South Island Tour

2 friends

11 days

2000 kilometers

732 pictures

You better believe there are stories to be told.

Stay tuned...

Mobile Home

Meet John and Carol. They are two native kiwis who decided to retire early and partake in another New Zealand tradition: travel by house bus. While grand sounding from the outset, the process to get to their goal was long and arduous. You see, they literally built a house on the bed of an old flatbed truck. If only I had copies of the pictures to show you this transformation. Instead I will do my best via verbal description.

Five years ago, this couple embarked on the adventure of a lifetime. They purchased an old flatbed truck and began building, and building, and building. It started as a simple house construction with framing and walls and evolved into an incredibly compact, fully equipped home. What you see above in only a small glimpse of this amazing structure. There's a small porch that invites guests up to the front door. There's a full size bathroom at the rear. The kitchen is equipped with a full size fridge, small oven, and wood burning stove (pictured on the left, above) that also serves as the heat source and dryer (note clothes hanging above the stove). They have a queen size bed up the stairs, with a full-length closest alongside the stairs (undoubtedly only something I would notice). There's even a hand crank washer hanging off the back end. Everything has been thought of.

For additional room, John constructed two extensions that stretch out from either side of the house on automated cranks. These house the dining nook on one side and sofa on the other, providing plenty of room to spread out the sofa bed for overnight guests! When it's time to head out on the open road, they simple wheel in the rooms.

Every bit of this compact home was built by hand, down to the leveling system that guarantees a flat surface when they're parked at their temporary location.

At each new locale, they bargain with locals for sewage dumping rights, water hook-ups, and email access (currently through the fire department located right across the carpark). Their tactics are ingenious, not unlike the home in which they're living.

Certainly gives a whole new name to traveling in style.

And they're off!

This past weekend I headed off to experience another New Zealand tradition: skiing. A much talked about activity here, I thought it best to sacrifice my quadriceps to this experience. So Friday I headed off with several other members of the Alpine Club to Ohakune, the carrot capital of New Zealand. Situated at the base of Turoa Ski Field on Mt. Ruapehu, it was the ideal location from which to base our skiing excursion.

Arriving early evening on Friday to our accommodation, we were greeted by several other friends who had already gathered for this annual event in the snow. The weather forecast was iffy at best for the weekend, but we were hopeful given the glorious ski conditions that were had Friday by several members of our party, evidenced by their red faces. Tired from the work week, I snuggled into my sleeping bag early. Good thing, considering the wake up knock came bright and early at 6am. By 7am, we were headed out the door. By 7:30 we were parking the car in the second row of the carpark, an all time record arrival for this group. There was barely a worker in sight as we tramped up to the ticket counter, standing in a little huddle, waiting to purchase our ski passes. One benefit of arriving so early, there's absolutely no queue to hire your gear. I filled out my rental card and started down the assembly line of rental equipment. First stop: boots. Asking for a size 9, I soon found my foot swimming inside the boot. I know it'd been awhile since I'd worn a pair of these hard plastic contraptions, but I didn't think my foot had shrunk that much. Noticing my perplexed look, an employee asked what was wrong and quickly deduced that I had asked for a US size, not a UK size. Woops. Overcoming that small hurdle, I managed to make it through the remainder of the rental process without incident.

Meeting up with the rest of the group outside, I realized it was now only 8am. The chairs didn't even start running until 8:30. I didn't dare ask why we'd gotten there so early. A glance at the carpark reassured me we were not the only ones this prompt, as the spaces were nearly full. After one last toilet stop, we clamped on our gear and got in line for the chair. By 8:30 the 3 lines were 10 deep. It seems that everyone arrives early. Slowly the lift lurched to a start and we filed up to the front. This is where it got interesting. There was no employee on duty to guide this process, so it became a free-for-all as courtesy was thrown out the window and people almost shoved their way up to the front. So much for lines. Then, once we made it to the front, we were made to stand behind individual gates, sequentially aligned, that would automatically open once the chair in front had been loaded, allowing us to ski up to get our chair. Each time I loaded the lift I felt like I should bet on which one of us would win, place, or show.

The forecast did not prove to be as beautiful as the day before. While initially sunny, the clouds soon coated the sky, ushered in by a Northwesterly. We managed to get a few runs in on the icy slopes before they decided to put the whole field on hold, shutting down the lifts. So we sat and waited, the general theme for the day. Just as 10 o'clock approached (and they would inevitably have to refund everyone their money for the day), the chair started running again. Unfortunately, it transported us up through worsening wind and snow that rapidly turned to sleet, then rain. I can withstand a lot when it comes to weather, but this was too much. While I had spent $106 to grant me access to this excursion, I soon realized that no amount of money was worth the frostbite that was rapidly setting into my fingers. The rest of the group agreed. By 1:30 we were off the mountain. The rest of the afternoon to be spent in retail therapy. Somehow, I managed to be the only one sacrificing my wallet for the good of the whole.

Sunday we had grand hopes of reliving happier ski experiences, but the weather had other ideas. Unable to see even the base of the mountain, we soon heard on the ski radio station that the field was closed. Packing up our things, we headed home. Oh well, at least I got a new ski jacket out of the experience. Maybe next time I'll actually get to test it.

Patience

I have very little patience. I will admit to this character flaw. While I am working on my internal acceptance of this trait, I still have a long way to go towards manifesting my acceptance and correction thereof for those closest to me.

Lately, my patience has been tested on numerous occasions by a variety of friends who have more willpower and stamina than I. While frustrating, especially given my locale halfway around the world and inability to see them on a daily basis, I am training myself to relax and acknowledge that I am not the center of everyone's universe. After all, they realize that delayed response or action can often be beneficial.

Today, I learned my lesson. After eight long months as sole executor of a two GP practice, my calls for help were answered with the arrival of a second, fulltime GP. That's right, I am no longer flying solo. I couldn't be happier. He is another Yankee who will require some orientation into the New Zealand medical system. But I'm ready with a notebook full of pearls. They are things I've learned and discovered along my journey, idiosyncrasies of a system that, while universal, is not always straightforward. I'm hopeful that my apparent struggles over the preceding months will make his transition go more smoothly, allowing some personal mental relaxation and freedom from responsibilities, especially as I head out for holiday again next week.

Patience really is a virtue.

Car in Bloom

One of the perks of my contract here is the provision of a car. Granted, this occurred only after I renegotiated my contract once I was left as the sole GP in a two GP practice, but that's water under the bridge. I really only drive it on the weekends when venturing beyond the walkable bounds of Hawera. Yet, somewhere during my limited drive time I managed to puncture one of the tires. Admittedly, I did not notice this until my father so astutely pointed it out while visiting during July. Who knows how long I'd actually been driving it in it's three-legged state. Nevertheless, I've been managing the problem by intermittently refilling the tire with air during petrol stops. Until now.

Given the impending arrival of a stateside friend and prolonged ticki-tour through the South Island, I decided to definitely manage the problem by taking it in for a service and check of the tire. Four hours later I arrived to pick up the vehicle. Not only was the service free (not totally unexpected considering it's still under warranty), but the cost for repair of the punctured tire was only $20. No charge for labor. Cheap by American standards. Here's the kicker. When they brought the car around, not only had it been washed, but also vacuumed (a rare service perk in the states these days), and there were two daffodils tied with ribbon lying on the passenger seat. Now that's service!

Can I have your number, please?

You'd think telephone numbers would be a simple thing to grasp. Let me tell you, in New Zealand they are not.

American phone numbers are fairly standard across the country, not only in number of digits, but in how they are given out. There's an area code (three numbers), an exchange (three numbers), and an extension (four numbers). When asking for someone's number most people read it out in these groupings, eg 123-456-7890. Here, all bets are off. An area code can be either two or three digits. The actual number can be 6, 7, or 8 digits. That, in itself, is not so difficult to grasp. The problem arises when New Zealanders say their phone number. There is no standard. A simple number like 123-456-7890 could be expressed as 12-34-56-78-90, or 1-23-456-78-90, or 123-45-678-90. You get the idea. The factorial permutations here are astronomical. I've done some serious higher level mathematical studying in my day, but this goes beyond my capabilities. The only pattern I've deciphered is that double numbers are always said together, as in 012 33 456 78 (or 01 2 33 4 5678, or 0 12 33 45 678). If your head is spinning in a haze of numbers at this point, you now understand my misunderstanding. What was that number?