Er der egentlig nogen, der finder det problematisk at jeg er blevet doven og skriver paa engelsk? I saa fald maa I sige til, det tager bare en del mere tid skrive tosproget blog, og saa vil jeg hellere skrive mere paa et sproge end det samme paa to.
Just checking with the Danes if the mind the change to english. I suppose the English readers appreciate the English...
Tuesday 31 January 2012
Eketahuna - day off with the kiwi birds
I'm on the road, left napier on Sunday it must have been, and headed to the south. I've stayed in Waipawa and Dannevirke, had a long lunchbreak in Norsewood, where I was invited for coffee with a Norwegian family who works the infocentre and splits their time in between Norwegian and New Zealand summers. It\s been good going a lot cooler and very nice to get out again. Tuesday I arrrived at Eketahuna, where there\s a domain camping (which is a sort of nature reservee with camping) and it's only five dollars, with hot showers, laundry and farm eggs for the campers. Ekehatuna itself is tiny, there's only 600 inhabitants and it's basically just a stretch of houes and some cafes and shops and a library with free internet and use of computers (hence no pictures today) along highway 2. But my legs felt like logs when I woke up, which may be a delayed effect of running into a familiar face in Dannevirke and having a few at and irish pub.
Mount Bruce wild life sanctuary is just 8 km down the road from Eketahuna, I hitched a ride back and forth and saw kiwi birds in cages. They have a white one. It was quite neat, and now I know what the fuss is all about, but I might be too tired to really have appreciated it.
The plan for the rest of the day is to go back to the camping ground and hope nobody\s nicked my now clean underwear and there I'll faff about and read something, write something, eat chips & chocolate and drink tea. And napping. Possible tighten up a screw or two on the bike.
Tomorrow I'm heading to Masterton/Carterton/Greytown depending on the feeling, then Featherston and from there I'm taking the train to Wellington - there's a big bad hill, heaps of road work and much traffic, so it's not recommendable biking there.All in all, I ought t be In Wellie by the weekend.
Mount Bruce wild life sanctuary is just 8 km down the road from Eketahuna, I hitched a ride back and forth and saw kiwi birds in cages. They have a white one. It was quite neat, and now I know what the fuss is all about, but I might be too tired to really have appreciated it.
The plan for the rest of the day is to go back to the camping ground and hope nobody\s nicked my now clean underwear and there I'll faff about and read something, write something, eat chips & chocolate and drink tea. And napping. Possible tighten up a screw or two on the bike.
Tomorrow I'm heading to Masterton/Carterton/Greytown depending on the feeling, then Featherston and from there I'm taking the train to Wellington - there's a big bad hill, heaps of road work and much traffic, so it's not recommendable biking there.All in all, I ought t be In Wellie by the weekend.
Thursday 26 January 2012
The Gannets
I don't know what gannets are called in Danish even, I suspect they may not have a name, being foreign to Scandinavia. These gannets in speaking are black reef gannets and they live by Cape Kidnapper, that being the largest mainland colony. You get there by the beach - there's a bous tour along a private road and a tractor tour by the beach for the lazy and rich as well. Walking by the beach is by far the better way, it's a beatiful tour, just remember to time it with the tide, it get's all the way up to the rock face. The gannets shriek strangely, but are quite at ease with all the tourists oogling them. In any case, the birds have an easy revenge in case you get to close to their nests. Hats may be recommendable, and not just for the sun. It smells, or rather stinks like guana as well, the birds are nestled so closely together.
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the birds
To my pleasure it was actually possible to bike along the beach to the cape itself on the sand with a ligth load of only some sandwiches and bananas and a sleeping bag. All the heavier stuff was left at the hostel in their garage. For those in horror of how I can treat my bike like thar; I did wash it of nicely right after.
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The beach bike
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The view
Return from Napier it's sixty kilometer and I could have made it back for dinner in case I'd wanted to. It's very nice to have the option of making tours out like that, without a bike, it would have been quite a journey getting there and back again.
I stayed out the night on a beach near Clive with some French backpackers who where camping out in vans. We made a fire and had beer and talked of bicycles and travels and I borrowed a tent to sleep in despite my original plan of just roughing it on the beach in my bag sleeping under the stars. That was not permitted in the presence of the young, bright future lawyers and doctors of France. It strikes me rather often on this tour that Scandinavian men are hideously uncourteous. It's not about being an old-fashioned gentleman and genders and rights and all that, it's just that they tend to be quite frankly rude and impolite. I want them to be polite and nice, not because I'm a female, but because I am a person. Well, that's not really the main subject today.
The tour from Napier out to Cape Kidnapper and the birds goes along the coast, there's a bicycle path most of the way at the grace of banks and rotary clubs and whatnot with hideous commercials of children with artificial smiles and bike helmets disturbing the view. The coast is quite rugged, contrasted by pretty little houses, that obviously belongs to someone with a good income and wife with plenty of time for making chic rural decorations and there's hardly anyone to see on the way at all.
I stayed out the night on a beach near Clive with some French backpackers who where camping out in vans. We made a fire and had beer and talked of bicycles and travels and I borrowed a tent to sleep in despite my original plan of just roughing it on the beach in my bag sleeping under the stars. That was not permitted in the presence of the young, bright future lawyers and doctors of France. It strikes me rather often on this tour that Scandinavian men are hideously uncourteous. It's not about being an old-fashioned gentleman and genders and rights and all that, it's just that they tend to be quite frankly rude and impolite. I want them to be polite and nice, not because I'm a female, but because I am a person. Well, that's not really the main subject today.
The tour from Napier out to Cape Kidnapper and the birds goes along the coast, there's a bicycle path most of the way at the grace of banks and rotary clubs and whatnot with hideous commercials of children with artificial smiles and bike helmets disturbing the view. The coast is quite rugged, contrasted by pretty little houses, that obviously belongs to someone with a good income and wife with plenty of time for making chic rural decorations and there's hardly anyone to see on the way at all.
The Excuse
Guys, I'm sorry, but I have just enjoyed myself too much here too actually get a round to do the writing and posting the pictures and all those things I've promised. Anyway, the internet at the hostel is terribly expensive. But I've had some quite fantastic days here, just basking in the sun and cruising on the bike without any luggage, and in some ways it's a bit hard to recall exactly what I've done on which day.
It's been a little bit like summer holidays were when you where eight or ten or twelve; no responsibilities and just endless summer ahead filled with sunny days of nothing to do but frolick about, and that is exactly what one is doing, nothing and loads, going into town looking around in quaint little antique shops and bookstores with no intention of buying anything, eating ice cream on the beach, reading strange books found lost on shelves for whole days, biking around on old, unused railroad tracks getting lost, having long conversation while drinking cider and beer (now, I didn't do that when I was twelve, but I do it now) in evenings, when everybody's really tired and ought to go to bed, but nobody want's to, because we are simply having to jolly good a time.
Napier is an exquisite little city in lovely pastel shades and with and unbeliveably blue sea at it's footstep, even more so because you can't really swim there, and the beach is made out of rounded greyish stones, perfect for flicking across the water in between the surging waves. It's crammed full of boutiques and cafes and art decoish stuff, wine centres and such holidaymaking stuff.
For those abroad Napier was practically demolished by an eartquake in 1931, which caused the land to rise several metres, making a large, now lushly green flat plateau before a backdrop of undulating hills and mountains. The cities of Napier and Hastings where then rebuild in strict Art Deco, and they have kept up the style, with lovely flowery parks and water falls that are only caught out as fake because they are too idyllic to be true. Around the cities there's vineyards and orchards with rows and rows and rows of vines and apple trees and pears and what have you not of anything edible and delicious.
There's several bike paths arou d in this landscape, winding around sea shore, estuaries, river banks, by farms and through cattel pastures on abandoned rail road tracks, and it's all so idyllic I think I would either go mad living here lusting for some proper grime and dirt, or become utterly ridicoulessly blissfully happy.
Anyway, I'm planning to leave the gourgousness for an overnight trip to Cape Kidnappers tomorrow, leaving some belongings in the hostel to return Friday for an outing with a Norwegian to a pub in order the hear a band which play Irish punk music. On Sunday it's the intention to roll on down towards Wellington, which I guess will take me a good weeks time, and on the way I'll have to decide wether to take a route that takes me past the place with New Zealands longest place name, or through the old Scandinavian settlements of Norsewood and Dannevirke, and I think I might choose the latter, picking the histocial self interest.
It's been a little bit like summer holidays were when you where eight or ten or twelve; no responsibilities and just endless summer ahead filled with sunny days of nothing to do but frolick about, and that is exactly what one is doing, nothing and loads, going into town looking around in quaint little antique shops and bookstores with no intention of buying anything, eating ice cream on the beach, reading strange books found lost on shelves for whole days, biking around on old, unused railroad tracks getting lost, having long conversation while drinking cider and beer (now, I didn't do that when I was twelve, but I do it now) in evenings, when everybody's really tired and ought to go to bed, but nobody want's to, because we are simply having to jolly good a time.
Napier is an exquisite little city in lovely pastel shades and with and unbeliveably blue sea at it's footstep, even more so because you can't really swim there, and the beach is made out of rounded greyish stones, perfect for flicking across the water in between the surging waves. It's crammed full of boutiques and cafes and art decoish stuff, wine centres and such holidaymaking stuff.
For those abroad Napier was practically demolished by an eartquake in 1931, which caused the land to rise several metres, making a large, now lushly green flat plateau before a backdrop of undulating hills and mountains. The cities of Napier and Hastings where then rebuild in strict Art Deco, and they have kept up the style, with lovely flowery parks and water falls that are only caught out as fake because they are too idyllic to be true. Around the cities there's vineyards and orchards with rows and rows and rows of vines and apple trees and pears and what have you not of anything edible and delicious.
There's several bike paths arou d in this landscape, winding around sea shore, estuaries, river banks, by farms and through cattel pastures on abandoned rail road tracks, and it's all so idyllic I think I would either go mad living here lusting for some proper grime and dirt, or become utterly ridicoulessly blissfully happy.
Anyway, I'm planning to leave the gourgousness for an overnight trip to Cape Kidnappers tomorrow, leaving some belongings in the hostel to return Friday for an outing with a Norwegian to a pub in order the hear a band which play Irish punk music. On Sunday it's the intention to roll on down towards Wellington, which I guess will take me a good weeks time, and on the way I'll have to decide wether to take a route that takes me past the place with New Zealands longest place name, or through the old Scandinavian settlements of Norsewood and Dannevirke, and I think I might choose the latter, picking the histocial self interest.
Gisborne to Napier - the tour
Tuesday : Gisborne - Doneraille Park (Wrong turn and ride for the last part) app. 45 km
Wednesday: Donneraille Park - Hackfalls arboretum, app. 15 km
Thursday: Hackfalls arboretum - Frasertown, app. 40
Friday: Frasertown - Putorino, 56 km
Saturday: Putorino - Napier, 60 km, ride for the past 20 km.
191,74 km total ridden on bike, two rides in trucks with cars in the back - note that I wasn't hitching, but rather offered rides randomly by sympathetic people on my way up steep hills while pushing bike. Not quite sure if that's good or bad. Average speed 12,6 km/t, bike computer claims maximum speed was 99,9 km/h, though that is hardly correct, I believe it's around 40 km/h. I have a positive on 38,8 km/h. Number of accidents seen: 1, motorbiker swerved to right and crashed with car, luckily at low speed and only busted an ankle. Ambulance (or actually firefighters) arrived after 45 mins. I'll definitely keep on the hi-vis vest, neon helmet and flag, pull over for the big trucks and keep to the right, i.e left side of the road.
Tuesday : Gisborne - Doneraille Park (Wrong turn and ride for the last part) app. 45 km
Wednesday: Donneraille Park - Hackfalls arboretum, app. 15 km
Thursday: Hackfalls arboretum - Frasertown, app. 40
Friday: Frasertown - Putorino, 56 km
Saturday: Putorino - Napier, 60 km, ride for the past 20 km.
There's a bloody lot of hills in this country and I'm definitely not used to roadbiking with a heavy load.The bike's good though, I'm using the gearing to the max already, but still have to practice handling the trailer a bit, it gives me trouble when stopping, it's hard to park and so far I've solved that by stuffing my sleeping bag under the trailer to prevent it from toppling over, which doesn't raely make for apermament solution though. I'm not quite sure if it's possible to do anything else, can you fit a kick stand to a bobtrailer? When on gravel rode, it slides sidewards upphil on angled roads, which makes the whole bikeandtrailer-thing jack-knifing on me and everything then falls over. I'm getting stronger arms from pushing it back up though.
I've gotten a silicone saddle cover to prevent a sore bum, and so far I think it's doing the job quite well, but it's only been put to the test on a leisurely 50 km ride without luggage and lots of photo stops on flat ground.
The tour;
I started out from Gisborne quite late in the day, despite a plan of an early morning. A good bye fiest of Danish Frikadeller & veggies (meatballs) and complementary Carlsberg with some of the Argentinian Che's (Pollo, Jose and Fran) from the flying nun delayed getting up early. I also realized that I have more belongings that what actually fits on a bike, even with a trailer, and ended up leaving bits and bobs behind in Pollo's van, with whom I anyway have a date with down south. No, not like that, on the South Island, and he's my friend. You guys!
I got out of the hostel, out of Gisborne and made a wrong turn, which cost me quite few extra kilometers, since I didn't really notice very much else than the beautiful alandscape, how surprisingly comfy it was to ride my bike and that it was much less hilly than described. At last my suspicion was aroused by a road sign pointing to cities I didn't plan on seeing, and after meticulously consulting my map I turned back and found the right exit. It was a lot hillier, but still very pretty. In between the late start and the wrong turn it had grown late in the day, and pushing uphill I was offered a ride by the local road maintenance guy, who gave a me a lift all the way to Doneraille park, which I was very happy to accept. There I erected my tent, cooked dinner and had drinks with two French guys who where quite excited to have female solo biker in the tent next to theirs as well as two kiwi sisters at 18 and 22 out camping.
Day two started with the uphill from Doneraille Park, and then it continued with more uphill. At the side road to Hackfalls Arboretum I had lunch at the local pub and consulted the owner wether it was worth a detour going to the arboretum. At cofirmation, I ventured inwards, and apart from the gravel road (it's official, I hate gravel) it's a lovely place. After scaring all the cows , you come to a pretty little lake sourrounded by greenery, pay 10 dollars for access to 50 acres of park and are free to enjoy yourself and wander about. I doled out another 10 for staying in the sheep shearers quarters that were deserted and hence all to my use, meaning I had both kitchen, bedroom and bathroom all to myself as well as an amazing view. It felt very luxurious after tents and dormitories in hostels.
Day three I continued along the road, with breaks here and ther to enjoy the landscape, had lunch at a very uncharming road shoulder - but hunger is nothing to mess with when biking - and did a very lucky water run in the afternoon. Nerys did 'but of course' give me water, with ice, a ride back to other farm where I'd left my sleeping bag on the ground, an invitation to se the sheep being sheared, and there I got a long, thorough, informative and interesting explanation on sheep and cattle farming in modern New Zealand by Nerys' husband Mike. I also got acquainted with their daughter Grace of four years, who quickly warmed up and found it fantastic to have her very grown up to play with. Then they invited me for dinner - lamb roast and potatoes and mint jelly and fantastic things - along with two friends stopping by and gave me cider beer and told me jokes and in general had a very good time, and then I was tucked in with a real pillow and matress in their living room. A lot more than I had expected coming in for a water refill and a very nice view into rural life in New Zealand, which now seems very appealing on some aspects. Getting up at four thirty in the morning to go and find the sheep to be sheared might not be all that appealing if I really had to do it, but Mike's tales of riding out in the dark and sseing the sun rise from the hills definitely had ring to it. They're an absolutely charming family and I'm really amazed at how strangers are welcomed in this country, it's an absolute delight to be able to come as a stranger and leave as a friend.
Day four I continued after a solid breakfast at Nery's and Mike's, with plans of going all the way to Lake Titiroa, which is a good 70-80 km from their place. Of course I didn't make it - I slept on a river bank 15 km from the lake. It's a beautiful tour, lots of grand views and lots of up and downs. A good advice is to eat before going up the steepest hill, not after, to have the energy to go through the ordeal. This part of the tour being on the actual highway, I did find that drivers are very considerate, giving lots of space and often a friendly little toot in the horn and waves and smiles. I'm apparently also being included in the motorbiker's club, who with subtle signs give greetings and warnings along the road. The only actual dislike are the log trucks, they're so huge they hardly can sverwe or lower the speed, which basically means I'm pulling onto the side and stopping for them rather than the other way around. It's nice guys driving though, I got a lot of cheers and waves from them.
Day five the good old legs where getting tired and I had an ice cream break at Titiroa village and then a long lunchbreak at the lake itself, not feeling very much like continuing. These days had all been so hot the tar was literally seeoing out of the asphalt.
I did continue, the road rolls and undulates, as said in Pedaller's paradise, which is a very recommendable book for biking in NZ, all the way to the Devil's hairpin, and as the name says, it's a long sharply curved hill, which goes on for ever. On one of the roadshoulders up ther I ran into Kris, not literally, and he offered me a ride up the hill, which ende up being all the way to Napier. On the way don the hill we came across an accident, which luckily turned out to be not so serious after all, but did look very nasty to begin with; a motrbiker had crashed with a car sligthly to the side of the front. The guy on the bike was a sturdy old badger, who took it all quite coolly and reckoned he'd 'just busted his ankle'. It took 45 minutes before any official help was there, there's rarely phone coverage due to all the mountains. I had rather had time abstracting form the thought that it'd have been pretty bad if I had been to crash with a car. If I promise to drive carefully and always wear my helmet and keep to left of the road we'll expect it not to happen, right?
And then I was in Napier, and here I've been lulling about being a naughty girl who haven't bothered to write or do very much of anything sensible, which has been most enjoyable.
Sunday 22 January 2012
Gisborne - Napier
I've arrived well and safe in Napier yesterday, spent the sunday going for a hike with an Englishman who gave me a ride the last bit into Napier (with bike and everything) and will post proper post with pictures and stories and everything tomorrow when the internet hopefully is more cooperative.
Monday 16 January 2012
On the road
Jeg har ikke lavet noget særligt andet end at dalre rundt og vente på cykel og lege strandferie, og i går var den færdig. Rent teknisk er det en lyseblå Bauer, med en falsk bobtrailer til alt mit udstyr, cykeltaske til de dagligste nødvendigheder og en lille cykelstyrstaske foran og ellers udstyret med alt hvad hjertet kan begære på en cykel, inkluderet hjelm & matchende neonvest med refleksstriber, lygter (både baglygte på traileren og selve cyklen) og et lille reparationskit, så jeg er sikker at sende ud på vejene.
Freddy, som jeg har besøgt mange gange i hans butik, var også helt glad og rørt over at jeg nu rent fktisk skulle afsted. Det er i hvert fald sjældent at cykelsmeden hjemme på Nørrebro gav krammere. Han er i øvrigt en af ret få der laver bambuscykler,og hvis I synes det er spændende kan I se mere på Bikeys.
Og nu skal jeg pakke og spise og ud på vejen. Vi tales ved om en fire dages tid i Napier.
I'm off, the bike is here, and it's beautiful. Freddy put all parts together and was pretty much just as excited as me about my tour. He makes bamboo bikes too, and if you need anything bike relatede around Gisborne he's definately recommendable. Check his shop and bikes at Bikeys.
All left do is packing up the last bits and have some late breakfast, so that's what I'll do. See you guys in Napier in about four days!
Freddy, som jeg har besøgt mange gange i hans butik, var også helt glad og rørt over at jeg nu rent fktisk skulle afsted. Det er i hvert fald sjældent at cykelsmeden hjemme på Nørrebro gav krammere. Han er i øvrigt en af ret få der laver bambuscykler,og hvis I synes det er spændende kan I se mere på Bikeys.
Og nu skal jeg pakke og spise og ud på vejen. Vi tales ved om en fire dages tid i Napier.
I'm off, the bike is here, and it's beautiful. Freddy put all parts together and was pretty much just as excited as me about my tour. He makes bamboo bikes too, and if you need anything bike relatede around Gisborne he's definately recommendable. Check his shop and bikes at Bikeys.
All left do is packing up the last bits and have some late breakfast, so that's what I'll do. See you guys in Napier in about four days!
Thursday 12 January 2012
Ruten
Jeg var på besøg hos Beverly i går aftes; hun bor i Gisborne med sine teenagebørn og er en væver dame i halvtredserne og en ivrig langdistancecyklist. Jeg fik te og kage og en masse gode råd.
Vi spredte kort og bøger ud over hele bordet og planlagde en grov rute over det allermeste af New Zealand. Først fra Gisborne ned til Wellington langs østkysten, nusse lidt rundt vest for Picton i Nelson og Marlborough, til Abel Tasman nationalpark, ned langs vestkysten med diverse stop her og der for vandreture, ind ved Haast til søerne og Queenstown, ned til Invercargill og Bluff of over til Stewart Island og vandre. Så op langs østkysten og ind og se noget af midten af sydøenomkring Otago, op til Christchurch, gennem Arthur's pass og tilbage til Picton og nordøen. Der cykler jeg gennem de centrale dele med Tongariro, Lake Taupo og Rarotonga for at se på bjerge og vulkansk aktivitet, så op til Coromandel Peninsula og en færge til Auckland. Da skulle det gerne være slutningen af Maj, og så hopper jeg på en flyver til Fiji for at se den allerdejligste Jes der.
I've been planing the route with Beverly's help, she is a very nice lady, that I'm strongly tempted to call a pretty cool chick, which I think she´ll be allrigth with. She lives in Gisborne with her teenage kids, and does lots of long distance biking, so I got heaps of good advice and we came up witha tour wich covers pretty much all the parts of NZ, that I haven't seen yet. I'll start with going down to Wellington along the East Coast, then frolick about in Nelson, Marlborough and Abel Tasman National park, go down south along the West Coast and mountains with strategic stops for hiking, relaxing, kayaking and whatever I feell like doing. On Haast I'll be going inland to the lakes and Queenstown, form there all the way to Bluff, pop over to Stewart Island for a hike, do some of Otago, up to Christchurch, over Arthurs pass and up to Picton and back to the North Island. Then I'll go along the central parts, Tongariro, Lake Taupo and Raroronga, up to Coromandel and from there a boat to Auckland. The it should be late May/early June, and I'll hop on a fligth to Fiji to meet my beloved Jes.
View Larger Map
Vi spredte kort og bøger ud over hele bordet og planlagde en grov rute over det allermeste af New Zealand. Først fra Gisborne ned til Wellington langs østkysten, nusse lidt rundt vest for Picton i Nelson og Marlborough, til Abel Tasman nationalpark, ned langs vestkysten med diverse stop her og der for vandreture, ind ved Haast til søerne og Queenstown, ned til Invercargill og Bluff of over til Stewart Island og vandre. Så op langs østkysten og ind og se noget af midten af sydøenomkring Otago, op til Christchurch, gennem Arthur's pass og tilbage til Picton og nordøen. Der cykler jeg gennem de centrale dele med Tongariro, Lake Taupo og Rarotonga for at se på bjerge og vulkansk aktivitet, så op til Coromandel Peninsula og en færge til Auckland. Da skulle det gerne være slutningen af Maj, og så hopper jeg på en flyver til Fiji for at se den allerdejligste Jes der.
I've been planing the route with Beverly's help, she is a very nice lady, that I'm strongly tempted to call a pretty cool chick, which I think she´ll be allrigth with. She lives in Gisborne with her teenage kids, and does lots of long distance biking, so I got heaps of good advice and we came up witha tour wich covers pretty much all the parts of NZ, that I haven't seen yet. I'll start with going down to Wellington along the East Coast, then frolick about in Nelson, Marlborough and Abel Tasman National park, go down south along the West Coast and mountains with strategic stops for hiking, relaxing, kayaking and whatever I feell like doing. On Haast I'll be going inland to the lakes and Queenstown, form there all the way to Bluff, pop over to Stewart Island for a hike, do some of Otago, up to Christchurch, over Arthurs pass and up to Picton and back to the North Island. Then I'll go along the central parts, Tongariro, Lake Taupo and Raroronga, up to Coromandel and from there a boat to Auckland. The it should be late May/early June, and I'll hop on a fligth to Fiji to meet my beloved Jes.
View Larger Map
Tuesday 10 January 2012
Aberøven
Mennesket er et vanedyr og jeg er i allerhøjeste grad et menneske. Efter en lille uges tid på the flying nun har jeg etableret en skriverutine om dagen, hvor der er dejligt fredeligt og roligt og internettet sædvanligvis fungerer. Om aftenen tager jeg ned på stranden og kigger på solnedgang og sene surfere når det er blevet behageligt kølig og shorts og trøje er passende beklædning.
I dag mente jeg dog at det var på tide at jeg rent faktisk holdt ferie i min ferie og tog på stranden, så computeren blev lukket tidligt, jeg ordnede lidt cykelrelaterede ting og var på stranden ved totiden. Det er en dejlig strand, den er kilometerlang, sandet er gyldent, surferne pæne, vandet er blåt og køligt; kort sagt det perfekte sted at ligge og spise is, læse kitschede romaner, småsove, sole sig og bade. Og skolde sin balder ganske lyserøde. Jeg håber det går over igen før jeg skal ud at cykle.
I abandoned the daily routine of writing during the day - going to beach in evening today, lolling about on Gisborne Midway Beach for some hours in the afternoon, which was lovely. Eating Ice cream, bathing, reading etc. Including burning my bum quite pink and tender. I hope it's gone back to normal before the biking starts. Sunsets it is from now on.
Blomster til mor
du har selv skrevet at det er ligemeget med julegaver og fødselsdagsgaver og alt det der. Så nu får du lidt fjollet måske, en virtuel gave. Jeg ved nemlig at du ville være helt vild med alle blomsterne hernede. Her er helt utrolig grønt.
Vi begynder med det største først, tane Mahuta, som er New Zelands største kauritræ. Og det skal du være glad for kun at få på billede, det måler 14 meter om maven.
Der følgeret pænt stykke jungel med
En blå blomst fra Paihia
og et palmetræ ved en strand
Så en masse blandet fra Auckland domains botaniske have
en lilje af en slags
Det er en blomst. Jeg ved ikke hvilken slags blomst, men den er flot
De her vokser vildt i grøftekanten
en Silver fern, New Zealands nationalsymbol
Not so many christmas presents this year, so my mum is getting virtual flowers instead, and rather belated. Happy Birthday and merry christmas!
Monday 9 January 2012
In English
There's quite a few along the way who have expressed interest in my adventure around New Zealand. Most of those speak English, so I've decided to go ahead and make a brief English summary of what I'm doing at the end of each post, so you guys can keep up to. Google translate might give a picture of the grand story, but really, we all know that google English is something far apart from real, comprehensible English.
I haven't written much in English before, beause I am aware of the fact that English is not my langugage, and that I am not half as good a writer in English as I am in my own native tongue. So you'll be getting my broken English, which hopefully is good enough. English is anyway in modern times a bastardised language in the mouths and writings of immigrants and would-be cosmopolitans - it's not ours, but we take it anyway and make it ours, transforming it to our needs. And I need to tell my story, perhaps to convince myself it really is happening.
I'll try put up some more pictures too, they should't need translations. Whenever the internet is working at a not too slow pace.
If you think this is a good move, please tick the little "good on you" box right under this post.
I haven't written much in English before, beause I am aware of the fact that English is not my langugage, and that I am not half as good a writer in English as I am in my own native tongue. So you'll be getting my broken English, which hopefully is good enough. English is anyway in modern times a bastardised language in the mouths and writings of immigrants and would-be cosmopolitans - it's not ours, but we take it anyway and make it ours, transforming it to our needs. And I need to tell my story, perhaps to convince myself it really is happening.
I'll try put up some more pictures too, they should't need translations. Whenever the internet is working at a not too slow pace.
If you think this is a good move, please tick the little "good on you" box right under this post.
Behovet for køretøj II
Oprindelig stod der noget med at rejse let, miljøvenlig og billig i min header. Så kom jeg ned til New Zealand og fandt ud af at det er et af de steder i verden hvor der forurenes mest per capita. Vedrørende privat forbrug er det i høj grad fordi alle skal have deres eget hus og deres egen bil. Jeg konstaterede ret hurtigt at det ikke er muligt at komme rundt uden eget køretøj; landet er simpelthen beregnet til biltrafik og forudsætter at alle har en bil, lejer en bil, låner en bil, eller på anden måde fremskaffer en bil. Også turisterne, og dem der ikke vil det kan få lov at køre rundt med hinanden på backpackerbusser, hvis primære kunder er unge og ude på ballade - læs tre måneders-ruter, få muligheder for individuelle turer, selvstændig tænknig og undgåelse af aftenens obligatoriske pubcrwl eller miss Wet tshirt konkurrense. Og alt det der kan vel være meget skægt,men det var immervæk ikke lige derfor jeg kom.
Umiddelbart faldt jeg for den ligefremme løsning; at få et kørekort og en bil. Der er bare lige det at det er dyrt, måske ikke i forhold til derhjemme, men i forhold til mit budget, at det er ret besværligt at få et kørekort, mest fordi man skal have en codriver, og efter mødet med de første mange backpackere, indså jeg at jeg ikke aner hvad jeg skal stille op med 20-årige tyskere, der aldrig før har været væk fra mor og far. Man kan selvfølgelig godt slæbe dem med på en ugelang vandretur, men jeg har en fornemmelse af at man kunne få en temmelig blandet fornøjelse ud af det.
Jeg ville jo egentlig ud i naturen og opleve alt mulig spændende, ud selv og gøre det helt alene og møde spændende mennesker og se noget smukt og anderledes. I stedet synes jeg at jeg har ventet, ventet på at der kom en bil der ville samle mig op, på at der kom en bus, der skulle samme vej som mig, på at der kom nogen, jeg kunne køre med, og aldrig nogensinde var det ligesom rigtigt det jeg ville.
Så sad der en fuld skotte i Flying Nun´s baggård og sagde de forløsende ord: "Ah'm goin a feeneesh work an'en ah'm a buy a moonteenbike an 'en Ah'm goo wherever Ah bloody wunnu goo."
Jeg ved ikke om skotten har købt sig en mountainbike og cykler glad rundt i New Zealand med en flaske whiskey i baglommen, men jeg er i gang med at købe en mountainbike.
Det involverer også noget ventning, for jeg befinder mig stadig i Gisborne, og det er en ret lille by og her er kun to cykelbikse. Jeg gik hen til den lille, som er ejet af en amerikaner, der fandt mit projekt særdeles sympatisk. Vi snakkede lidt om at cykle og jeg kiggede på mange cykler og vi fandt en, der nok kunne passe til mit behov, og som man nok godt kunne finde ud af at gi' noget rabat på. Så skal jeg vælge det nødvendige tilbehør, trailer og de forskellige småting, der er nødvendige til en cykeltur New Zealand rundt. Det tager lidt tid, og det er lidt kedeligt at vente på, men tanken om at tage herfra ved egen kraft er ret fantastisk. Nu venter jeg på det rigtige.
Jeg kommer muligvis til at fortryde hver gang det regner, men så må jeg finde mig et hostel og tørre mit tøj. Så svært er det egentlig ikke. Man skal ha en cykel og et par gode ben. Så kan man komme lige derhen, hvor man vil.
Nina Bikes NZ
I'm going to buy a bicycle. Coming to New Zealand, I somehow expected it to have immaculate public transport, since Lonely Planet (traders in dreams and outdated information as they are)claimed buses are an excellent option to get arund NZ. They are allright from city to city and even a few towns. But honestly, my dear Kiwis, it's not really your towns I came for, it's pretty much everything else; in other words the nature. And to that there is no public transport.
Quickly I found myself wanting to go to places, whereto I couldn't get. The immediate solution was hitch-hiking, which is ok for shorter tours, but to me it seems a bit of a shady and complicated way to get around when it's for the better part of six months. I strongly considereded doing like any other backpacker and buy a car, only with the minor hitch that I do not have a license to conduct a car. Licenses are there to be gotten though, and I even got as far as buying the road code and reading it, before it struck me that I can just do it like the Dane I am and get a bicycle. This was inspired by a rather drunk Scottish lad in the backyard of the Flying Nun who uttered some of the most profound wisdom ever found at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey: "Ah'm gooin a feeneesh work an'en ah'm a buy a moonteenbike an 'en Ah'm goo wherever Ah bloody wunnu goo."
Much cheaper than a car - at least long term - and environmentally friendly, at a pace I like and with every opportunity to stop where I like and meet the courious natives, so biking it was. Hence I'm now In Gisborne, looking at a pretty babyblue mountainbike form Bikey's bikeshop and deciding which rack, trailer, water bottle holder and other essential necessities I really do need. Soon the great "Nina bikes New Zealand"-tour will commence. It'll be interesting, I'm sure.
Umiddelbart faldt jeg for den ligefremme løsning; at få et kørekort og en bil. Der er bare lige det at det er dyrt, måske ikke i forhold til derhjemme, men i forhold til mit budget, at det er ret besværligt at få et kørekort, mest fordi man skal have en codriver, og efter mødet med de første mange backpackere, indså jeg at jeg ikke aner hvad jeg skal stille op med 20-årige tyskere, der aldrig før har været væk fra mor og far. Man kan selvfølgelig godt slæbe dem med på en ugelang vandretur, men jeg har en fornemmelse af at man kunne få en temmelig blandet fornøjelse ud af det.
Jeg ville jo egentlig ud i naturen og opleve alt mulig spændende, ud selv og gøre det helt alene og møde spændende mennesker og se noget smukt og anderledes. I stedet synes jeg at jeg har ventet, ventet på at der kom en bil der ville samle mig op, på at der kom en bus, der skulle samme vej som mig, på at der kom nogen, jeg kunne køre med, og aldrig nogensinde var det ligesom rigtigt det jeg ville.
Så sad der en fuld skotte i Flying Nun´s baggård og sagde de forløsende ord: "Ah'm goin a feeneesh work an'en ah'm a buy a moonteenbike an 'en Ah'm goo wherever Ah bloody wunnu goo."
Jeg ved ikke om skotten har købt sig en mountainbike og cykler glad rundt i New Zealand med en flaske whiskey i baglommen, men jeg er i gang med at købe en mountainbike.
Det involverer også noget ventning, for jeg befinder mig stadig i Gisborne, og det er en ret lille by og her er kun to cykelbikse. Jeg gik hen til den lille, som er ejet af en amerikaner, der fandt mit projekt særdeles sympatisk. Vi snakkede lidt om at cykle og jeg kiggede på mange cykler og vi fandt en, der nok kunne passe til mit behov, og som man nok godt kunne finde ud af at gi' noget rabat på. Så skal jeg vælge det nødvendige tilbehør, trailer og de forskellige småting, der er nødvendige til en cykeltur New Zealand rundt. Det tager lidt tid, og det er lidt kedeligt at vente på, men tanken om at tage herfra ved egen kraft er ret fantastisk. Nu venter jeg på det rigtige.
Jeg kommer muligvis til at fortryde hver gang det regner, men så må jeg finde mig et hostel og tørre mit tøj. Så svært er det egentlig ikke. Man skal ha en cykel og et par gode ben. Så kan man komme lige derhen, hvor man vil.
Nina Bikes NZ
I'm going to buy a bicycle. Coming to New Zealand, I somehow expected it to have immaculate public transport, since Lonely Planet (traders in dreams and outdated information as they are)claimed buses are an excellent option to get arund NZ. They are allright from city to city and even a few towns. But honestly, my dear Kiwis, it's not really your towns I came for, it's pretty much everything else; in other words the nature. And to that there is no public transport.
Quickly I found myself wanting to go to places, whereto I couldn't get. The immediate solution was hitch-hiking, which is ok for shorter tours, but to me it seems a bit of a shady and complicated way to get around when it's for the better part of six months. I strongly considereded doing like any other backpacker and buy a car, only with the minor hitch that I do not have a license to conduct a car. Licenses are there to be gotten though, and I even got as far as buying the road code and reading it, before it struck me that I can just do it like the Dane I am and get a bicycle. This was inspired by a rather drunk Scottish lad in the backyard of the Flying Nun who uttered some of the most profound wisdom ever found at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey: "Ah'm gooin a feeneesh work an'en ah'm a buy a moonteenbike an 'en Ah'm goo wherever Ah bloody wunnu goo."
Much cheaper than a car - at least long term - and environmentally friendly, at a pace I like and with every opportunity to stop where I like and meet the courious natives, so biking it was. Hence I'm now In Gisborne, looking at a pretty babyblue mountainbike form Bikey's bikeshop and deciding which rack, trailer, water bottle holder and other essential necessities I really do need. Soon the great "Nina bikes New Zealand"-tour will commence. It'll be interesting, I'm sure.
Sunday 8 January 2012
Rejsebrev I
Gisborne, Flying Nun søndag 8/1-2012.
Jeg keder mig. Kedsomhed er ofte en del af rejsen, og en lidt overraskende del, for vi tager jo netop ud for at opleve nye og spændende ting og undslippe den daglige trummerum og kedsomhed. Ikke desto mindre tales der forbløffende meget om "derhjemme" på hostels; hvor kommer man fra, hvad laver man der, hvad skal man når man kommer hjem igen. Et andet udbredt emne er hvorfor man tager ud at rejse, vi er en navlepillende flok og utroligt mange tager ud for at finde sig selv,og finder vist i virkeligheden ikke så meget andet end bunden af en flaske hvidvin og muligvis nogen at være nøgen med, for hvad søren skal man egentlig foretage sig når aftenen og natten falder på, og bor på hostel med hundrede unge mennesker mellem 19 og 22, der også er ude at lede efter sig selv på en subtropisk strand.
Så bliver jeg den sære gamle tante, ikke sur, skal det lige tilføjes - hvis jeg selv var 21, ville jeg nok være ret vild med at befinde mig på et hostel fyldt med sydamerikanere og hvidvin og fiesta i et subtropisk sommerklima - men sære, fordi jeg gider simpelthen ikke.
Jeg gider ikke drikker mig fuld i billig vin, fordi der ikke er andet at lave, jeg gider ikke flirte med folk, der er syv år yngre end mig, for de syv år gøre en så stor forskel at vi befinder os i forskellige verdener, jeg gider ikke bruge hvad der essentielt er min ferie, på at se youtubevideoer af andres menneskers venner og katte. Jeg vil hellere læse en bog, tage på museum, være lidt alment turistet, tale med de lokale og skrive på den store roman. Ørepropper er essentielle når man bor på hostel, og ligeledes evnen til at beskæftige sig selv.
I virkeligheden er jeg måske blevet for gammel til at være backpacker, og det har kun lidt med alder at gøre, men næsten alt med attitude. Jeg er her ikke for at finde mig selv, heller for at finde et bjerg, der kan udfordre mig, en historie, der er interessant og mennesker, der kan fortælle mig om det land jeg befinder mig i. Jeg er her for at opleve, lære, noget nyt, og lige nu føler jeg mig gammel. Det er ikke i det indre, men i det ydre rum jeg vil på opdagelse.
Jeg keder mig. Kedsomhed er ofte en del af rejsen, og en lidt overraskende del, for vi tager jo netop ud for at opleve nye og spændende ting og undslippe den daglige trummerum og kedsomhed. Ikke desto mindre tales der forbløffende meget om "derhjemme" på hostels; hvor kommer man fra, hvad laver man der, hvad skal man når man kommer hjem igen. Et andet udbredt emne er hvorfor man tager ud at rejse, vi er en navlepillende flok og utroligt mange tager ud for at finde sig selv,og finder vist i virkeligheden ikke så meget andet end bunden af en flaske hvidvin og muligvis nogen at være nøgen med, for hvad søren skal man egentlig foretage sig når aftenen og natten falder på, og bor på hostel med hundrede unge mennesker mellem 19 og 22, der også er ude at lede efter sig selv på en subtropisk strand.
Så bliver jeg den sære gamle tante, ikke sur, skal det lige tilføjes - hvis jeg selv var 21, ville jeg nok være ret vild med at befinde mig på et hostel fyldt med sydamerikanere og hvidvin og fiesta i et subtropisk sommerklima - men sære, fordi jeg gider simpelthen ikke.
Jeg gider ikke drikker mig fuld i billig vin, fordi der ikke er andet at lave, jeg gider ikke flirte med folk, der er syv år yngre end mig, for de syv år gøre en så stor forskel at vi befinder os i forskellige verdener, jeg gider ikke bruge hvad der essentielt er min ferie, på at se youtubevideoer af andres menneskers venner og katte. Jeg vil hellere læse en bog, tage på museum, være lidt alment turistet, tale med de lokale og skrive på den store roman. Ørepropper er essentielle når man bor på hostel, og ligeledes evnen til at beskæftige sig selv.
I virkeligheden er jeg måske blevet for gammel til at være backpacker, og det har kun lidt med alder at gøre, men næsten alt med attitude. Jeg er her ikke for at finde mig selv, heller for at finde et bjerg, der kan udfordre mig, en historie, der er interessant og mennesker, der kan fortælle mig om det land jeg befinder mig i. Jeg er her for at opleve, lære, noget nyt, og lige nu føler jeg mig gammel. Det er ikke i det indre, men i det ydre rum jeg vil på opdagelse.
Te Urewera & Waikaremoana i billeder
Meget få biler at blaffe med, men solskin
første sø
solnedgang fra Sandy bay
Urskov
Hytte i urskov
mosklædte træer i urskov
udsigten fra toppen.
find stien
Waikaremoana
hængebro
sø i tåge
vandfald
campingpladsens køkken
forhenværende vildsvin
vandfald
bregner overalt
Belønningen
jovist var jeg der også. Så glad bliver man af at vandre.
Wednesday 4 January 2012
Gisborne - Te Urewera - Gisborne
Jeg tog på vandretur i urskoven i stedet for at fejre nytår i Gisborne, her kom 30.000 teenagere og drak sig fulde og hørte et eller andet newzealandsk musik, jeg alligevel ikke kender og er ret ligeglad med fra den 27 december til den 1 januar. Tante Nina pakkede derfor vandrerygsækken og efterlod andre sager på hostellet i Mutter Skraps hårdtslående hænder (dragen der vogter over the flying nun, af og til bider hun også de logerende, men hun kan godt lide mig, jeg roder nemlig ikke, eller drikker mig fuld og larmer), og så gik jeg ud på vejen og stak tommelfingeren ud og sagde at jeg ville til Te Urewera. Så var der nogen, der kørte mig noget af vejen og nye, der samlede mig op og efter fem timer var jeg der, overnattede på campingpladsen, købte kort morgenen efter og drog ud i den store vilde natur.
Jeg gik rundt om Lake Waikaremoana, næsten hele vejen oven i købet, for jeg var også på toppen af Manuoha (næsten 1400 meter) i regn og tåge, og snød kun fra Onepoto roadhead tilbage til motorcampen, fordi jeg ikke havde mere mad. Så var jeg snydeheldig og fik et lift hele vejen med et par, der oprindelig kom fra Gisbrone, men nu bor på sydøen og skulle hele vejen fra nationalparken og til Goísborne. De satte mig af lige ved døren og gav mig deres telefonnummer, så jeg kan ringe, hvis nu jeg kommer ned i nærheden af hvor de bor.
Men tilbage til turen; det var solskinsvejr den første dag, op til Sandy Bay Hut, der ligger meget smukt ved en mindre sø. Der var et par familier på tur (og jeg fik et til nummer og tilbud om overnatning, hvis nu jeg kom til Hamilton - alle kiwier er søde), men jeg var den eneste, der skulle videre, for dagen efter blev det regnvejr. Det gjorde det i den grad også, men jeg fistrede alligevel op til toppen af bjerget, og da jeg var deroppe, var det så meget regnvejr at jeg blev et par dage og morede mig med at hugge brænde og øve optænding af vådt ved, skrive lange breve, spise suppe med ekstra ris og forlæse mig på Moby Dick. Jeg endte faktisk med at holde nytår helt for mig selv i en ensom hytte i skoven i regnvejr og en enkelt minaturechampagneflaske, og det lyder måske lidt trist i visse ører, men var faktisk ret godt.
Den første var det på tide at komme videre, og egentlig havde jeg ikke tænkt mig at gå rundt om søen, for der skal man booke hytter og tltpladser og betale i dyre domme og hist op og kom her ned. Min oprindelige rute involverede dog noget med at krydse elve, og siden stien var blevet til en bæk efter regnvejret, bestemte jeg mig for at DOC nok heller ville have at jeg fusker mig til teltpladser, end at de skal fiske mig ud af en flod om et par uger.
Derfor gik jeg ned til søen og rundt om den i stedet, og det er en af de ti Great Walks, og derfor er det pissedyrt at campere eller bo i telt. Jeg slap dog med at betale 20 dollar, den dag jeg blev snuppet af rangeren, der vistnok helt uofficielt egentlig var enig med mig i at det var bedre at jeg fuskede mig til teltpladser, end at de skal fiske mig ud af en flod om et par uger.
Der er en nemlig ranger, som tjekker at man har betalt, han sejler rundt, på andre Great Walks plejer der at være en ranger pr hytte så man ikke snyder, selvom der vist også er en del sport i det. Great Walks konceptet er for øvrigt relativt nyt og medførte en brat pisstigning, som en del indfødte er temmelig utilfredse med og mener hellere går til alt mulig andet end vedligeholdelse af hytter og stinetværk.
Te Urewera er en regnskov, og i sagens natur regner der derfor en del. Stien er dog ret velholdt og relativt nem at gå ad, selvom der er kuperede dele og en frygtelig masse mudder. Hvis man er meget lille, eller gammel eller har ondt i sine knæ, er det måske ikke så god en tur. Der er fine udsigter over søen, og masser af muligheder for at bade og fiske ørred. Hytterne er ret basale og kan ikke leve op til DNT-standard, men der er hytter og man kan tænde op og tørre tøj og sove på en madras i sovesalen. Meget andet kan man dog ikke, så alt andet skal medbringes, hvilket vil sige mad, gaskoger, køkkengrej, sovepose, stearinlys og lommelygter til om aftenen osv.
Hvis man ikke orker at gå hele turen rundt om søen findes der også et relativt dyr watertaxiservice, der henter og afleverer ved alle hytter ved søbredden.
Skoven er meget grøn og meget tæt, og der er faktisk en del, der går væk fra stien og således forsvinder. De fleste bliver fundet igen, men jeg fik at vide at de har syv helikopterlandingspladser rudnt om stien, fordi så mange bliver væk.
Søen blev sænket i halvtredserne for at lave et vandkraftværk, som nu tilhører den lokale Iwi (altså lokale maoristamme), så en del af stien er på den gamle søbund og dejlig flad. Det synes de lokale vildsvin også, de graver lige ved siden stien og hviner om natten. Der er også en masse fugle, deriblandt kiwifugle, men de er svære at se.
Te Urewera betyder i følge Lonely Planet "den brændte penis", uvist af hvilken grund, og var en af de sidste maoribastioner, hvor de hvide ikke havde noget at sige. Den lokale iwi har stadigvæk stor bestemmelse over området og var ret fjendtlig indstillet overfor Pakeha (hvide) indtil de fandt ud af hvor man penge man kan snøre vandrere for. Selv kunne de ikke drømmer om at betale penge for at bo i hytter eller noget som helst andet, og det rager ikke nogen, hvornår og hvordan de fisker og går på jagt - kilde: Tucker, fra te iwi, der gav mig et lift på vej derop.
Det er nu ret imponerene at de som stenalderfolk ar været i stand til at overleve i regnen og mudderet iført græstøj mens de har været ude at fiske ål. Der kan faktisk også sne om vinteren.
Jeg gik rundt om Lake Waikaremoana, næsten hele vejen oven i købet, for jeg var også på toppen af Manuoha (næsten 1400 meter) i regn og tåge, og snød kun fra Onepoto roadhead tilbage til motorcampen, fordi jeg ikke havde mere mad. Så var jeg snydeheldig og fik et lift hele vejen med et par, der oprindelig kom fra Gisbrone, men nu bor på sydøen og skulle hele vejen fra nationalparken og til Goísborne. De satte mig af lige ved døren og gav mig deres telefonnummer, så jeg kan ringe, hvis nu jeg kommer ned i nærheden af hvor de bor.
Men tilbage til turen; det var solskinsvejr den første dag, op til Sandy Bay Hut, der ligger meget smukt ved en mindre sø. Der var et par familier på tur (og jeg fik et til nummer og tilbud om overnatning, hvis nu jeg kom til Hamilton - alle kiwier er søde), men jeg var den eneste, der skulle videre, for dagen efter blev det regnvejr. Det gjorde det i den grad også, men jeg fistrede alligevel op til toppen af bjerget, og da jeg var deroppe, var det så meget regnvejr at jeg blev et par dage og morede mig med at hugge brænde og øve optænding af vådt ved, skrive lange breve, spise suppe med ekstra ris og forlæse mig på Moby Dick. Jeg endte faktisk med at holde nytår helt for mig selv i en ensom hytte i skoven i regnvejr og en enkelt minaturechampagneflaske, og det lyder måske lidt trist i visse ører, men var faktisk ret godt.
Den første var det på tide at komme videre, og egentlig havde jeg ikke tænkt mig at gå rundt om søen, for der skal man booke hytter og tltpladser og betale i dyre domme og hist op og kom her ned. Min oprindelige rute involverede dog noget med at krydse elve, og siden stien var blevet til en bæk efter regnvejret, bestemte jeg mig for at DOC nok heller ville have at jeg fusker mig til teltpladser, end at de skal fiske mig ud af en flod om et par uger.
Derfor gik jeg ned til søen og rundt om den i stedet, og det er en af de ti Great Walks, og derfor er det pissedyrt at campere eller bo i telt. Jeg slap dog med at betale 20 dollar, den dag jeg blev snuppet af rangeren, der vistnok helt uofficielt egentlig var enig med mig i at det var bedre at jeg fuskede mig til teltpladser, end at de skal fiske mig ud af en flod om et par uger.
Der er en nemlig ranger, som tjekker at man har betalt, han sejler rundt, på andre Great Walks plejer der at være en ranger pr hytte så man ikke snyder, selvom der vist også er en del sport i det. Great Walks konceptet er for øvrigt relativt nyt og medførte en brat pisstigning, som en del indfødte er temmelig utilfredse med og mener hellere går til alt mulig andet end vedligeholdelse af hytter og stinetværk.
Te Urewera er en regnskov, og i sagens natur regner der derfor en del. Stien er dog ret velholdt og relativt nem at gå ad, selvom der er kuperede dele og en frygtelig masse mudder. Hvis man er meget lille, eller gammel eller har ondt i sine knæ, er det måske ikke så god en tur. Der er fine udsigter over søen, og masser af muligheder for at bade og fiske ørred. Hytterne er ret basale og kan ikke leve op til DNT-standard, men der er hytter og man kan tænde op og tørre tøj og sove på en madras i sovesalen. Meget andet kan man dog ikke, så alt andet skal medbringes, hvilket vil sige mad, gaskoger, køkkengrej, sovepose, stearinlys og lommelygter til om aftenen osv.
Hvis man ikke orker at gå hele turen rundt om søen findes der også et relativt dyr watertaxiservice, der henter og afleverer ved alle hytter ved søbredden.
Skoven er meget grøn og meget tæt, og der er faktisk en del, der går væk fra stien og således forsvinder. De fleste bliver fundet igen, men jeg fik at vide at de har syv helikopterlandingspladser rudnt om stien, fordi så mange bliver væk.
Søen blev sænket i halvtredserne for at lave et vandkraftværk, som nu tilhører den lokale Iwi (altså lokale maoristamme), så en del af stien er på den gamle søbund og dejlig flad. Det synes de lokale vildsvin også, de graver lige ved siden stien og hviner om natten. Der er også en masse fugle, deriblandt kiwifugle, men de er svære at se.
Te Urewera betyder i følge Lonely Planet "den brændte penis", uvist af hvilken grund, og var en af de sidste maoribastioner, hvor de hvide ikke havde noget at sige. Den lokale iwi har stadigvæk stor bestemmelse over området og var ret fjendtlig indstillet overfor Pakeha (hvide) indtil de fandt ud af hvor man penge man kan snøre vandrere for. Selv kunne de ikke drømmer om at betale penge for at bo i hytter eller noget som helst andet, og det rager ikke nogen, hvornår og hvordan de fisker og går på jagt - kilde: Tucker, fra te iwi, der gav mig et lift på vej derop.
Det er nu ret imponerene at de som stenalderfolk ar været i stand til at overleve i regnen og mudderet iført græstøj mens de har været ude at fiske ål. Der kan faktisk også sne om vinteren.
Te Urewera
Jeg flygter fra det larmende hostel og en truende musikfestival og tager på vandretur til Te Urewera national park, der efter sigende er en af de mere øde. Der er dog stadig adskillige hytter og et informationscenter med campingplads og butik ved vejen der fører ind til selve nationalparken.
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