Day 46 – 48 : Wanaka – “Holy shit …”
The mountain drive to Wanaka, which consists of racing beside oceans before charging up into wild valleys brimming with natural wonder, is awe-inspiring.
The mountains we viewed at Fox Glacier remain for the duration of the trek, forever towering in front and beside us, the coach traversing narrow vales and crossing rushing fjords under their ancient watchful eye.
We’ve been joined on this leg of the trip by a couple of German guys who proceed to document the journey extensively, snapping anything that looks vaguely interesting from the comfort of their seats.
Our guide for this section of the trip, a good-natured and informative ex-Liverpool bus driver who left Britain twenty-six years ago for the allure of New Zealand, stops regularly to allow us to take better pictures and informs us about the history of the area with genuine affection. He’s been back home twice in that quarter of a century since leaving Britain. Two times too many he informs us. We take an abundance of pictures, the rugged and extreme scenery too inviting to not try and capture for posterity.
Our destination today is Wanaka, a small lake-side town further south and ever closer toward our end-goal: Queenstown. After finally leaving the vertiginous raw beauty of the southern pass from Fox Glacier, we’re subsequently shocked into silence upon entering Wanaka. The pictures here try to capture the sheer scale and picturesque wonder of the town’s namesake but, in reality, no image will do the vista at Wanaka any justice.
We pull right up to Lake Wanaka, sheer and pure blue while, just on its sparkling horizon, a range of perfect ice-capped mountains sit squat, casually reflecting their grandeur into the lake’s mirrored waters.Thundering peaks, stark and imposing sit right at the edge of tranquility, a huge crisp and cerulean sky washing the scene almost as if it was just for us; inviting us to the area. It’s one of those sights you’re sure must be computer generated when seen on film.
I don’t get impressed with scenery that often. I like a good view as much as the next guy but rarely do I get all gooey when planet earth throws up something pleasant. I know what planet I live on (most of the time). I know there are more visual splendours on this blue orb of ours than most of us will ever see. Driving into Wanaka and being hit with that vision — I was awe-struck. I utter “Holy shit …” and take a breath. Not my most eloquent of expressions when faced with something spectacular, but I was literally on auto-pilot at this stage.
We’re staying at X-Base Wanaka, a chain of hostels throughout Australia and New Zealand noted for their efficiency and friendliness. The room is fine and there’s a bathroom, always a nice extra. We enquire about snowboarding in Wanaka but, just our luck, the season ended that very day. We end up going for a ramble by ourselves up into the cliffs that surround the lake.
It’s a five kilometre journey to a map-marked cove, and soon enough, we’re in the wilds of New Zealand. It’s basically hobbit country as we watch rabbits prance about the green patchwork grasslands as the lake rolls softly beside us on our right. Joggers and mountain bikers of all ages greet us on the trail, and when it takes our fancy, we sit on dedicated benches and just watch brilliant mountains and serene waves shuffling with unfathomable power toward the shore. It’s quiet and perfect and, finally, we’ve found one of the many spots in New Zealand capable of completely enchanting people.
The kebabs in Wanaka are also awesome.
Another point of interest about our time at Wanaka is that it’s here Sheila decides it’s time to cut my hair. Apparently it’s far too long and, in the interest of public safety (or at least my own embarrassment) she fervidly goes at it with a head-clippers in the tiny bathroom. In fairness, she does a pretty good job. Sure, there are bits on one side that are obviously longer than the other but, to be honest, I’ve paid a lot more for a lot worse. She spends the next three weeks eyeing my head salaciously and I can see her itching for another shot. As we’re heading into Asia, and higher temperatures, I’m predicting I’ll have no hair left by Kuala Lumpur. It’s ok, it grows back. Well, not all of it I’m discovering.
If there is one thing I don’t like about Wanaka it’s that it espouses the standard NZ trick of shutting up as soon as the sun goes down. We walk the streets one night in search of sustenance and end up back at the hostel bar begging the bar-man for any form of nourishment. He dishes us a giant bowl of chips each with the knowing quip that it’s: “Hard to find grub around here at night, ain’t it?” It sure is.
Finally, and I think this is a first for me, I was served in a restaurant by a ten year old boy in Wanaka. That doesn’t happen every day of the week.
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