Nu Zilland - Day Two

I awoke to a gentle sunrise in our windowless room. “Audra?” you might ask, “How is that possible?” I have already alluded to the amusing lighting system in our Japanese style pod of a hotel room. Our early morning alarm consisted of a slow brightening of a full spectrum sun lamp above the bed, punctuated by a single sharp beep at 6:30 am as the television switched on the “wake channel” which featured the time lapse clouds. I stumbled into the glassy shower nook which we had affectionately nick-named “The Orgasmatron” – more for its appearance than for any menial satisfaction we experienced therein, as there was barely room for one person, much less two in any sort of carnal contortion.

I was quite startled to emerge from the hotel into bright sunlight, not so much from the sensory deprivation as from my low expectations of this country and our holiday, and considering that our plan for the day was to take the TransScenic Railway through the Southern Alps, we could not have asked for more glorious travel conditions. With nary a cloud in sight, we boarded our comfortable carriage and began the slow rocking journey across sheep filled pastures, criss-crossing braided rivers before climbing into snow capped peaks and high meadows filled to the breaking point with white daisies, purple lupines, and golden scotch-bloom. Train travel is truly luxurious and well suited to the indulgent introspection I had hoped to gain from this vacation.

I was feeling quite sublime by the time we pulled into the coastal town of Greymouth, and was pleased to find it did not appear nearly as washed out as it did in the pictures on the internet. However, a ten minute stroll through the town center proved more than adequate to acquaint us with all the best on offer, so we opted to back track (quite literally) along our inbound journey to visit the ruins of an abandoned coal mine where I learned all about coking and the dangers of mis-laid explosives. Nonetheless, I was surprised later, when driving through the town, at the number of houses that had coal storage sheds and the pungent smoke smell that will forever remind me of a Mexican barbeque.

Fooled by the incredibly long days, we went in search of dinner only to find that all the restaurants had already closed their kitchens. However, we did find this, which was much more fun than dinner:

Tonight we are staying at a back-packer hostel. As expected, there is a broad contingency of sneering Germans with preposterous dread-locks (“Und let me tell you vhat else is wrong mit Amerika…”), but we were also delighted that we were not the eldest travelers in residence…in fact, not by a long shot – a lovely pair of withered old French women arrived with a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, and there are also several Australian couples older than us (none of them with dread locks…what the hell is it with backpackers and dreadlocks?? Is it some sort of badge of honor to show how long it has been since you’ve had a job??). There is also a delightful tortoise-shell kitten who volunteered to kill all the back-packer cooties that have been left behind in our room – and there were PLENTY!