Risking only one Eye

     The next day we moved on, making our turn back toward the North Island. We traveled through green stone country, where jade abounded. Pancaked rocks emerged from the sea. Most bridges were very conservative. Single lanes, honk before you start across, with a railroad track down the middle. No need to spend all that money on exotic bridges, just use it to buy more sheep. Many public facilities, gas pumps, etc. were antique-like. Like we had in America 40 years ago, or more.

     We found  a motel near the Franz Joseph Glacier, the only glacier in the world that close to the equator, and it reached down almost to the sea, but, like ours, it was receding fast. Barbara was tired, so I drove in to the glacier area alone, and walked the last mile or so. I picked up a young British hitch hiker who accompanied me. He was typical of hundreds of young people from around the world who, usually after graduating college, took a year or two and backpacked  around the world. Most backpacker facilities, and there were many, provided a bed in a large room filled with beds,  but we found that some had a few private rooms for old fogies like us, providing privacy at a little higher price. However, we almost never, or maybe never, ran into more old “backpackers.” They often grouped up and bought an old, old car to travel in, then when ready to leave, tried to sell it, then if not successful, often just drove it off into a quarry. Local newspapers complained about the the Quarries filling up.

     The next day, we arrived at Pincton, the jumping off place for the ferry back to the North Island.  We went to make arrangement for the ferry crossing the next day. The nice lady told us to “Just look for the big blue chicken sign.” When we could see no sign of a chicken, we had to come back and inquire further. Finally, we figured out we were looking for a “Check-in” sign. More than a month here, and the local accents were still giving us fits!

      We checked in at the Villa Backpacker's Motel, billed as the nicest one in New Zealand. Hundreds of young people. Once again, no other old people. Many of the European women walked around with almost nothing on. So, I had to apply what one of my pastor's had told me years ago. “If you look at immodest women, you risk going blind. So, if you must look, cover one eye. Only risk one.” We stayed up late and visited with many people from all over the world.  Most could speak English.

     We boarded the ferry at 7 AM, sure enough, right under the big, blue, “Check-in” sign. It was a long voyage, Hours. As always, Barb gathered crowds of New Zealanders around her, and we talked about lots of things, and learned much. We griped about their accents, they griped about ours. One man joked with Barbara for her pronunciation of  “bird.” He tried to say it like her and drug out the word into “buuurd”. She asked him how he says it. “Beard,” he said.  “Beard? That's not bird. You're talking about hair on your face!” They roared. Another asked her, “Let me get this straight. If you are drinking water in the middle of the winter, would you still put ice in it? “Yes, of course.” “Why?” “That's just what we do.” That went back and forth a long time. They enjoyed our “blue chicken” story. Barb's gift for gab is always a  major asset to our travels. She will just not let anyone be reserved around her. Quickly, they will be laughing and talking like best friends. One New Zealand lady helped her with a crossword puzzle.

     But we have been warned. Our international spy friend we  hung out with in Austria, a couple of years later, told Barb when we parted, “You travel too lightly about the world. People will entrap you.".

     We unloaded from the ferry at Wellington, the Capital, in a driving rain. We took in the Te Papa Museum, saw the Capital building, and as I hate strange city driving in the rain, we headed on up the island. We were getting into a very volcanic region. We drove for miles along a very large lake that we could barely see across, that was formed by a giant volcanic explosion. We knew this part of the country just had a very thin crust over unimaginable volcanic power potential. I just hope we get past it before it struts its stuff. We passed a bad but not fatal car wreck, and the country is so remote there it was 30 minutes before we met an ambulance coming to the scene. We almost passed a waterfall sign, but decided to go back and see it. We have came upon some amazing sights by accident in our travels, and this was no exception. Beautiful aqua blue water, covered with foam, poured over the huge cliff. The water came from the large volcanic lake we had been passing.

     After lunch we reached Rotoroua, listed in Fromer's Travel book as one of the top ten cities in the world to see. All over town, large pits of boiling mud, water and steam were on the surface. Even on the golf course. Talk about playing the rough -  Most of the people had used the hot water to heat their houses, until it was recently curtailed. Well, as one would suspect, this town had tons of motels, etc. But, just our luck, again, this was their “Labor Day,” our third Labor Day we had experienced that year. No lodging was to be found. Barb picked out a nice looking lady manning the Visitor's Center, and gave her sob story, “Here we are, on our trip of a lifetime, and - “ I had heard this all before, but, once again, it worked. The lady looked us over a long time, and made a call. She had judged us to be “safe,” well dressed and clean, and obtained a home stay for us. I have to admit, if we had been dirty and looked like bums, that would never have happened. We might have had to sneak out on the golf course, and slept beside one of the boiling mud pits that night to stay warm. I guess, its just my lot in life, carrying half the clothes we own, around on my back, all over the world. Actually, they were in our car, but sometimes one just has to extrapolate a little in the interest of being interesting.

     Our home stay turned out to be with a very nice lady, five years a widow, in a very nice house.

 She gave us a key, turned the whole bottom floor over to us, and left for the rest of the day. The exchange rate was better in New Zealand than in Australia, and our $105 cost converted to about $70 US.

     We had a long visit with her that night, after a great supper. Her son had gone on “walkabout” for a year, years ago, met a woman in Ireland, and never returned. Breakfast the next morning was no less good, and the coffee was almost too strong, even for Barbara. Barbara prides herself on being addiction free, but has walked  miles before, early morning, to find a cup of coffee.