North of Kaikoura, the road and the coastline flirted like teens until the dominating terrain of the ‘Marlborough Sounds’ distracted the courtship, and we cut across to ‘Picton’. .jpg)
Being the marine gateway to the south island, and thus by definition (we assumed), a major port, it was a pleasant surprise as to what ‘Picton’ was actually like. By the low population (under 5000), and lack of gross developments, its simple threshold status seems never to have been surpassed, and it remains beautifully true to its surroundings of rainforest and golden coves.
Our unexpected appreciation of the area led to lunch and a short wander, and though we’d have liked to stay longer, all of us knew that another destination was calling. The distance to ‘Nelson’ was short, but the roads were procrastinating, so we didn’t arrive until early evening. This reduced our exploration to a hunt for the nearest decent meal, and we never saw more of the ‘world’s most art-deco city.’ Instead, when morning came, we journeyed away from the city and towards ‘Abel Tasman National Park.’
The road came to rest at a tiny bohemian-like village called ‘Marahau’, that held the keys for exploration in the park in the form of kayaks and water taxis, and sheltered a fleet of wood-carving herbalists, whose artistry was displayed in a makeshift gallery.
The park offers some of the best walking tracks & beaches in New Zealand, with an infinite supply of golden sand, perfect blue waters, rainforest interior, and limestone caves. The most appealing way of exploring the area was a 2-day kayak tour.
This involves roaming the waters and resting on beaches during the day, feeding from barbeques, and sleeping through the nights under the watch of the stars. We imagined that it would be an amazingly relaxing getaway, and look forward to visiting the area again to try it. Unfortunately, our time was now finished in the south island. After only an inadequate wander on one beach, a drink in the café, and a chat with a hippy, we were forced to return to ‘Nelson’, drop back the car, and board the smallest plane I’ve ever been on. .jpg)
We thanked the heavens that the flying conditions looked perfect, and put our trust in ‘Air New Zealand.’
We used the last of the weekend to relax with my parents, and show them around the local area. Then it was back to work for us, and a little trip to ‘Rotorua’, ‘Hamilton’, and ‘Hobbiton’ for them. They joined us again on Tuesday evening, racing back from their new adventures outside Auckland, for a culinary seafood adventure at our place. The next evening they returned the favour, by taking us to the ‘Orbit’ restaurant at the Sky Tower, and we toasted our travels in New Zealand. Similar to the hellos that were said two weeks prior, our goodbyes took place before work commenced, and once again the moment seemed unreal. It was a different style on this occasion, but denial was undoubtedly the same culprit. It had become so normal for them to be living just down the road, popping over for dinner, or meeting us in town, that I’m sure we didn’t want to believe the truth was going to be a 24hr flight away again.
For many years now, I have considered my parents as friends more than guardians. This is not solely attributed to my independence, or my father’s immortal immaturity (don’t ever change dad), but due to the relationship that exists between us. True to any friendship, there were moments on the trip when fighting was imminent and distance was tempting, but on the whole, it’s a holiday I’d happily repeat again and again. The only possible problems would arise from our livers and hearts in attempting to cope with all the alcohol and fry-ups.
.jpg)
Being the marine gateway to the south island, and thus by definition (we assumed), a major port, it was a pleasant surprise as to what ‘Picton’ was actually like. By the low population (under 5000), and lack of gross developments, its simple threshold status seems never to have been surpassed, and it remains beautifully true to its surroundings of rainforest and golden coves.
Our unexpected appreciation of the area led to lunch and a short wander, and though we’d have liked to stay longer, all of us knew that another destination was calling. The distance to ‘Nelson’ was short, but the roads were procrastinating, so we didn’t arrive until early evening. This reduced our exploration to a hunt for the nearest decent meal, and we never saw more of the ‘world’s most art-deco city.’ Instead, when morning came, we journeyed away from the city and towards ‘Abel Tasman National Park.’The road came to rest at a tiny bohemian-like village called ‘Marahau’, that held the keys for exploration in the park in the form of kayaks and water taxis, and sheltered a fleet of wood-carving herbalists, whose artistry was displayed in a makeshift gallery.
The park offers some of the best walking tracks & beaches in New Zealand, with an infinite supply of golden sand, perfect blue waters, rainforest interior, and limestone caves. The most appealing way of exploring the area was a 2-day kayak tour.
This involves roaming the waters and resting on beaches during the day, feeding from barbeques, and sleeping through the nights under the watch of the stars. We imagined that it would be an amazingly relaxing getaway, and look forward to visiting the area again to try it. Unfortunately, our time was now finished in the south island. After only an inadequate wander on one beach, a drink in the café, and a chat with a hippy, we were forced to return to ‘Nelson’, drop back the car, and board the smallest plane I’ve ever been on. .jpg)
We thanked the heavens that the flying conditions looked perfect, and put our trust in ‘Air New Zealand.’We used the last of the weekend to relax with my parents, and show them around the local area. Then it was back to work for us, and a little trip to ‘Rotorua’, ‘Hamilton’, and ‘Hobbiton’ for them. They joined us again on Tuesday evening, racing back from their new adventures outside Auckland, for a culinary seafood adventure at our place. The next evening they returned the favour, by taking us to the ‘Orbit’ restaurant at the Sky Tower, and we toasted our travels in New Zealand. Similar to the hellos that were said two weeks prior, our goodbyes took place before work commenced, and once again the moment seemed unreal. It was a different style on this occasion, but denial was undoubtedly the same culprit. It had become so normal for them to be living just down the road, popping over for dinner, or meeting us in town, that I’m sure we didn’t want to believe the truth was going to be a 24hr flight away again.
For many years now, I have considered my parents as friends more than guardians. This is not solely attributed to my independence, or my father’s immortal immaturity (don’t ever change dad), but due to the relationship that exists between us. True to any friendship, there were moments on the trip when fighting was imminent and distance was tempting, but on the whole, it’s a holiday I’d happily repeat again and again. The only possible problems would arise from our livers and hearts in attempting to cope with all the alcohol and fry-ups.
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