Berichten en notities van Niek de Greef tijdens zijn reizen. Reflecties en observaties van wandeltochten, fotowalks, hikes in de stad en op het platteland en trip in het buitenland.
Yesterday, we took a water cab in Kiateriteri. In half an hour, we sailed to Anchorage Bay. On these routes, we passed the unusual phenomenon called Split Apple Rock.
From the beach at Anchorage Bay, we hiked to Watering Cove, on the other side of the hill. Watering Cove is a small cove with an unusual design. There is a mini campground where five tents are allowed. The campground can only be reached by kayak or on foot.
Tijdens de afdaling haalt een jongen met het opschrift „finisher 2018 triathlon watananga“ ons in en verdwijnt meteen uit het zicht.
Even later komt er een Japans meisje met een zilveren parasol op ons af. Weet ze wel dat het nog twee uur steil omhoog gaat door verzengende velden? En daarna nog een uur terug naar beneden, nog steiler?
Bij het meer spelen vaders met waterspeelgoed, terwijl de kinderen aan de oever staan toe te kijken.
The engine light on the dashboard flashes red. Go to the Toyota dealer as soon as possible, says the booklet. Damn.
I called Snap rental help, which turned out to transfer to the AA, the ANWB of New Zealand. I was in the queue, but I was helped.
A technician comes in an hour. The cars race by, and each is hopeful at first.
A motorcycle stops in a recreational parking lot. A man with a vast mustache emerges from under the helmet. Despite the dense cloud cover, his sunglasses remain on. He drives off, unsuccessfully.
I fight boredom with a little photo project: photographing crap in the parking lot. Make a collage of it later.
An hour later, the AA technician is still not there. ‘Op zijn elfendertigste’, A says, which is untranslatable. The best guess would be ‘in the dead of winter.’
A stream flows. A car stops and drives off. Crickets crunch, and a fly buzzes around my head.
People poop and drink beer in all corners of this place: I find wipes and crushed cans.
Beyond, a meadow, crammed with sheep Beneath an electricity pylon that slants over the hills.
Occasional bleating. Then another car. But still not the AA technician. AA of the Automobile Association, not the alco-AA.
A hotel has stood here, after a wayfarers sod cottage of 1857, Way Otaraia hotel was placed here. A changing station for horses between Dunedin and Invercargill. Just like in the movie.
Our cottage in Carters Beach is a kind of mobile home with attached covered porch. Looking toward the beach you see Donaldos, a restaurant, cafe, snack bar, store where the locals and the tourists who don’t feel like driving to Westport get drinks, food and breakfast.
In the foreground are two large ferns, which grow like trees here. You can’t see it but a seagull squawks, a dog barks. In the distance the sea murmurs.
It should close behind us as we leave. The knobs on the poles are the Bakelite insulators for electricity poles. The fence is made of railroad sleepers stacked on top of each other.
On the porch is a collection of shells.
Across from Picton’s cemetery is backpackers hotel Tombstone’s, driven by Gary and Nikki. It’s a cool place, no bullshit and tightly run so don’t make a mess. The common room has 80s music on Iggy Pop, Madness, and more. We relax while outside the tail of Cyclone Gabrielle races by.