Elena wasn't having any of that, however. She's the mother of a 13-year-old boy who has to go to school five days a week from September through June and so she's used to hearing a male voice plead for more morning rack time... she's not only used to that sound, she's immune to it.
Aiming for coherency, and missing by a wide margin, I asked what time it was and, in a voice that was far too perky for that hour of the morning, she said it was 5:30 a.m. I had to take her word for that because it was too dark both outside and inside for me to see a clock, not that I could have made out the time in any event because I had no idea where my glasses were just then. Grumbling, stumbling and trying not to injure myself in the dark, I spent about 30 minutes getting up, getting dressed and packing a small bag for our South Island adventure. Not surprisingly, both Josep and his cousin Elena were ready to go by the time I staggered out of the house and into the tiny car that Elena uses for work. After watching me struggle to get my seat belt buckled, Elena set off and a half hour later we pulled into the lot at Wellington's Interislander Ferry Terminal where we waited patiently for big trucks, camper vans and other cars to be loaded onto what was, to my eyes, a gigantic ship. Our turn to drive on board finally came and Elena maneuvered her car into a spot on Deck 5 where we parked and were told by a crew member that we should leave our vehicle and proceed to Deck 7 (there are 10 decks in all on the ferry.) We climbed up the stairs to the deck, stepped inside and I smelled coffee... life suddenly took on a much rosier glow.
The ferry ride to South Island takes three hours. We started off in a heavy fog with a light mist falling but within an hour the fog had lifted and the sky cleared. It was a beautiful day with a stiff breeze that came from the north so it was warmer than usual. I spent a fair amount of time on Deck 10 shooting pictures of anything and everything in sight and then ducked back inside to get more coffee. I was enjoying what was probably my third cup of coffee in the lounge when a cricket match between Australia and England popped up on the big-screen television set mounted on the wall. Hmmm, I thought, I'll just watch a little of this... I did and an hour later England was leading by 263 runs and I have no idea how the score got that way. I do remember the commentators saying something about bowlers and wickets but they might as well have been speaking Elvish for all the sense it made to me... I have resolved, however, to research this whole cricket thing before I leave here for Spain at the end of August.
We pulled into Picton Harbor just before noon or thereabouts, disembarked without incident and I went down to a small waterfront park to watch the world go by while Elena, Elena and Josep went for walks and to do a little window shopping in what is a very nice little town.
I can't say that I am normally an introspective person but as I sat there feeling the warm sun on my face and watching kids play I spent a little time taking stock.
The first thing that came to mind was that, somehow, I've managed to live this long despite serving a couple of tours in Vietnam and surviving cancer as well as assorted wars, revolutions, coups, hurricanes, blizzards, tornadoes, an earthquake earlier in the week and, once, even a landslide in Honduras. That, I thought, is kind of remarkable. More remarkable is the fact, I thought, that I am currently in New Zealand, at the other end of the world from everything I know, and having one hell of a good time. I reckoned as I sat there that my life has been, to this point, pretty interesting. I'm a published poet, have sold short stories to magazines, spent a long career as a journalist and was a fair-to-middling athlete until my late 50s. I've sold a few paintings, written five novels that are for sale on Kindle and have a son who turned out pretty darn well although that probably wasn't my fault. I have three failed marriages in my past, more failed relationships than I care to remember and my legs don't really work worth a damn these days but I've seen a lot of the world and watched a fair amount of history being made. And, maybe most importantly, I've been fortunate enough to spend my life writing and because that's true I can't complain about the way things have turned out.
That little introspective moment vanished as fast as it came and before long the four of us were having lunch and getting ready for the 2-hour drive to Kaikoura where we would spend the night before going on a whale-watching cruise Sunday morning.
The drive down was long but pretty interesting... Tim Donoghue had told us Friday night to be on the lookout for a small colony of fur seals on the drive and we actually did find it. It was nearing dusk when we did but we were able to get some nice photos of the seals and their pups despite the failing light. We finally left when it got too dark to take any more photos and pulled into Kaikoura when the streetlights were on. We unpacked the car at the Norfolk Pines Motel and went to dinner at a local bar where the wide-screen television featured a rugby game pitting the Crusaders against the Reds in a game that was apparently of some significance... we figured out pretty quickly that we were in the midst of what was clearly a Crusaders crowd. The bar's other patrons cheered lustily when the Crusaders did something good (I'm not sure what, exactly) and booed when the Reds did something good (again, not sure exactly what...) We didn't cheer or boo because, really, whatever was happening on the screen was kind of a mystery.
Dinner eaten, we headed back to the motel intending to read but, instead, we turned in early because it had been a very long day and we had whales to watch in the morning.
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| Leaving Wellington Harbor in a thick fog... apparently the captain has really good eyes or the radar was working... |
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| Approaching Picton Harbor. |
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| It may be winter but give them a little sunshine and Kiwis are out in it... |
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| Really? I traveled halfway around the world to eat Kentucky fried chicken? Not... |
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| I wouldn't mind owning this bar in Picton... heck, I wouldn't even have to change the name. |
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| We stopped at a small fur seal colony to shoot some photos of critters that were probably as curious about us as we were about them. |
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