Mount Cook to Akaroa

Mount Cook must have taken offence at our final remarks in the last blog entry. It had a major tantrum in store for us. 

We drove for miles up the valley, along Lake Pukaki. This is an amazing sight due to the colour of the lake. The bright turquoise colour is due to fine rock particles in suspension in the water, caused by the glacial action that originally formed the valley.

But as soon as we arrived at the end of the road, at the village at the foot of Mount Cook, the mist closed in, the rain came down, and the wind howled furiously. The mountain had made its feelings known. Mount Cook is supposed to be a wonderful sight when you can see it; for us it will have to wait for another time.

We were, of course, intending to climb to the summit of Mount Cook, but in view of the weather conditions we settled for an informative tour of the Sir Edmund Hillary Alpine Centre, inside the well-known Hermitage Hotel complex. We lingered in the museum, watched a film about the life of the great man, saw a 3D film about Mount Cook (Aoraki to the Maori), and a planetarium presentation of the southern hemisphere stars. We now know how to locate the Southern Cross, important for understanding the flags of Australia and New Zealand, but likely to be of limited value when we return home to the northern hemisphere.

Back down the valley, slightly disappointed, chased and assaulted all the way by howling winds. And on to Lake Tekapo, which has the same milky turquoise water, and a beautiful little church on its shore, built in 1935. Next to it is a statue of a collie dog, a tribute to the sheep dogs that made sheep farming possible in the early days of Mackenzie Country. James Mackenzie was a Scottish immigrant who started sheep farming here with stolen flocks in the 1840s. A real clansman. The Scots influence in the South Island is everywhere evident in the place names. Dunedin, Ben Lomond, Glen Orchy, Athol, Invercargill etc. They came here in their droves after being evicted from their Highland homes during the 19th century Clearances.

Away from the baleful influence of Mount Cook, the sun is shining again. We stayed the night at Fairlie.

On the road again… This time to Geraldine, a sleepy agricultural town named after our elder daughter. The town issues its own postage stamps featuring the all-important bakery, chocolate shop, post office etc, so we sent a postcard to Gégé.

On the road again… To Akaroa, on the Banks Peninsula near Christchurch. We were amazed by the amount of traffic in this very out-of-the-way area, until we discovered that it was the day of “Le Race”, New Zealand’s Tour de France cycle race. You see, this peninsula has a French history, and they still consider themselves to be un peu français. In 1838 a French whaler captain, Jean-François Langlois, bought the peninsula from the local Maori, returned to France, and came back again in 1840 with settlers to establish a colony. In the meantime the British had acquired the whole of New Zealand under the Treaty of Waitangi, and the French were dispossessed with the help of a gunboat. Skanked again. But they settled down anyway, and some French names are still around. But it is called the Banks Peninsula, so of course it belongs to us.

In the morning we bought a guide to the old town of Akaroa, and spent a few happy hours wandering amongst the nineteenth century buildings in the blazing sunshine. The French influence is everywhere apparent, right down to the police station which calls itself “Gendarmerie”. We visited the local museum, and just about every other place of note in the town. We had an excellent seafood lunch at La Maison, a French restaurant on the sea front; we might almost have been in  Trouville-sur-Mer. Yum yum!

Then we set off on the Tourist Drive, an unbelievably beautiful route along the crest of the ancient volcano that originally gave birth to the peninsula. It was not built with campervans in mind, being a hair-raising narrow winding lane with a cliff on one side and a precipice on the other for over 25km. Michèle was a nervous wreck at the end. But it was worth it for the spectacular views over the peninsula and down to the little bays.

We ended up at the Christchurch Top 10 Camp Site just in time for Peter to watch the Melbourne Formula 1 Grand Prix in a rather smelly TV Lounge. What a great result!

The last few days in New Zealand will take us to Christchurch and Auckland, which we will write about later.