Chronic Negress

Curling was a sketch. Using an official pole to push the stones down the rutted ice, I found I was much better at curling than sweeping (the action of sweeping makes the stone go faster and out of the back of the house or scoring area).

We left the chill of the curling rink (our match was a draw at 2) to return to the Royal Hotel at Naseby. Tiny rooms, great shower and a pleasant meal.

From Naseby, people got back on the rail trail at Waipiata, where had stored the bikes the previous night. Lyneke drove me to Daisybank, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it stop on the trail. I cycled the 11 or so kliks to Middlemarch where I bought my rail trail passport and had lunch with our very close knit gang of nine.

After lunch, we drove the bus to Pukerangi to pick up the Taieri Gorge Railway. The ride was fantastic with views of the river at the bottom of the gorge, long trestles and vintage train cars. We arrive at Dunedin’s lushly appointed train station to head to the Leviathan Hotel. After sharing bathrooms it was nice to be ensuite, as they say, once again. We had a nearly endless Italian dinner at Etrusco’s, a busy place with the University of Otago graduations and all having happened that day. We started with anitpasti, warm garlic and basil pizza, then acres of pasta with pesto, tomato, meat and mushroom sauces, all al dente. I had a glass of what the wine list accurately described as “a Malbec on steroids.” Bas, Bob and Mary Jo left just before they brought pizza and salad. No one ate dessert, fearing a Mr. Creosote type episode.

After a great brecky and a good night’s sleep in Dunedin, we headed down the East ocean coast to the small, sleepy town of Karitane. Mary Jo, Bob, Rebecca, Linda, Bas and I took to the sea in tandem kayaks. John started but begged off due to wetsuit and helmet discomfort. Kathryn and Lyneke walked the beach. The kayaking was good, but the winds curtailed our plans to go around the peninsula. Bas kept me paddling with instructions like “Paddle or we’ll hit those rocks.” That worked well.

We had lunch at Gardanz, a lovely little cafe with fresh veggies in the quiche, and nice fish plates. From there, we drove and cycled along the ocean after a stop at the Maeroki boulders, some unusual round stones that don’t show out well unless the tide is out. It wasn’t.

From there it was back to Oamaru, and pleasant hotel and showers for many. The last dinner for the group was at The Last Post, also apparently Rugby Central for the town. We chatted a little but mostly intermittently engaged the ruggers. This reminded me of the American bumper sticker, ‘Rugby players eat their dead.’

Before dinner, we went to watch a local colony of blue penguins return from the sea to their nests. John counted about 46, while the official count was 39. I think John was right as he often was about many things during our journey.

After dinner, my sister was accosted briefly by a very drunk Kiwi who was having what Robin Williams calls a vowel movement. This line was greeted with great laughter by those on the bus.

As for the title of this post, Linda and John often shouted those greetings to each other and it was a recurring motif on the trip as were Bob’s dry but sharp comments, Rebecca’s ponderous fitness, Mary Jo’s enthusiasm for each new place and detail, and Bas and Lyneke’s unstinting good will with all of us even after a night in a container shed. We spoke of our memories on the three-hour drive back to Christchurch. At the airport, Adventure South owner and notorious mountaineer Geoff Gabites gave us all photo calendars of New Zealand. It was hard to see everyone leave, but after a massage and a good dinner tonight, we’ll be doing that tomorrow.