Forward march and into the New Year. We’d figured out after a year of being on the road we were skint as and not in a position to, as the kiwi’s would put it, “go ragin’ hard” so we’d wangled a couple of jobs working at Canaan Downes Festival on top of Takaka Hill in exchange for free tickets. Deal, Takaka Hill separates Abel Tasman and Golden Bay at the top of the south island and is by all accounts beautiful. Up we went, up and up and up in a clapped out camper van that on many occasions didn’t look like it would make it, but finally we got there.
Strange thing about this music festival – there was a total booze ban, not even an on-site bar, which lent itself to a very eclectic crowd. There were heaps of hippies and maybe more families, if you didn’t have dreadlocks, or a child dressed up as a fairy in tow you were unusual. It was a good craic though, good vibe and despite the booze ban we’d smuggled in some contraband and saw in the New Year with a litre of vodka and some locally pressed organic raspberry and apple juice from one of the local purveyors. It was here we bumped into Lukas and the lady with the house track who as it turned out was the bass player for a rock back Gideon, who were playing at the festival. After a few days of sleeping in the trees and wandering around watching various bands and dj’s, we weren’t ready to pack it in, so we hitched down the hill and headed for Takaka, stayed at HangDog backpackers for a night to clean ourselves up a bit and go for a dip in the river that ran through Paynes Ford, and the next day were off to the fabled Mussel Inn Pub, a local legend. This pub is in the middle of no-where which makes it slightly awkward to get to without transport (more hitching) and the choices of accommodation are zero. This was not going to put us off, we’d endured an (almost) booze free New Year and were in the mood to sample some local ales. So we did. And we didn’t leave until the doors were closed behind us as the last customers. Undeterred by the lack of sleeping options, we found a copse running parallel with the road, strung up our hammock and had one of the best nights sleep in a long time, well who wouldn’t when you’d consumed a few litres of Golden Bay’s finest! We arose with the sun the next morning, and with nothing better to do donned our rucksacks and started hiking towards the beach, which was deserted. Enjoying our new-found hobo liberation and realization that you didn’t have to spend $20 in a guesthouse every night, we found a new home on the beach and set up hammock again. Mart foraged for some mussels and using them as bait caught a couple of fish, which were way too small to eat and had be thrown back, but that wasn’t the point, the point is we could live off the sea, or that’s what it felt like… We cooked up the rest of the mussels and settled down with a pot of coffee and watch the sun set. Idyllic? Not half!
We discovered the next day we were just down the road from where Shasha, a friend from Leeds, father lived, and been told there would always be a cup of tea waiting for us should we ever find ourselves in that part of the world, and true to his word, after a quick phone call we set off down the road, where we were indeed welcomed by Paul and sat down (felling a bit like we’d been living on the beach and a bit stinky granted) for a cup of tea and a good yarn.
We had booked a ferry over the north island before all this vagrancy business had begun, and were obliged to honour our tickets and head to Wellington, probably for the best as we were on the verge of becoming proud of our unwashed state and forgetting our last names. Also, we had a couple of friends to go and see. It had been a long time since either of us had hung out with friends, as in people who know people you know and don’t need to ask a life history as soon as you sit down.
We had one final hitch to the ferry port. A hitch to end all hitches. We’d been waiting by the road for about half an hour with our thumbs out and a slightly desperate smile on our faces when a 4 litre super car powered round the corner and came screeching to a halt a few meters in front of us. Sat in the drivers seat was a 50-something dude with a pair of yellow sunglasses, paisley shirt and obscenely tight purple flares who raised a thumb to the back seat motioning us to hop in. I squeezed into the back seat on top of an inordinately loud sound system and Marty climbed into the front. Not a word was spoken for about 30 km other than our intended destination. After some time Mr. Man turned to me and said, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit in the front?” I detected a leer. “No I’m fine” I replied, sensing a bit of a weird vibe, “I get car sick in the front.” He then began to regale us with a couple of his likes and dislikes. “I like women. I really like women, especially young girls when they’ve had too much to drink.” Another leer at me. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit in the front?” I was increasingly glad that Marty had taken the role of drivers mate in the front. The speed begun to increase down a relatively straight stretch of road. Now, neither Martyn nor I are overly adverse to dangerous driving conditions, we’d survived treacherous Indian roads, non-existent Mongolian tracks, speeding bus drivers in China, but as the Speedometer crept up to 150 km/h our knuckles started to turn white. As the road turned narrower and more bends appeared, the speed finally decreased. A little. He then went on to fill us in on a little of his life history. Apparently we were in the company of the former premier LSD supplier to the South Island, however, not a very good one as he’d been caught and sent to prison for an indeterminate amount of time. He’d also been given a couple of speeding tickets (no shit!) so he’d better slow down he said. Thank God. Then as quickly as things had started, we came to a point in the road where our paths were crossing, he was going one way and thankfully it was no longer the same direction as us. We scrambled out of the hot rod and thanking him profusely (probably out of sheer relief) disembarked. It had been, we both agreed, an interesting ride. We had always been extremely thankful to the kind and interesting people that picked us up, the only payment they ever asked of us is that if we ever had our own transport, we would stop and pick up hitchhikers. And to this end I promise I will, on the other hand however I don’t think I’ll be sticking my thumb out again any time soon! We made our way to the ferry port and climbed aboard the vessel to our next stop, Wellington.
Amy and Greg! Hooray. Amy greeted us at the ferry terminal gone midnight with a massive hug and bundled us into her car and I got my first glimpses of Wellington by night, I had a good feeling about this place. I won’t go into detail about Welly other than to say it was just like being back at home, in a good way. Amy and Greg were total legends, and let us camp out in their living room for a lot longer than we should have stayed, about seven weeks, sorry guys, you probably made us feel too welcome!! We were introduced into Welly life with gusto – a bbq at 57 Rakau Road with a rather obscene piñata that we’d spent the week constructing and human pyramids, a foray into dumpster diving (those not familiar with this and are interested check out freeganism.org) and free concerts in the botanical gardens. Lovely. The time had also come to find gainful employment, I scored the uber glamorous job of cleaning the newly constructed wing of Wellington hospital cleaning up after the builders and getting it ship shape for the patients, and Marty was found the position of sous chef – which entailed working at a retirement home preparing food for the ‘inmates’ putting together sandwiches and meat and two veg feasts, or in some cases blending up said food for those unfortunate enough to have lost the capacity for mastication. We’d hit the big time! In the meantime Marty had been back in touch with his old bosses back in Leeds to scope out the job situation for the impending return back to the (y)UK. Given the ‘Global Economic Downturn’ that we’d been hearing so much about, but had been thankfully far removed from for so many months, and the news that vacancies were becoming very few and far between, Mart made the executive decision to not throw away a very good job and return to Leeds at the end of February. And so, our journey was coming to a close. We had one last bonanza to attend in New Zealand before this departure was to be made. Some months ago Martyn’s Dad, John and his partner Annie had announced happy news that they were to be wed, and the date had been set for the 14th February a.k.a. Valentine’s Day. This, we could not miss. Also, Wid and Emma and their now not so new daughter Jessica would be flying out. So, Marty packed his bag and said adios to Amy and Greg, very sad to be leaving, but probably on their part a bit relieved to be getting their heavily monopolized living room back, and headed to Geraldine, with me arriving a week later, after getting in one last much needed paycheck at the hospital. Mart arrived back to organised chaos, there was grass to cut, the house to be painted and a myriad other jobs, and I joined him a week later along with Annie’s brood, Cashina, Angelique, Danny and Robby and their various partners and kids, giving Piccadilly circus a run for it’s money. It was brilliant to hang out with the Clark’s and Rye's en masse and to be able to spend some time with the newest addition to the Clark family, Jess. The wedding day rolled around and Annie was the picture of serenity, I’ve never encountered such a chilled out bride, despite the mayhem she and John had everything seemingly under control – no mean feat with the wedding on the farm and the reception just down the road in the village hall. The weather was perfect, the bride was blushing and the booze was free flowing. A superb day in all, with rounds of karaoke later in the evening which I witnessed but managed somehow to avoid being a part of!
We spent a few more days in Geraldine and then headed up to Christchurch to say some final goodbyes to the Clarks before heading our separate ways. I had decided in my infinite wisdom, that I wasn’t quite ready to face the seemingly catastrophic job situation back home and to prolong my travels for just a bit longer. So I said goodbye to the Clarks and an absolutely heart wrenching adios to my partner in crime, long time travel companion and adored boyfriend, as I boarded a flight to Australia and they all left for England. What was I doing, I thought to myself as I said goodbye, why am I leaving the person who has had my back for so long? In a misguided youth kind of way I felt like this was something I needed to do. Having heard all about Martyn’s previous stories of independent travel, I wanted to give it a crack and see what would become of me. I also had a few faces in Melbourne that I wanted to catch up with, not knowing when I would be in this part of the world again and go say Hi to my Mum’s home town and country of origin, I have, after all, that much desired blue passport and it seemed such a shame not to use it. Melbourne here I come.
It was a very fleeting visit filled with a fair amount of running around. A very good friend of mine, who I’d last seen in Tauranga, NZ had since moved with her boyfriend to Melbourne, so I was able to spend a brilliant few days hanging out with her and stocking up on familiar face chips. I made the pilgrimage down to Geelong where my Grandpa had lived for many years, and had died a few years before, not being able to go to the funeral I was so happy to be able to go to the cemetery and say hello and pay my respects. I was also able to catch up with Grandpa’s long standing friend Joyce. We had a great natter over a cup of tea and I caught up on all her gossip. Staying with my Mum’s cousin Shelley and her husband Ray on the outskirts of Melbourne another highlight, catching up with more of the Australian contingent and helping me get back to my roots a little better. I left Melbourne wishing I’d have had longer, but with money pressing on my mind and the ever-impending return back home in the not too distant future, I had decided to take myself off for one last South East Asian fling and was headed for Cambodia by way of Bangkok.
1 comment:
nice one holls, you've done us both proud! now get your arse home so we can reminisce together:) marty x
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