The Land of the long white cloud. This was the first use of my Aussie passport for what was meant to be a skiing holiday. Sadly there was no snow. Dave and I left Oz in June 84, and landed in Christchurch sometime in the fifty’s. New Zealand was a way different country in those days. The economy was protected by high tariffs, and Robert ( Piggy) Maldoon, the conservative prime minister had seen a fifteen place slide in the world’s economic rankings over twenty years. Think about that my American friends. Christchurch was a beautiful city on the river, with a huge cathedral, and a slow pace. Old cars speed around the city, new cars, well there were no new cars. The price of second hand 60’s morris minor was about the same as a second hand 80,s car in OZ. After a couple of days acclimatising, we caught the NZ railway bus to the west coast. There must have been some law that limited railway bus speeds to the speed of a shepard driving a flock of sheep. What we could have driven in four hours took a whole ten in the bus. Dave was born in the North Island, and had gotten sick of Aussies telling him how beautiful the South Island was. This was his chance to see the place. We headed up over Arthur’s pass for a magnificent view of why the place is known as the land of the long white cloud. They looked a more grey to me. Eventually we descend into Greymouth, they are never going to be sued for painting an overly optimistic picture of the place. The bus took us on a tour of the town tossing out newspapers, and delivering parcels on the way. It then stoped for an hour, so we could appreciate the rain, and eat the stalest preordered sandwiches I have eaten in my life. Finally just before dark we got to Hotitika, and our Hostel.       

            The next day the world changed. The clouds cleared, and the beauty of the West Coast was revealed. On a sunny day the place is magic. Lakes, forests, and snow topped mountains. We bumped into one of Dave’s work mates that night, and thought it was a good idea to drink all of our duty free mixed with bright orange cordial. A local works depot could have been broken into, and someone’s car may have been covered in flashing lights, and hazard tape the next morning. All I remember was the manager wasn’t happy, and I felt sick. I think we are still banned from the town. We hitched to Franz Joseph, to check out the Glaciers and recover. Our next stop is Welcome Flat, a six hour walk up to a mountain hut next to Mount Cook. We are not really equipped for tramping, but have scraped together the basics. It’s worth it, a small hut with a little kitchen awaits us. Fifty meters away is a steamy pool, heated by a hot water spring. A natural spa, we bath, and check out our hut mates. A middle aged bloke, and his teenaged god son. They have helicoptered in to Mt. Cook, slept in a snow cave, skied down to the tree line, camped a night, and are now here in the glorious luxury of the NZPAWS, hut for a couple of nights. Peter seems to spend his life doing interesting things around the world. Bit cagey on how. We have a great night of chatting, then decide to stay another night, going on a walk with them the next day. Problem is we didn’t really plan to stay two days. Dinner that night boiled white rice, just boiled white rice. After the walk out the next day, Peter’s partner picked them up and they give us a lift 30 km back to our hostel. Back home a couple of weeks later, Dave gets a post card thanking us for the company in the hut, and when he looks in the local newspaper he sees a familiar face. Peter Hillary, the first climber of Mt. Everest’s son.        

        Back on the bus to Queenstown, we give up, and hire a car. Drive down to Milford Sound, then back up to Christchurch. Here we strike some luck. The hostel has an ad for people willing to drive camper vans back to Auckland. They pay for the fuel and ferry fees, out of the one way charges paid by the last users. The couple in front of us manage to get ten days to return the van, reluctantly he gives us the same deal. We smile and wave, at all the campers going south, thinking we have a better deal than you. Picton then on to the ferry, The first two hours are spent slowly cruising down the Marlborough Sound. Lots of beers and a party atmosphere. Head down I’m reading my book, while we head out into Cook straight. Dave taps me on the shoulder, and tells me he’s feeling a bit sea sick and is going to head outside. Dave races ocean yachts, I look up and see tables full of half empty beers sliding from side to side, and an almost empty bar. While I’m watching someone does a power chunder on the double glass doors, the loo’s look the same. The stewards aren’t happy. The same ferry had sunk in similar conditions a couple of years before. At least there is plenty of free beer around.                We are now in the North Island. We are on Dave’s home territory, he left when he was eight, but still has a few rellies here and, we spend a days hanging with the locals. We pick up the odd surprised hitchhiker in the van. There is snow on the Remutaka’s, but the van is warm. Paraparaumu, Parmy North, Lake Taupo, Rotorua. Kiwi music on the radio. Pubs and fish and chip shops for dinner, on the newly devalued kiwi. Finally we arrive at Dave’s friends the Foleys, in beautiful downtown Onehunga Auckland. We drop off the van, still in one bit, and hop on a lite plane out to Dave’s cousins place on Great barrier island. Not even many Kiwis have been here. The Cuz lives in a Christian community on the island. They are building a big church, but he has got a couple of days off to take us around the place. We sleep in while they have mass, and sacrifice virgins in the morning. Then we jump in the 4 wheeler and go touring. All seemed pretty normal to me. Finally it’s time to leave. We spend the last day in town looking for bargains downtown, before our flight.

           The world is changing. N.Z had an election while we were there, and for the first time in many years a new labour government. One of the first things they do is devalue the KIWI dollar. Not much use to me as I have changed all my cash on the way in, but Dave gets a new camera very cheap. Soon we are back over the ditch. I’m glad I got to see the old New Zealand. When I return six months later the old ways have been swept away, and for better or worse a new course has been set.

Posted by bondrj at 4:08 PM NZT

Updated: Thursday, 12 June 2025 4:13 PM NZT

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      Köneürgench,  is part of the ancient world, or at least it would be if Genghis Khan hadn’t killed all the inhabitants and destroyed the place in the 12 century. It’s a standard town with some new buildings, Nothing remarkable. That still leaves time to build a few mosques and morsaliums to take some pics of. Maria is happy the ladies are wearing make up, jewellery and showing some flesh. First off we head to a big supermarket to get some supplies. The local currency is Minets. If you are a foreigner you are forced to change it at a rate of 4.5 to the dollar.  Buy any thing on a card or get money from the bank you get the offical rate. There is a dollar black market if you can find it where they will give you 19. That would make most things extremely cheap, but we are not into that. 

      We are starting at one side of the country and driving to the Capital on the other side. The Gates of Hell, more comonaly known as the gas crater  is in the centre. The road there is un drivable, what’s more is it’s the main north south road. It takes all day to get there. Demetri shouts us lunch, some fresh local pies, a couple each, and some for him and the driver. Under five dollars for the Lot. We fill up the tank of the land cruiser. Six dollars. See Australia this is what happens when you don’t give all your gas away for nothing. Back to the terrible road.  Just before sunset we pull off onto a sand side track, Fifteen minutes later we are at our yurt camp for the night, and the crater is just over the hill. The timing is perfect, the sun is just about to set. As we walk over the hill we see two huge drill rigs being set up. Fifty years later gas is worth something, and rumour has it that by the end of the year the gas crater will be no more. I’ve seen burning dirt in other parts of the world but the crater is truly amazing. As you get near it you can feel the heat pouring out. A good healthy dose of Kodak poisoning is applied over the next hour as the sun sets. A thousand pics later we  wander back to our camp, our driver has prepared a fantastic meal from our supermarket shop earlier. We drink some good local vodka, and contemplate the universe while watching the stars. “Gates of Hell” tick.

       Early start the next morning. Our camp is basic, no showers, drop loo. Time to head to the capital. A couple more burning dirt stops on the way. The road has advanced from un drivable, to just terrible, then to good, then to billard table perfect.  We stop and get the car’s washed, no dirty cars allowed in Ashkabat. Also no coloured cars. No coloured buildings either. This place is polished to within an inch of its life. We drive past gleaming monuments, and whiter marble buildings, kept clean by old ladies sweeping the streets with straw brooms. Wide thoroughfares, perfect for tank parades, grand and gold statues of the past dear leader, or Turkmen poet.

      There is a bit of a problem with our hotel. It seems the dear leader has cancelled our booking and,closed all the five star hotels, and they only do five star. Apparently you can do this when you are a god. Another hotel has eventually been found for us, austere, Intourist vibe, with rooms you seem to rent by the hour. The beds good, the shower works, so is the breakfast the next morning. I don’t think they normally do breakfast. We get dumped at the local shopping centre for lunch, Demetri has  to go.  Plenty of fake fashion and flesh on display here. The Melbourne Cafe is good, food here is cheap. Coffee and cake even cheaper. We check out our original hotel on the walk home, it’s magnificent, guest free, and unavailable for the next two weeks. We walk home ,and find a great bar at the rear of our flea pit.  

    Next day we move. This is more our style. The reception is dripping gold. It has luxury rooms, all the toys, cheap beer, and open internet.  Google, instagram, facebook are unavailable here. But not at this hotel. We head off with Demteri to tour the town. God is a big lover of the Guinness book of records. If you want to build something here just make it big enough and you will get the cash. We see the Worlds biggest indoor Ferris wheel, the world’s largest poet statue, the world’s largest, monument to the bicycle. I think you get the picture.  At night all the buildings are lit making the austere city wildly colourful. As a sparky, l can only think about the world’s biggest led strip replacement that’s going to happen in the next five years.  The next day while the guys head off to some more big things, Ern, and I hang by the pool with a few beers. I’m mosqued out, and a nice hotel seems too good to leave. Later we get dumped at the airport, which is shaped like the world’s largest bird. They want us out of here. I heard the day after we left Vladimir Putin, and the Iranian president rocked up for a meeting, hence the rush.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT

Updated: Wednesday, 22 January 2025 9:20 AM EADT

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