Marlborough Wine and Food Festival

It is a late afternoon in February and Harry and I are sitting in the sun outside our motel.  Well partly, in the sun, there is no shade for our feet.  It is a lot warmer than it was this morning in Picton.

As I sat sunning myself I remembered the day the phone rang.  I was trying hard to concentrate on work and Harry's phone broke the silence.  A few mumbled sentences later Harry got off his squeaky office chair and came up the stairs.  I looked up, not really wanting to be disturbed from my spreadsheets and notes (yeah right).  

"We have won a prize to the Marlborough Wine and Food Festival" he said with a grin that reached from ear to ear.  It includes taking the car over on Bluebridge, a cabin, two nights accommodation and entry into the festival.  

Friday morning arrived.  We drank luke warm tea as we waited in line to drive on to the ferry. A cabin meant I could sleep while Harry wandered around the boat and read magazines.  

A walk along Essons Valley in Picton followed by a bagel at a cafe and then we arrived at our motel. Friendly staff, clean and homely.  Milk, tea and coffee and all the other stuff you need.  

There are a few signs around - about cooking smelly food on the barbeque and not using bathroom towels for the pool etc.  There is something about signs.  Most homes don't seem to have them (except when we do not want our adult sons to eat the food in the fridge).  Signs make me feel I am on holiday and not at home.  And people do read the signs.  While lazying in the pool we noticed a couple of residents finding a work around to the sign. 

"Please do not use bath towels for the pool.  Pool towels cost 50 cents and are available from reception".

Instead they walked to the pool with no towel, left the pool all dripping and stood in the doorway of their motel asking a person inside to hand them the "bath towel".  Would it would be different if the towel was free (bearing in mind a lot of people don't carry cash anymore)?  

At the pool we spoke to another recipient of the Bluebridge generosity (also from Wellington). He went off to Havelock for dinner to sample the mussels and we wandered to the pub just down the road.   

Saturday dawned.  Perfect weather, sunny with a few clouds and a light breeze (that did strengthen during the day).   Our first stop was at the local shops, where I found a wallet in the car park.  People were queuing at the bus stop for a ride to the festival so I wandered over and with a "loud haler" voice called out for Ryan.  Ryan wasn't there. In the end the wallet found its way to the Countdown lost property - hopefully Ryan finds it by retracing his steps.  

Donned in hats and with bags and chairs over our shoulders, we wandered around and found a place under a marquis (plenty of shade and seating) perfect for drinking mocktails, eating throughout the day (burgers, weiners, crepes and a salmon smorgasboard), listening to music (recommend Shaun Preston is invited to entertain the crowds next year) and watching people.  

The festival really is a fashion scene - anything goes.  Vibrant and not so vibrant dresses (short, long and in between), hats, comfortable shoes (mostly), and men in bright shirts, some with matching shorts. 

It was 4.00 pm and we suddenly felt it was time to go.  We got a refund from our "wrist wallet" (no cash or cards used at the event), was breathalyzed as we drove out of the car park and went to a local supermarket for a snacky dinner, then the pool.

We arrived back to find that Linda and Steve from the motel had left us a big box of chocolates.  An unexpected finish to our weekend away courtesy of Bluebridge. It was a great weekend. Thank you.

Taking our new electric car on a long holiday

 Opo’s trip to Mount Pisa, Central Otago

It was the week before Christmas. We were packed and ready for our month in Central Otago helping out on the all electric cherry farm.  https://www.forestlodge.nz/ 

Our one-month old BYD Dolphin called Opo (named after the famous 1950’s dolphin at Opononi Beach) made its way onto the Cook Strait ferry.

“Please turn your engine off and also your car alarm” said the assistant in the high vis jacket.

We looked at each other rather perplexed - no idea how to turn off the alarm.  We didn't admit to the high vis jacket we hadn't followed his instructions and climbed the steps for our three-hour boat trip.

Fully charged (Opo's range is about 450 kilometres), but new to holidaying with an EV, we had decided to stop when a charging station and our need for food coincided ie quite often. ChargeNet by the Beach was occupied so we took out our thermos knowing the wait would not be long. 

And then we joined the “Charge my EV” club – an exclusive club where members admire each other’s cars, share experiences and destinations while patiently waiting for the charging cable.

Before we left home, we had loaded the ChargeNet app onto both our phones.

“Are you sure?” said my phone when I pushed activate. “The charging station is 3 km away”.

We heard later that aged smart phones can have wayward GPS signals. Pressing “yes” in answer to the question, would have resulted in activating the charge. However, at the time we didn’t know this, and for the second time in a day we were rather perplexed.

“Should have got that fob” we said.

We tried Harry's phone (same make and model as mine). No problems. Off we wandered, checking on Opo’s progress every few minutes and not long after we were handing over the cable to the driver in waiting.

In Christchurch we met up with a friend.  

“There is a charger round the corner from my place” said our friend who lives locally. 6 stations, 6 cars, but we had timed it right and with a wave a driver pulled out.

It wasn’t a ChargeNet but ready for dinner we decided not to be fussy.

“Uh oh.  We need a cable” we said.

We hopped back into Opo with that “Should have gone to ChargeNet” look and used the app to find the closest ChargeNet station (which incidentally was across the road from a pub).

After fish and chips and before dessert Opo was full. Harry dashed out to move the car to the pub car park while I sat chatting.

It was a smooth trip to Tekapo the town with the most sunshine hours in 2023. The town was living up to its name and we strategically placed ourselves under an umbrella at the nearby café. Eating toasties seemed an appropriate way to watch the charging progress as we waited our turn.  A smooth trip from there to Mt Pisa, a month of grandparent duties, picking cherries, forklift driving and preparing food to look forward to.

Opo is happy. There are three chargers here, one right beside New Zealand's first electric tractor.

The next day we discovered one of our credit cards had been scammed.  It was Christmas Eve and we called the bank help line. They immediately closed the credit card.

“Sorry it’s Christmas and we can’t guarantee another card before you go home” said the helpful person at the end of the line.

Thankfully, we had another credit card and it was easy to change the charge net details online.

We are out and about most days. On non-cherry picking days we have visited: Wanaka (playground, lake and the Toy Museum); Alexandra (more playgrounds, the river and Butchers Dam), Cromwell (grocery shopping, old town and swimming in Lake Dunstan) and Luggate (river walk).

“Remember your car is a tool not a jewel” said my son. During the trip up to Timaru Creek,we realised that he was giving us a vague warning. It was a gravel road that led to the Sunday stroll that involved bush bashing and a number of river crossings.

As we bumped along, I reflected on his statement and I disagreed. Opo is a tool, but also a jewel. He gets us from A to B, in a quiet, safe and an environmentally friendly way, provides many opportunities to meet like-minded strangers and helps us to enjoy the journey so we arrive relaxed at our destination. 

Last day in Whitehorse

How to get to the airport?  Choices were walk, take a bus (of which there appeared to be few) or walk.  We chose the latter.  After all, we had some time before our flight and needed some exercise.  The exercise was walking up the hill to the 250 or so Black Street steps and then launching our bag onto the wooden cycle track running up the side of the steps.  Carefully, balanced and to the surprise of some locals (some of whom offered to help) we made it. We stood proudly at the top, out of breath and wishing we hadn't bought the polyprops and warm hats (it was meant to be 10 degrees!)

 We walked along to the airport 'Sorry there is no where to leave your bags until your flight" said the person at the counter.  So we rolled the bag over to the transport museum.

"Leave it with me" said the welcoming person and he pushed it close to the wall making it difficult for him to move from behind the counter.  We thanked him, paid the entry fee and enjoyed the museum. 

"How do we get to the Beringla Museum?" we asked our friendly receptionist.  

"Through the bush" and he waved in the general direction of the corner. "Leave your bag here" he said with another helpful smile.

It was hard to find the hole in the fence but with some exploring we did and walked through the bush to the second museum.  We were lucky to be on time for a talk by Mike Dol, a dutch paleontologist on mammoths and with complimentary juice and cookie we settled down to a 45 minute talk.

Then it was time to go to catch our flight.  

Some reflections on Whitehorse:

• Most drivers very courteous, slowing as they see pedestrians and stopping to let you cross the wide roads even if there isn't a crossing.  
• Yukon number plates are on the back of the cars and buses. The buses also have an Alaskan number plate on the front as they travel between countries. Double whammy road tax!!
• It isn't a place to go if you want a five star holiday - but we never do.  We enjoyed the isolation, history, walks, animals and people and would recommend Whitehorse to others who like holidays like ours.

Day 7: Train trip to Skagway

The bus groaned and complained all the way to Fraser. The road wasn't overly bumpy, 70 km maximum speed limit but still the creaking continued. We stopped for a few photo opportunities and at Carcross for a drink and loo stop. Here we saw more quaint engines and bicycle parks and listened to Lorde singing Royal for the second time since arriving in Whitehorse.

The passing landscape was alpine, trees stunted through poor nutrition (would get my two hands around 95% of the trees). As we got higher the trees grew more like bushes spreading their roots and branches wider covering the rocky landscape.

 

At Fraser we boarded the historical train. Bus loads of people were loaded onto separate carriages so we could all be processed at the border efficiently. Magnificent scenery, boulders and scree stood high and proud. Little lakes dotted the area, with splashes of colourful mosses and lichens. This is where the gold miners came to search for gold along the Klondike. It is called the tormented valley. A small trail, for miles and miles, not wide enough for horses to carry their loads. The path is called the Horses Gulch - a tribute to the poor tormented animals that fell to their death.  Jack London famous for White Fang (can't believe this was on the reading list at primary school) wrote....

" Gold Fever! Deadly Cold! ...In 1897, the California native went to the frozen North looking for gold. What he found instead was the great American novel.

I do not have the writing skills to describe the landscape so here is Jack London himself.

"Through the window of a small plane, I look out over the vastness of the Yukon Territory—an area bigger than California with only 33,000 residents. It’s an austere landscape of glaciated mountain ranges, frozen lakes, ice fields and spruce forests. Then the mountains are behind us, and there are low hills and tundra to the horizons, and a big frozen river starting to melt. It was this stark wilderness that 100,000 prospectors tried to cross on foot, and in homemade boats, during the Klondike gold rush of the 1890s. The “stampeders,” as they were known, were desperate to reach the gold fields around Dawson City, but the journey took more than two months, and was so punishing and dangerous that only 30,000 made it through. In the first wave was a tough, stocky 21-year-old from San Francisco named Jack London".

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/gold-fever-deadly-cold-and-amazing-true-adventures-jack-london-wild-180973316/ 

Past the broken wooden viaduct and down the slope to Skagway.  The weather was cloudy for most of the trip. It didn't make for great photos but added to the atmosphere and helped us develop some empathy for the gold miners who endured so much for so little.

 

 

At Skagway we were met by US customs. Always an experience not to look forward to. The officials past through the train checking everyone's IDs and asking when we were last in the US.  Our answer was a few years ago, and so with a group of Japanese our passports were taken and we were told to meet over at the office.  Then with a slight smile, the customs officer took our fingerprints and photos (all this after having an ESTA and paying an addition $6 to complete an online I94) and returned our passports.  

Skagway is a quaint little Alaskan town, rich in history. It was busy. 3 cruise ships were berthed in the small harbour.  It had that feeling of Picton, a sleepy little town overrun by tourists when the boats were in). It was buzzing in the centre with people enjoying the unique buildings, taking photos, eating lunch or looking through the souvenir shops of which there were heaps. We ate our crackers and organic delights (the bakery in Whitehorse will miss us when we leave) and were grateful we had listened to the local who told us that it could take a while to get food. Queuers stood patiently outside the popular cafes while we had the time to wander the streets.

Two hours later we were on the bus ready to drive back to Whitehorse.  But the bus didn't move as the driver was still helping people fill out the Canadian border forms thirty minutes later (I must admit the form was not made for people who spend only a couple of hours in the US). The driver had one of those "I do not get ruffled and take my time" demeanors, which I would love to have, but it did mean a late start and a long trip back. 

Day 6 Bike ride to Mikes Canyon

Another leisurely start - not being a morning person a "when I feel like waking up" morning followed by a leisurely breakfast is the way to go. There was a reason - the bike shop did not open until 10.00 am.  The shop was a few blocks away, and it just so happens we had to pass the corner bakery again - we looked at each other with a grin (more cheese sticks, pesto and cheese rolls, raspberry and cinnamon buns).  After seat adjustments, instructions, maps and helmets we were off. 

We rode alongside the river, the path we had walked a few days before - and then on to unchartered territories.

Out first stop was the float planes (some people moor their boats, others have float planes).  And then along the path and onto the Alaskan highway for a while - up a fairly steep hill (glad we decided to go electric - or pedal assist is what they call it over here) with a great view from the top and then onto local roads.  

I must admit I still find it disconcerting riding on the wrong side of the road.  I keep wanting to veer left, and think the traffic is coming towards me when it isn't.  Harry tells me that driving is made easier by the steering wheel being on the left - but somehow that doesn't apply to biking!!

Our destination was Miles canyon.  Bikes chained to the fence we wandered down the steps.  We spent a while enjoying the scenery, watched a paddle boarder navigate the swiftly flowing Yukon, took photos from the bridge and the other side and stopped for a snack.  

The trip back was fairly circuitous - after all we did not have to return the bikes until 6.00.  We followed the river to the end of town, through suburbs and commercial areas.