The things they don't tell you about sailing

I'm back on the ship, postponed my flight till 25th of July to do the Island cruising and environment project as well. It seemed like a better idea than biking NZ South Island during winter.
I should have met the ship at Moon Reef north of Ovalau a week ago. We're still in Suva. We might leave on Monday. Everything is not organized. We're supposed to both pay for sailing, and work aboard and now do project work as well as I've gotten to write about the project. That's three jobs.
The chef's considered leaving, I've considered leaving, I miss my husband and frustrations abound. We hope sailing will cler the atmosphere. Otherwise I'll go play backpacker.

Hotching with bikes

I've already had one bike break down - the derailer twisted itself into bits right after leaving Picton and I got it replaced and pedalled on. Betty the bike didn't seem quite happy though, and both me and a couple of English lads on bikes (Alan and Rob of the Possum Posse) fettled quite a lot around to fix her up to run smoothly. It didn't quite work out fully, and the blame was put on a slightly twisted derailer hanger in need of a change in Nelson.

I didn't make it any further than Pelorous Bridge, which is app. 15 km off Havelock. There I had a lunchbreak, went up the hill and heard a nasty crunching sound, which I recognized before I put my foot down as a broken derailer. This time it was the hanger snapping of, the gear wire breaking, and the rear tyre axle which holds Bob the trailer bending a bit. Not possible to go anyfurther anywhere. The ressourceful person runs up to the Kiwi experience bus full of kids with rasta hair, hangovers, purple harem pants and new SDI's and asks the driver if there are any free seats. There isn't. The driver's pretty cool, though, and checks if there are other buses passing by today. There isn't.

Pelorous Bridge has a nice little camp site, so there's no need to panick, apart from the fact that there's no phone reception, and I was supposed to call Madeleine when getting to Nelson. I can't even call to say I may be a day late.

The resourceful person then mills around the parking lot noting all the big cars that could fit a bike, asking if they are going to Nelson. No one is.

Then the ressourceful person stretches out a thumb, and several sympathetically stop to ask if they can help with a quick fix, they do have tools, but unfortunately not space for a bike and trailer.

I do another car park round and someone does have space, it turns out, and that's the NMIT having been on a field trip with the full Asian student body. I go in one car with bike, and the luggage goes in the other van, and all goes to Nelson, where the story ends happily at Stewarts bike shop, where everything damaged is straightened, replaced and fixed within a couple of hours. Betty the bike rolls smoothly on again, and I apparently wear out chain per thousand km.

Goat Island til Whangarei/ paa tur

Goat Island marinereservat ligger ikke saerligt langt fra Auckland, men der er en pokkers stor forskel. For eksempel er der grusveje, og tiden straekker sig lidt ud i det uendelige, det man ikke naar i dag kan man altid naa i morgen.
Jeg var der to dage og naaede at snorkle og kigge paa gigantiske eagle rays, finde smaa dode pingviner paa stranden efter stormvejr og haenge ud med maorier, der gav gode tips om hvad fra havet der kan spise (alt, men ikke for mange sopindsvin, saa faar man daarlig mave) og hvor man skal tage hen oppe nordpaa (Whatuwhiwhi, ifolge Lonely planet findes der ingenting deroppe, saa det lyder som et meget godt tip).

 Ellers sker der ikke saa skraekklig meget paa goat Island, der er en hyggelig campingplads med en sod hund og en sydafrikaner med spandende rejsefortaellinger, saa jeg tog nnu alligevel ret hurtigt videre og vandre langs Pakiri beach opad mod nord med en frygtelig masse vand i rygsaekken. Stranden er gylden, smuk og ganske oede, bortset fra enkelte faa vandringsmaend, der med staalsat mod har sat sig for at vandre New Zealand paa langs  -  te aeroa - og saa enkelte fjollehoveder som mig og japanere paa hesteryg. Jeg satte camp op over tidevandsgraensen og hang haengekojen op mellem to naaletraer og gik ned i tidevandshullerne og fangede krabber til middag.
Saa dukkede der et newzealandsk/britisk par op, og vi tandte baal pa stranden, i god sikkerhed fra alt tort, lavede middag, spillede paa guitar og udveklsede rejsehistorier.

Morgen efter korte de mig til Mangawhai heads, hvor jeg gik mig en tur med dramatisk udsigt og fulgte Bream Bay op til en af Doc's campsites, der desvaerre viste sig at vaere frygtelig forblaest og helt uden traer til haengekojer. Dagen efter var det ud paa stranden igen, med haabet om at komem til ena f DOC's hytter ude paa Bream head. Det viste sig do at at Doc mener at rigtige vandrere kan flyve over havneindlob, og at hytter er aflaast og man skal have en individuel pinkode til hver hytte, for man kan komme ind i dem. Den pinkode kan man faa per telefon paa hverdage mellem 10 og 3 eller via internet. Heldigvis blev jeg oplyst om dette, da en venlig newzealaender inviterede paa en opfriskende kop the og en smaakage, daa jeg kom vandrende med min gigantiske rygsaek forbi hans hus.

Planen blev andret og jeg blev sat af paa hovedvejen til Whangarei og efter en noget halsbraekkende koretur med tre glade ungersvende (da var det vist jeg bestemte at jeg hellere selv vil kore. De var sode nok, men bilkulturen hernede er sindssyg og skal jeg endelig ud i bilulykker, foretraekker jeg selv at lave dem og ikke sidde hjalpelost paa bagsaedet) landede jeg ved Whangarei i-site og fandt et hostel til at traekke vejret i et par dage, samt finde ud af hvordan pokker jeg egentlig skal navigere rundt i det her land.


Kort til de visuelle

Nodvendigheden af koretoj

Det tager taet paa et aar at faa et nz korekort, men det tager ogdaa taet paa et aar at komme nogen steder uden egen transport. Ergo faar jeg mig et korekort. Man skal forst bestaa en teoriprove og faar saa learners license i et halvt aar, hvor man kun maa kore med en codriver - hvilket vil sige at jeg skal lokke nogen med paa tur, men her er saa mange backpackere at det bor vaere muligt. Saa skal jeg tage en praktisk prove og faar limited license hvor jeg maa kore selv, bare ikke om natten i tre maaneder. Saa skal jeg tage et advanced drivers course og saa kan jeg faa full license. Det koster 500 nz dollar, saa uanset er det billigere end hjemme. Hvorfor den slags  tricks er nodvendige?
Jeg gik 20 km for at kigge paa whangareis storste turistattraktion. Der gaar nemlig ingen bus. Det var en flot hule, men et helt aar paa den maade bliver ikke sjovt.