay. The breathtaking view of the Old Man of Storr, against a varying backdrop of silky white cloud and the contrastingly ragged face of the cliff behind. After a while I took off both my fleece and my waterproof jacket, continuing the hike in my thin vest-top. (I really had a lot of faith in this weather forecast!) I caught up presently with the three hikers in front. They seemed to be the first that day, and I made jokes that weren't really jokes that I couldn't afford for them to pose for photos, as without their guidance I'd get lost! At the foot of The Old Man though, they headed right to explore more, whereas I hesitated, drank in the view, took countless photos, and chose to follow what appeared to be a path, between two white posts which I took to be waymarkers. 

The blue speck and two white specks are people,
to give you a sense of scale.

 Here I occasionally had to use my hands to scramble through the rocks, encircling the Old Man of Storr itself. Two thirds of the way around, I found myself on the edge of a rocky basin, in which a single bird was singing, its voice reverberating around the basin so that it was impossible to tell where the sound was coming from. The echoes and the mist utterly spellbinding. I stopped for a moment, and experienced that intense feeling in my chest that I have become used to, that I always get in moments of extreme beauty. 

The moment was ruined the next week, when I shared a story with a friend who told me he'd had exactly the same experience. 

I can't explain how big this picture is.

Moments later, the sun came out, and some ludicrous joy came over me that made me sprint to the top of the nearest peak, relishing the sunshine as I ruined the photos of countless tourists, who were beginning to accumulate at the first plateu below me. I considered striking poses, but didn't have the ego, so I scrambled back down and cheerily greeted everyone I passed as I headed back to my dear Astrid. I chose to take a different route down on the 'easy' path, which was a mistake. I think it used to be scenic, but the vegetation around it had been bulldozed to grow in native species instead, so the effect was just of an unnecessarily onerous long walk downhill for no merit. 

I climbed to the top of the broad one on the left.

 
When I returned to the carpark, it was full. So was the overflow layby, and cars were parked all along the opposite side of the road. I felt pretty smug, and drove off before someone blocked Astrid in. Next stop was the Quairing. 

The sun now shone brightly as Astrid and I wound northwardsthrough Skye's lush green mountains. Quairing was not extremely easy to find and the road was very steep in places, but I didn't get lost, and soon parked up next to the burger van at the start. Confusingly, Quairing is spelt differently in Gaelic, and about half of the signs on Skye are Gaelic only, so I drove past it the first time. Immediately I could see I was in for a treat. The noticeboard compared the landscape to Lord of the Rings. Having recently booked a trip to New Zealand for the next year, I considered this a good primer. 

Not fun to drive.

 I knew that there was an easy and a hard route of The Quairing, and I was being realistic about my skill level, but I was keen to find a circular route rather than going back on myself. I mantained a good pace in order to keep distance between myself and the next person on the route. In Skye I had finally found somewhere where I could turn 360 degrees, and yet see no sign of human intervention as far as the eye could see. Perfect.

Spectacular.

  
 It was a good hike, I can't say much more than the pictures can show you. It is mind boggling for me to look at them even now and think "I was there!" I am not surprised this is the #1 rated Tourist Attraction in Skye on Trip Advisor.

...

Ultimately, I did do the hard route, but only because the alternative seemed to be to turn back on myself, which I hate doing, especially on busy paths about as wide as a rabbit warren. As I got to the top of a relatively steep incline, cloud began to speed in across the mountain. I saw a couple hiking ahead of me, and hurried to catch up with them before I got lost. The cloud swept in on either side of me, but as I was walking along a ridge, it never came over me. I managed to keep the couple in sight, but had to walk slightly faster than I would have preferred. I was also unable to pause for a drink for a while, but these were slight discomforts, offset by the spectacular experience of hiking in and above the clouds. I was back in my vest top but felt no cold. I was mildly disappointed that I was mising out on what were no doubt spectacular views, but happily, as we reached the summit (I caught up with a second couple, who had a mountain guide) the cloud magically parted, and I was treated to a view so spectacular I'm beginning to get fed up with my own superlatives.

From the summit.

Next I drove to Uig for lunch, as the main city in north Skye. However, I drove right past Uig, taking photos of "a quaint harbour" on the way, not realising that this very harbour was what passed for the major conurbation of Uig up here!

Uig Pier, and about a third of its buildings.

  Due to my misjudgement of Uig, I arrived ten minutes too late for lunch, so I ate a mars bar that I had bought to console myself that morning, and drove to the Fairy Glen. I had been hoping to squeeze Old Man of Storr and Quairring into one day, so this was a bonus, and it was a great bonus too! The Fairy Glen is nowhere near the Fairy Pools, but right on top of Uig. It features a large number of bright green hills with a strange rippled texture, all of which are relatively small and round, and sprinkled with groves of miniature trees. The effect is comparible to tellytubby land, or possibly Hobbiton (keeping with the LOTR theme)

The silver car is Astrid

I watched from one of the higher hills as minibuses arrived packed full of tourists who would climb to the top of the rock, take photos, climb back down and get into the van. I could see, like the fairy pools, deep trenches gouged out of the beautiful landscape by our repeated footfalls. It made me sad and ashamed. Our species seem to ruin so much of what we touch.

It just doesn't look real, does it? None of my images are edited, except for
where I've unsubtley blocked out Astrid's registration plate.

I came across a pair of americans re-arranging these stones.
Apparently re-arranging them and pretending to be the fairies is a tradition.
It seemed a bit like bad touristing to me.

 
 I took a walk using my new map to see some waterfalls, aiming to return to the car at about 5 to avoid a repeat of last night's midge onslaught. The waterfalls marked on the map were umipressive, but I did meet a herd of suspicious cows, including some very cute calves with long, long eyelashes! I got back at about 5.30, suffering from very sore feet, but no midges to be seen!

This little guy was curious, the others were more nervous

 Finally I drove back to the hostel. I went for a walk down to Broadford pier to process the days politics, and was treated to a spectacular pink sunset. On top of all the other beauty I had seen that day, I was blown away. I even got a bit emotional. Then I shook myself and dashed back to the hotel for my camera. Unfortunately I missed the best of it, but here's my favourite photo:

One of them, anyway.

The next day dawned much the same as Friday. Gloomy and grey. Out of curiosity I drove south to Sleat, and as I approached Skye's south coast, the cloud parted to more fantastic views of cliffs, sea, mountains and islands. 

A calm morning in Armadale

Armadale is the southern port town from which ferries sail to Mallaig on the mainland. I parked up at about 9am and as I fetched my backpack from Astrid's boot I saw I had parked right in front of a concealed path with a sign to a "Permaculture Garden", and I followed it. Permaculture is something I took an interest in when I strayed across it in my module of green politics in the EU. It is the practice of farming with an absolutely minimal impact on nature - growing crops alongside others which are natural pest deterrants, using organic, home-grown herbal remedies to fix garden problems, and encouraging bees and other pollenators for mutual benefit.

I have never seen so many wildflowers as I did on the Isle of Skye.

This coastal plot was an unexpected location for such a scheme, but it was an excellent find! Everywhere there was excellent signage, indicating what was growing and why. I followed a forest trail, which incorperated aspects of Skye (Buoys hanging from trees for a children's play area, waste sheeps wool on the floor for matting) and featured a number of lodges and an eco-friendly camp site. Occasionally the trail would lead me to a beautiful clifftop view. and I decided I had (for the third day running) discovered paradise on earth.

Great views over the handmade recycled-rope bannister

 As I left the gardens, I met the owner. I purchased some items from her shop while we chatted about permaculture and some terrifying looking ducks she kept in the yard (They had adopted her apparently, and fought between each other constantly, but harmless to guests. It was a great start to my day and I wondered around the little harbour dropping in and out of shops and taking photos of everything. Eventually I made my way to Armadale Castle - the home of Clan MacDonald, and paid the admission fee to explore the castle grounds and museum. The castle was a ruin now, disappointingly because the clan had moved out in the 1920s and let it fall into neglect. Those 100 years had been hard on it, which I guess is a testament to Skye's weather. What was left wasn't particularly interesting or stunning, so I took one of the trails for a walk around the estate. 



It was a hot morning and I was feeling the effects of yesterday's hiking (40,000 steps no less), so I took it easy, stopping often and walking slowly. I was a bit sunburnt from the day before and felt anxious being in the sunlight for so long at midday, and although the walk was quite pretty, I was relieved to reach the end.  

At the entrance to the museum I was greeted by an enormous Peacock, who was too busy preening himself to even watch as I wandered by within feet of him. In the museum I learnt a lot of the clan Macdonald's history, particularly Flora Macdonald who had helped Bonnie Prince Charlie escape. I also read about the Clearances, when masses of crofters were forced out of Skye and emmigrated on ships to North America and Australia. Many didn't survive the journey.

 
 I soon left Armadale and decided to drive north to Portree, the largest town in Skye, from which I was kind of hoping to arrange a wildlife spotting boat trip. Portree was cute, and I wandered around perusing bookshops and then couldn't get on a boat. I had dinner in a pub