Am. Raining. strange small breakfast, hotel OK. Went to New World shopping. Drove to Neudorf Winery, bought two bottles. Drove to 'Toad Hall' - coffee. Raining -Kaiteriteri - storm forecast. Stayed in cabin. Winds + torrential rain, ground flooded - yuk. Power goes in camping.
We woke to a downpour. Although our motel in Nelson was comfortable enough breakfast was a somewhat paltry affair - free though, so I suppose it is churlish to moan. We needed to re-stock our own food supplies after a few days in an urban environment. The more we cater for ourselves the better, avoiding 'eating out' is one of the few areas where we can make savings. New Zealand is fabulous, but it's not cheap. We found a nearby 'New World'. Shopping can be a chore, but people in New Zealand are so friendly it is not uncommon to fall into conversation with a complete stranger, in this case the in-store butcher who we swapped stories of European travel with.
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| New World - well stocked supermarkets with wide aisles |
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| a first class in-store bakery |
By this time most of the morning had gone, it was still gloomy, certainly not picnic weather so immediately contradicted our 'no eating out' strategy and consulted our trusty Lonely Planet guide seeking somewhere interesting where we might stop for brunch - the meagre rations at the motel combined with the inclement weather demanded second breakfast. The intriguingly named 'Toad Hall Cafe' at Motueka caught our eye. Lonely Planet promised 'smashing breakfasts' and 'wholesome and decadent lunches'; we have been caught-out previously by the brand's trademark hyperbolic house style, but this time it was almost justified - we plumped for toasties and they were very good.
The cafe also had a shop selling locally sourced food. I approve of the zero kilometers food movement but can never quite understand why something from just down the road always seems to cost more than a product in a supermarket that has been flown halfway around the globe.
We planned to spend the next couple of days in a camping bungalow in Kaiteriteri, a small beach resort on the edge of the Abel Tasman National park, but first we made a long planned minor detour to the Neudorf Vineyard in the Upper Neudorf Valley. Both the vineyard and the beach were places Gill had visited frequently over recent years, but only virtually. One of her stress busting strategies in her final years in work, when government cuts to funding rendered her already tricky job nigh impossible, was to admire sunrise or sunset halfway across the world via webcams installed at the Neudorf Vineyard, Kaiteriteri beach car park, Mount Cook from Aoraki Alpine Lodge and the Remarkables from Queenstown. One day we will will go for real we promised ourselves, and here we were, about to tick-off two sites in one day.
Sadly, as we approached the vineyard the drizzle turned into a downpour, we donned cagouls and raced from the car to the shop. As well as selling wine the place had an interesting small exhibition tracing the history of the locality and how German settlers in the late nineteenth century first established winemaking.
It was all was somewhat more up-market than we had anticipated. We bought three bottles as mementos, though I sensed the place was really pitched at richer clientele able to buy a few cases.
How different it looked in the pouring rain, the vines themselves draped in netting to minimise damage from the impending storm.
We drove on to Kaiteriteri, the coast road is famously beautiful. We saw none of it. Pleased to be installed indoors in our cabin we soon became bored and sought solace by moaning about the weather on Facebook.
At first the rain simply came down in sheets. The site slowly flooded, not seriously, a series of pond sized puddles about six inches deep - awkward if you were in a caravan or camper, disastrous for people under canvas. So, we asked ourselves, where is this cyclone? Then the wind began to howl, a sapling in front of the patio doors slowly bent double, then the power failed.
Without means of entertainment I soon became bored. "I've never experienced hurricane strength winds first hand" I observed, then donning my best semi-permeable rain wear I strode out into maelstrom clutching camcorder and SLR. It was an interesting experience, a bit like being physically drunk but mentally sober simultaneously. The beach was doing its best to invade the road, other chunky bangs and thumps signalled bits of building, street furniture and fishing gear coming loose to join a rave of rubbish boogying about in the car park.
The truly terrifying weather lasted for about 20 minutes, afterwards there was a downpour for an hour or so then it became mysteriously calm. We had an early night as the power was still down and we lacked a torch. Next day we woke to pallid sunshine and electricity. It was only when we watched the breakfast news that we began to realise how lucky we had been - nearby serious damage to roads and property and sadly, a few fatalities.
