I set off from Motueka at 10am today, bound for the glaciers on the west of the island.
It was another ambitious attempt for one day - estimated journey time seven hours - but driving in this country is an enjoyable, stress-free experience. It's also the best way of seeing it.
As I headed south, I noticed I had just over a quarter tank of petrol left, but thought little of it as I was bound to come across a petrol station sooner or later. I stopped off for tea and a toastie in a little town just south of Motueka, and read a NZ newspaper to get a feel for the news. There wasn't much of any interest. Like in Oz, news of the Royal Family always makes the papers here. A big story in today's editions was that apparently Prince William has got himself a myspace style web site where he can chat to friends by personal invite only. Well fuck me sideways. Young man uses Internet shocker. Still, he is destined to be NZ's next head of state I suppose...
When I hit the road again, it dawned on me I still hadn't discovered a petrol station and that the gauge was hovering disconcertingly above the empty mark. Time continued to pass and the closest thing to civilisation I could see was a man herding sheep. It was time to panic.
With the nearest town some 40km away - where, in all likelihood, the next petrol station would be - there was every chance I wouldn't make it. Particularly as the terrain was so severe and the roads literally went up and down the side of mountains.
There truly is nothing like an incident like this to shake you out of the 'tourist drives along past picture postcard scenery listening to music' syndrome into full-on, I'm fucked and in the middle of nowhere with only a few sheep for company reality. Add into the mix that my phone doesn't work here, and you truly have a recipe for being in the brown stuff. At best if I was to break down, I would be delayed getting to my destination and may have to re-think the rest of the trip's schedule. At worst, I could be stranded at the top of a mountain with nowhere to leave the car while I went for help. It did strike me, however, that if I managed to break down at a picnic site I was in the best possible form of transport to wait for help. I could lay down in bed, have some lunch, watch a favourite DVD and maybe even have a glass of Chardonnay...
The time it took to get to the next town - Murchison - seemed like an eternity. My mood wasn't helped by the fact I spent a considerable part of the journey trailing a BP petrol van, which probably had enough petrol on board to supply a small army's armour of tanks. It was as if somebody was taking the piss.
Finally, I just made it to Murchison. Never before in my life have I punched the air in delight at seeing a Mobil garage, but today I did. Murchison was one of those typical isolated, desolate towns that just had the one of everything - pub, shop, hotel, petrol garage. I was so happy it had the latter I thought it was a lovely place. When I told the garage attendant I had come close to not making it here, she told me it was just as well I had. There wasn't another station for 100km...
I continued my journey in high spirits. In a perverse way the experience had made me realise where I was, on the other side of the world, surrounded by nothing but beautiful landscape. The rest of the journey was very pleasant, and I finally got to my destination - Franz Josef - at 5pm.
Within a few minutes, I had come to the conclusion Franz Josef was the best place I had visited during my trip. Set at the foot of snow tipped mountains, it is a very small place yet resplendent with great bars and restaurants. My parking spot for the night was in a log cabin park, where the air is filled with the smell of wood fires keeping people warm. It was worth the seven hour drive.
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