Blog written by Andrew.
To date, the IFEG (Irish French Expeditionary Group) and AIEG (Anglo Irish Expeditionary Group) have
travelled from Akoroa to Dunedin, to Queenstown (with an aforementioned detour)
and Wanaka, to Murchison via Fox Glacier (it’s melting v fast), from Golden Bay
to Picton from where I am writing.
The combined tour comes to an end tomorrow with the IFEG party heading
to the North Island and thence to Auckland and onto Malaysia for a few
days. The AIEG party are spending
a few days in Kaiakoura before ending our tour in Christchurch from where we
head back to northern climes.
 |
| New Zealand: some of the best white water rafting in the world |
Where to start? As the title suggests, we have been
rafting – White Water Rafting to be more specific. Based in Murchison alongside millions of sandflies, Intrepid
Tours run rafting trips along many of the rivers in those there parts. We
booked a whole day tour with three guides and three boats. Dressed in thermal tops, neoprene
wetsuits, neoprene boots, buoyancy jackets and helmets, we must have presented
an odd looking group. The only accessible skin was our hands and goodness me
did the sandflies make hay, as it were. After a short drive to the Buller River – the longest
free flowing river in New Zealand because it has not yet been dammed or have
any hydro electric installations on it, we were given a short ‘elf n’ safety’
talk and as the poet Masefield put it, we ‘must down to the sea, the lonely sea
and and the sky’ although it was a river and not very lonely. Ah well. We glided and paddled and then came to the first set of
rapids. Looking fairly innocuous
(oh the bravery of the inexperienced!) it came as a rude shock when Matt, our
‘chap at the back’ shouted “Get down” and cold water washed all over us. Once through that particular rapid I
recalled in my mind the conversation I’d had with an insurance company whilst
sorting out my travel insurance.
When I asked Doug, I think his name was, about ‘dangerous sports’ knowing
that WWR (white water rafting) was a possibility he said he’d have a look at the list. “Interesting” he said, “archery is
there alongside badminton”. Both our minds boggled and I’m sure conjured up
different mental constructs as to how either of them could be termed
‘dangerous’. Mine had me strapped to a target with Robin Hood and his Merrie Men about to
let loose a volley of arrows in my direction. I digress but you will be reassured to know that guided WWR
up to Level 3 is covered.
We mixed up the adrenaline fuelled
shooting of rapids (‘Earthquake Falls’ was one such typical name) with gentle
meandering down the slow sections of the river much like Ratty and Mole in The
Wind in the Willows enjoying a delicious picnic of freshly made sandwiches,
fruit and cakes. One memorable
moment came when Matt decided to ‘surf’ the raft in a rapid. Suffice to say this meant holding the
bow of the raft into a fast running flow of white water so much so that the two
bow occupants, the aptly named
Perrier pere et fils, were subjected to a freezing cold, torrential shower from
which emanated gasps of shock and air and the occasional “Mon Dieu!”.
How we laughed – in the back of the
raft, dry and full of humour.
I cannot end this little tale of the river bank without mentioning
something that our chums from Wind in the Willows did not have to contend with:
sandflies. We first encountered
these critters in Wanaka but the Murchison version has a real attitude
problem. Any morsel of bare flesh
was fair game to them and the seven hours we spent on the Buller was seven
hours of sandfly heaven. They are
tiny little bugs and they give a noticeable but not especially painful nip; one
spends a great deal of time brushing them off yet they still persist. This
hand above had over 30 bites on it.
Our physiological reactions ranged from no reaction to pustules forming
on the hand in the case of Barbara (otherwise known as 'the Felon'). The poor girl was really very uncomfortable with pustular
swollen hands. In a group that
contains three doctors, the way they seemed to distance themselves,
professionally and physically, from the problem was slightly unnerving. As I
write this, the Felon has reminded me to tell of the near drowning. It almost escaped my memory which is a
bit surprising because it was your correspondent who nearly drowned. What happened is as follows: along the lazy, slow moving parts of
the river, our guides, Matt included, encouraged us to hurl ourselves overboard
into the cool waters. On the
second occasion, I decided to join in the fun and not terribly elegantly joined
Poseidon. Remember that we were
all dressed head to toe in warm, buoyant clothing so the danger of getting into
difficulty was remote, to say the least.
After a few moments of floating Eeyore like, I felt a rising sense of
panic and very quietly said “I’m panicking” to anyone that might have been
within earshot. No reaction so I
grabbed a leg belonging to Edouard Perrier and said to him “Teddy, I'm having a bit of
a panic here” and understandably given the lack of urgency in my voice, he
laughed and carried on floating.
Luckily his father heard me as did Matt and soon the rescue was assayed
and I lay, panting in the bottom of the raft feeling a tad foolish. It was a horrid moment, I can tell you.
And so ended a fabulous day on the
Buller – laughs, fear, adrenaline and weary arms and thanks to all the guys at
Intrepid tours for joining in the fun and being so totally professional in the
way they went about their work.
From Murchison, we decided to head
north to Golden Bay and the Abel Tasman National Park. I find it fascinating that the great
man has a body of water and a national park named after him but he never set
foot in New Zealand. The
motorhomes managed to secure accommodation at a campsite but us ‘saloonies’ had
‘no room in the inn’. Tina found,
via AirBNB, a glamping site for the Felon and myself. After our experience of tents in Akoroa, the enthusiasm was
muted. Yet what an experience we
had. Owned by Shanti a young
Coloradian who has lived in NZ for the last 15 years, the huge bell tent (5m
diameter) was sited on her ½ acre property amongst fruit trees, her vegetables,
chickens and a pet rabbit. Nearby
was a composting loo and a babbling stream – not , I repeat not,
connected. 
Inside the Achillean
tent was a queen sized sleigh bed, chairs, chest of drawers, lights, tea and
coffee making facilities as per the best hotels. All fully electrified.
In her garden shanti had made an outdoor cooking area for her guests
consisting of a two ring gas burner and a sink with a rain water fed tap. It was a wonderful two nights that we
spent there – hearing the dawn chorus from the warmth of the bed and then after
they had exhausted their repertoire, going back to sleep for another fours
hours until the sun awakened us.
Thank you Tina for finding this adventure for us – no holiday is
complete without a spot of glamping. |
| Wot a larf... |
Finally – to flip or not to flip,
that is the question. Over the
many evenings when we have enjoyed BBQ’d food, it has become apparent that
there are deeply held views as to the correct way of cooking. Are you a flipper or a
sealer/releaser? When you
add males to the conundrum, the views seem to be more entrenched. Some, perhaps two men, watching a third
man cook are astounded at the speed with which the spatula is used to flip the
meat. It transpires that these two
are ‘Sealer/releasers” whose credo is to Leave the Meat
Well Alone. Their ‘copain de feu’
is a Flipper and as soon as the meat is on the grill, he’s working away with
the spatula, turning and flipping much to their incredulity at the heretical
act they are witnessing. I’m sure that being the discerning reader you are, you
will have your own views.
 |
| Random but cool. Fence of bras in support of the big C. |
A postscript: no wars were declared or diplomatic incidents
recorded in the cooking of consistently delicious food over the past three
weeks.
No comments:
Post a Comment