Central Otago

After picking apples I felt like exploring the area, known as Central Otago, a little more. Central Otago is a lot like the Old West; hot days, cold nights, not that much rain, even fewer people, and a whole lot of cattle. It's a really beautiful place.
My first thought was that I would bike the Otago Central Rail Trail from beginning to end, but I realized that the logistics put a little bit of a strain on my shoestring budget. So instead I decided to go to Peter's Farm Hostel in Waipiata, where I could take a day-trip on the Rail Trail on one of Peter's bikes and take a kayak out on the river. Peter invited me to stay on a bit longer to make beds and pick up bikers in his van in exchange for lodging, food, and beer. I stayed for five days and had a great time. Thanks Peter! I also caught two nice sized brown trout, I let them go.


PHOTO: Central Otago and the Big Sky.


PHOTO: Approximated 500 meters of abandoned shoes. Such shoe-fences are not particularly common in Central Otago.


PHOTO: There's not pot of gold. I checked.

Pimp my ride.

Many of you have been asking about my van. I'm gonna tell you about it now. I bought my van around the third of April in Christchurch. It's a 1986 Toyota Hiace with a mere 355,000 km on it. Since every good ride needs a name and it didn't have a name when I purchased it, I named her Zelda. Zelda and I go everywhere together. The back seats have been removed and converted to hold a double mattress under which all my stuff is stored. I've been sleeping in it comfortably every night, with the temperature sometimes falling below freezing. Zelda is a five speed with a (left-hand) column shift. Zelda doesn't like to get up early in the morning and neither do I. I love Zelda.


PHOTO: Zelda with a backdrop of Central Otago.

A quick story of interest

A little over two weeks ago I flew from Auckland to Christchurch on Quantas to get from the North Island to the South Island, a short one hour flight. I checked most of my stuff but carried on my daypack. When I ran it thru the x-ray machine at the airport the security man told me "You'll have to take the pocket knife out." I politely told him that I did not bring a pocketknife to New Zealand with me, there must be a mistake, and to please take a look. He took some stuff out, ran it thru the machine, and told me that it was still there. Wondering what he was seeing, I implored him to take more stuff out and to keep looking. He did and the knife still showed up. After more digging there was indeed a pocket knife in the pack. My Mom had been using this pack before me and she must have left her pocketknife in there. Security let me return to the ticketing counter and check that back to that I could keep the knife. No harm, no foul. The
interesting thing is that they I got this same bag past security in Charlotte and again at the international terminal in Los Angeles. Not surprising really...

Pick. Pick. Pick.

Picking apples. Is there a better way to spent autumn? Probably not. I've got a job picking apples. It's in Roxburgh in the middle of the South Island. It's a tiny, tiny place that's far from everything. It's really hard work picking apples, but it's sort of peaceful at the same time. I get paid by the bin and since I'm not that fast, I don't really make very much money. It's fun group of people that I work with, mostly travellers, a few Germans, two Dutch, two Japanese, one Chinese, an Aussie, a few Kiwis and me. I worked here for two weeks. It was fun.

PHOTO: Your's truely trying to look tough and not get blown off a rockfrom the top of the Bullock Track. The orchard I've been picking atis a tiny speck below.

PHOTO: Our happy group of multi-national pickers. (I took the picture.) The mountains in the background is where the photo above this one was taken from.