The Party is Coming to an End

When you start approaching the end of the trails, you have bopped around from place to place, and you know you only have one night in a place, there is no real incentive to “do it” right. Alternatively, you want to avoid traveler’s remorse later when you think back to say “I really should have done this, that, or the other while I was in XYZ.” Whether you travel solo or with others, there is still someone to contend with, even if it is yourself.

Tonight, we fly from here in Dunedin to Auckland on Air New Zealand. What can we do that is not going to be painful, exhausting, or take up the entire day? The Cadbury factory has tours. Perfect, we book a tour, go for a coffee, and then to the factory. Anyone who has been to Hersey, PA or Oakdale, CA where there are Hersey factories may think they can pass this one by. Not so! Although now owned by the British company, the factory was started by a local NZ, went through a number of incarnations and then was bought out by Cadbury.

There is a multiple room visitor’s center where you are allowed to roam before and after your tour. Here you will see the history of chocolate as well as that of the factory. Most displays are animated to attract the attention of children as w ell as adults. Pictures are allowed throughout here, but nothing is allowed once on the tour. Not only did we have to store our bags, but also our watches, jewelry, cameras, plus we had to don head coverings and for the men with facial hair there were special “snout” masks. Julia, our guide was lively and full of information; each of us was given a plastic bag with a candy bar. We were instructed to carry it on the tour. 

The disappointing part was that different parts of the factory tour, the machines had either just finished a batch of product or was closed down for maintenance. One example was the Easter chocolates. They had just finished production the day before. They make ten Easter bunnies for every person in NZ and sell out every season. That is forty-five million Easter products. Seasonal items are for the NZ market only and the chocolate has a fifty-two week shelf life. This was disappointing to children and adults combined. We wanted to see the full process. As we went along, Julia asked quizzing questions for which we were rewarded with different Cadbury products. Outside they had some of the old Ford trucks that were actually used by the company early on for milk and product delivery.

The train station in town is old, historic, and looks like a gingerbread building. The tiles and stained glass inside are worth a look. They run a number of scenic train trips day trips or longer. One of the trains was in the station; it didn’t look much different than what we had been on, but the scenery may have been magnificent. I love train trips like this.

We went to the Museum of Art. They offer free admission. The collection is quite eclectic with modern mixed with a smattering of classical styles. With our flight not getting into Auckland until after 10pm, we stopped at the grocery store for an early dinner. Most grocery stores have the prepared and hot roasted chickens, which has been a staple of our diet. With a couple of salads, we had the makings of a picnic. One of the salads was a mix of kumara and apricot with penne pasta. The other was pumpkin sesame.

Those last hours between not having enough time to do anything and nothing really special to do, we sat around the hostel waiting for the airport shuttle. At least it gave me time to write, sort pictures, catching up on neglected things. 

It seemed like we were never going to arrive at the airport. Driving around for what seemed like forever, I kept wondering how long they will hold a flight for those with paid for seats. I did not realize the other two in the shuttle were on our flight. They were Aussies, but did not seem at all concerned. Checking in was a breeze, because there was only one person ahead of us. Still having the emotional attachment to the extra suitcase, it came along. What I had read on the Air NZ website was that it would cost us NZ$10. It seemed for moments we were going to get away with it for free. The three carry-on sized bags were less than 44 kilos, the allotment. No, the agent asked for a NZ$20 bill without any sign of friendliness. What happened to this laid back country? I didn’t have the energy to fight with him over what their website said, so paid it, but asked about the international flight since the first part is with Air NZ. Well, isn’t this special for this part of the international ride home, it will be NZ$75. 

Well so much for sentiment; this bag is getting lost really soon. There really is no place to store it at home anyway, but I have traveled with it for over seventeen years and it has seen many countries. It is like putting an old animal companion out of its misery, with the exception that it has years of life still, so maybe someone can make use of it.

Flying from Dunedin to Auckland was only 1 ¼ hours, so they served snacks. We had a choice of air puffed veggie chips or dried fruit pieces. When they announced this, we thought we misheard what they said. Within minutes of arrival, the airport was like they had done evacuation procedures; there was not a soul around. Ron’s bag was the last to come out on the belt; the belt chugged along empty of cargo, stretching for what seemed like miles, before eventually his bag appeared, looking lonesome and afraid of abandonment. Had it not shown, there was no one around to whom to complain. A call to the hostel, they said to call this particular taxi company. A ride will cost us NZ$35. Calling from the mobile did not work, because they have a toll free number, which does not work with mobiles. We had to find a pay phone. They are few and well hidden.

The taxi, not being authorized, had to meet us away from the taxi stands. When we were on our way, the meter was running like it was competing in a marathon. The regular taxis quoted us at $60, but this meter was quickly approaching that. Why we were taking all of these back roads was beyond me; the only conclusion was to beef up the meter. By 11:15pm we finally arrived at the hostel. With a meter illuminatingly brilliant numerals showing $54.60, the “we have been had” feeling was rising to my temporal region. Just as it was reaching the peak, the driver turned around and said “That will be NZ$35.00 thank you.” Relief, regret, resignation about running to unfounded conclusions.

It is really interesting to me that everywhere you go, when you buy something, they will tell you the amount followed by thank you. “That will be $29.50, thank you.” Then you give them the money, if they need to give you change or not, they say thank you again. Quite civilized. Thank yous are used on buses too. Each time someone disembarks from a bus they say thank you to the driver. If they get off of the back door, they make sure to yell it so the driver can hear it. 

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Dunedin is C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E-L-Y Rich

When you start approaching the end of the trails, you have bopped around from place to place, and you know you only have one night in a place, there is no real incentive to “do it” right. Alternatively, you want to avoid traveler’s remorse later when you think back to say “I really should have done this, that, or the other while I was in XYZ.” Whether you travel solo or with others, there is still someone to contend with, even if it is yourself.

Tonight, we fly from here in Dunedin to Auckland on Air New Zealand. What can we do that is not going to be painful, exhausting, or take up the entire day? The Cadbury factory has tours. Perfect, we book a tour, go for a coffee, and then to the factory. Anyone who has been to Hersey, PA or Oakdale, CA where there are Hersey factories may think they can pass this one by. Not so! Although now owned by the British company, the factory was started by a local NZ, went through a number of incarnations and then was bought out by Cadbury.
 

There is a multiple room visitor’s center where you are allowed to roam before and after your tour. Here you will see the history of chocolate as well as that of the factory. Most displays are animated to attract the attention of children as w ell as adults. Pictures are allowed throughout here, but nothing is allowed once on the tour. Not only did we have to store our bags, but also our watches, jewelry, cameras, plus we had to don head coverings and for the men with facial hair there were special “snout” masks. Julia, our guide was lively and full of information; each of us was given a plastic bag with a candy bar. We were instructed to carry it on the tour. 

The disappointing part was that different parts of the factory tour, the machines had either just finished a batch of product or was closed down for maintenance. On the bright side, we had a demon spawn on the tour who managed to raise the ire of a seemingly unflappable tour guide. No parent came to intervene. These are the children every teacher dreads. At the end of the tour, we assured the guide she was a saint for handling the child as she did. She said in all her years touring, this was the worst kid she has ever had.

One example was the Easter chocolates. They had just finished production the day before. They make ten Easter bunnies for every person in NZ and sell out every season. That is forty-five million Easter products. Seasonal items are for the NZ market only and the chocolate has a fifty-two week shelf life. This was disappointing to children and adults combined. We wanted to see the full process. As we went along, Julia asked quizzing questions for which we were rewarded with different Cadbury products. Outside they had some of the old Ford trucks that were actually used by the company early on for milk and product delivery.
 

The train station in town is old, historic, and looks like a gingerbread building. The tiles and stained glass inside are worth a look. They run a number of scenic train trips day trips or longer. One of the trains was in the station; it didn’t look much different than what we had been on, but the scenery may have been magnificent. I love train trips like this.
 

The Museum of Art offers free admission and was recommended, so we ventured over. The collection is quite eclectic with modern mixed with a smattering of classical styles. With our flight not getting into Auckland until after 10pm, we stopped at the grocery store for an early dinner. Most grocery stores have the prepared and hot roasted chickens, which has been a staple of our diet. With a couple of salads, we had the makings of a picnic. One of the salads was a mix of kumara and apricot with penne pasta. The other was pumpkin sesame.

Those last hours between not having enough time to do anything and nothing really special to do, we sat around the hostel waiting for the airport shuttle. At least it gave me time to write, sort pictures, catching up on neglected things.
 

It seemed like we were never going to arrive at the airport. Driving around for what seemed like forever, I kept wondering how long they will hold a flight for those with paid for seats. I did not realize the other two in the shuttle were on our flight. They were Aussies, but did not seem at all concerned. Checking in was a breeze, because there was only one person ahead of us. Still having the emotional attachment to the extra suitcase, it came along. What I had read on the Air NZ website was that it would cost us NZ$10. It seemed for moments we were going to get away with it for free. The three carry-on sized bags were less than 44 kilos, the allotment. No, the agent asked for a NZ$20 bill without any sign of friendliness. What happened to this laid back country? I didn’t have the energy to fight with him over what their website said, so paid it, but asked about the international flight since the first part is with Air NZ. Well, isn’t this special for this part of the international ride home, it will be NZ$75. Well so much for sentiment; this bag is getting lost really soon. There really is no place to store it at home anyway, but I have traveled with it for over seventeen years and it has seen many countries. It is like putting an old animal companion out of its misery, with the exception that it has years of life still, so maybe someone can make use of it.

Flying from Dunedin to Auckland was only 1 ¼ hours, so they served snacks. We had a choice of air puffed veggie chips or dried fruit pieces. When they announced this, we thought we misheard what they said. Within minutes of arrival, the airport was like they had done evacuation procedures; there was not a soul around. Ron’s bag was the last to come out on the belt; the belt chugged along empty of cargo, stretching for what seemed like miles, before eventually his bag appeared, looking lonesome and afraid of abandonment. Had it not shown, there was no one around to whom to complain. A call to the hostel, they said to call this particular taxi company. A ride will cost us NZ$35. Calling from the mobile did not work, because they have a toll free number, which does not work with mobiles. We had to find a pay phone. They are few and well hidden.

The taxi, not being authorized, had to meet us away from the taxi stands. When we were on our way, the meter was running like it was competing in a marathon. The regular taxis quoted us at $60, but this meter was quickly approaching that. Why we were taking all of these back roads was beyond me; the only conclusion was to beef up the meter. By 11:15pm we finally arrived at the hostel. With a meter illuminatingly brilliant numerals showing $54.60, the “we have been had” feeling was rising to my temporal region. Just as it was reaching the peak, the driver turned around and said “That will be NZ$35.00 thank you.” Relief, regret, resignation about running to unfounded conclusions.

It is really interesting to me that everywhere you go, when you buy something, they will tell you the amount followed by thank you. “That will be $29.50, thank you.” Then you give them the money, if they need to give you change or not, they say thank you again. Quite civilized. Thank yous are used on buses too. Each time someone disembarks from a bus they say thank you to the driver. If they get off of the back door, they make sure to yell it so the driver can hear it. 

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The Last of the Bus Rides

The absolute last bus ride for this trip was the one we took today from Queenstown to Dunedin. Five and a half hours on the bus with one stop for coffee, lunch, and a bathroom break. Grueling, but the scenery did not disappoint us at all, once again keeping us glued to the window.  Ron kept mentioning that we arrive at 12:30pm and had a wildlife tour booked for 3:30pm. Although he repeated this multiple times both in Budapest and as we traveled, the information sat on the surface of my thinking like oil sits on own water, never mixing.

When we arrived in Dunedin, the hostel turned out to be farther than we wanted to walk with suitcases. Dunedin is so hilly, laying claim to having the world’s steepest street; the city makes San Francisco look like Iowa, flat as a pancake. My idea of fun has never included carting luggage up mountains, but then again I am not into sporty events. TAXI!! The taxi must charge by the hill. We were shocked at the cost/distance ratio, but again the hills are significant, so it was that or hitchhike. 

Our room was ready upon our arrival, so we had time to stretch before climbing into another motor vehicle. Good thing, because the information that really did not penetrate was the fact that the tour was for 6 hours. They will get us at 3:20pm and not return us until 9:30pm. What seemed highly unlikely was that Ron planned this. He who is against all forms confinement made these plans, booked and paid for them before we left Europe. What has gotten into this man? He was like a little kid, really looking forward to this. I could go either way. Seals and penguins are fun, but we have seen both in South Africa multiple times, Australia, and Tierra del Fuego at the tip of Argentina. Could these seals and penguins be that much different? 

Ride around, ride around, picking up others along the way really cuts into the “tour” time. When a tour operator tells you this is an 8 hour tour, you have to cut off an hour for picking everyone up and an hour for letting everyone off at the end of the day. During this ride around, one of the two guides informs us that they hope we have good shoes, because we are going to have to do some climbing up and down steep hills. Whoa, Buster! Hold it right there. Now that we are in the van is not the time to tell us that we needed good hiking/climbing shoes. I look at Ron and ask him “Did you know we were supposed to have good hiking shoes?” I am still not sure whether or not I believe him, but he said “TripAdvisor said to have comfortable shoes.” We are both wearing Crocs, which are fabulous for everyday wear walking. They are not suitable for mountain climbing, at least not the style I brought with me.

Panic starts to set in. Not only do I not have appropriate shoes, we have been warned that hiking is involved. I take to hiking like a duck takes to quicksand. No one that knows me well has ever associated me with heavy physical exertion for work or for fun. Everyone who knows me well knows that I believe the devil is behind that E word (whisper it – exercise). Though I may be build like a Mack truck, I don’t have any horsepower; I can’t even claim pony power. I am a thinker, not a do-er. This is the main reason I don’t watch any sports either. All of that exertion being displayed just wears me out.

Tim, one of our guides is at the front of a twenty-three person van shouting out “If anyone thinks they may have problems with this ‘walk’ let us know now.”  We are sitting in the absolute last seat in the back of the van. Like I am going to announce to the masses that I am an exercise wimp, who is not certain about survival during this field trip; I think not. The penguins and seals in all other countries had the decency not to make us go over hill and dale to view them. They were all within easy walking distance. How rude New Zealand wild life is. 

We drive through a sheep ranch to finally reach this cliff where Mexican cliff divers could practice from it is so high. Masses of sheep are all around us, but there are gates to keep them from throwing themselves to the rocks and waters below. They are all going baaaaaaa in unison. All I hear is a chorus of BAAAAAAAD as in bad news for you bucko. This is not the event you have been living for. With great stoicism, I follow the leader, thinking “This is not so bad.” However, what goes down, in this case must come up again and since no escalator magically appeared, I am in big trouble. Glacier experiences are rushing past my eyes. I envision a scarlet letter on my chest, a big S for Slug. Snap, snap, snap, the guide is speaking, but I am busy getting all of the pictures I think I will ever want, need, or care to have. When he takes a breath, I inform him I am getting a head start on the return journey. It seemed likely that even with a twenty minute head start; the tail end of the group could still by-pass me on their return. Wow, I made it up before they did. Pat me on the back. It only two times to stop to gasp for air. This outdoor activity must be improving my breathing. 

The group finally returns. Gosh, they were so slow getting back. One of the guides unlocks the van, causing a knee-jerk reaction for me to climb in. He stops me, telling me he only needed a hat, but we were not ready to go yet. The Yellow-Eyed penguins were down another cliff on the opposite side of the car park. Near them, but not living with them were the Blue penguins. What a rainbow assortment of penguins they have here. What the hell, can’t they just get along with the seals congregating in one viewing area? Sean, the second guide looks at me and says, this hill is not as steep a slope, so it should be easier for you. With some bravado I started down the hill. It was like descending the seven layers of hell, but by level 4, ultimate and everlasting misery, I had had enough. Not only were there 3 more layers to descend, but what I didn’t know at the time was that then a trek followed covering another mile or more. Yellow-eyed penguins are only found here in New Zealand. Could I live without ever seeing yellow-eyed penguins? You bet I can. Prompting Ron to continue, I was standing on the hill in a 45 degree angle now certain whether which direction I was going fall in. It was either going to be flat on my face or my ass.
 

Climbing back up was worse the second time around. Ten steps, stop, rest, gasp for air, think about whether or not my travel insurance covers cremations or not. Ten more steps, same routine, but wonder if I have told Ron where I hid the travel cash. Finally reaching the top of the hill, there is a small herd of sheep waiting to greet me. They all look up, stare at me and flee like they had a premonition I was a butcher or one of THOSE types of shepherds, if you get my drift. 

I am up at the van waiting for the others, thinking how long could they possibly be. Hmm…I seem to remember one of the guides saying something about us being there for 2 ½ hours. That was forty-five minutes ago. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing furiously. If I stayed warm in the sun, the wind was pushing me around like a bully on the playground. A shove in the back with an “I dare you. What are you going to do about it?” There were enough boulders that I was able to make a makeshift seat with the sun shining, but with a smidgen of shelter from the wind. It was so windy that one of the guides left with brown hair only to return with it white. He said he could see the color flying into the air as the wind blew it out of each hair shaft. 

So it is me and the sheep and I have to pee. Sean, the guide announced we could leave what we wanted on the van since he would lock it up. He said it is only us and the sheep up here and the sheep are fairly honest. The last I looked, the group was down the mountain and about ¼ mile down the beach. With my telescopic lens on my camera at the highest power, they still looked like ants marching to their hill. No one around, I didn’t think the sheep were going to care if I peed in front of them. Checking to make sure the group is not returning in some unexpected direction, I finally decide it is okay. Half-way through the euphoric I have been waiting too long to pee pee, two new tour groups show up out of nowhere. From the dance I did, if they were not paying full attention, they could very well have thought they caught me in the act being baaaaaad in public. Regardless, I kept a low profile behind the van.

When my group returned forty-five minutes later, it was like having angelic visitations. There is nothing I wanted more than to get out of there. Ron loved the Yellow-eyed penguins; they never had any sighting of the Blue penguins that burrow in the ground, but did not make a showing. All of this fun, yet the tour was still not over. There was still a visit the albatross research center to see albatross. Arriving at the center fifteen minutes before closing was perfect. See the center, read the info, witness an albatross flying around, get on the van and go away, far away where there is less wind. We close the center, but Sean has a lecture to give on the albatross outside on the cliff with 50 mile an hour winds blowing us around as if we were tottering bowling pins during an earthquake. After twenty minutes, Sean announces that Tim will unlock the van for those of us freezing and the rest can stay with him to listen to the rest of his monologue. He is left with 3 people while the rest of the horde was smart enough to get shelter.
 

As they are dropping people off at their preferred stops, the two guides said “Thank you for coming. We hope you had a good time.” They repeated this for each small group they dropped off. We asked that they leave us at a bar. I for one needed a beer to shake off the day. As I got out of the van, I waited for the “Thank you for coming. We hope you had a good time”, but all I received for my troubles was “Bye!”. The beer that followed was excellent, though.

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