Outside, it's the first damp, gray day on the island - a little chilly with rain water lingering around, evidence of a light, early morning rain. And when it rains, it seems to pour, for Nicki has been losing bus tickets and the car keys on trips between the car and the indoors. Following a not so long drive to Invercargill, we find ourselves in a grocery store parking lot in preparation for our hiking trip on Stewart Island. We exit the car and lock the doors, leaving the keys inside. In panic, one of my mental gaskets overheats and blows.
Fortunately for us, and thanks to some quick thinking by Nicki, we track down the store manager who immediately joins us at the car with a blue bread tie. I'm pleased with his eagerness to help so I briefly overlook the fact that a bread tie is really only good at keeping bagged bread from exposure to air. His attempts fail and he ventures off to track down a man he claims will be of great assistance.
He returns with a younger, more rugged fellow, who's unwinding a coat hanger en route to the car. This fellow approaches the driver's side door, slides the hooked hanger past the rubber of the window and jimmies the poor Corona open after maybe a minute.
We buy our groceries and continue south to Bluff, where we will catch a ferry to Stewart Island, some 30-40 kms due south into the sea. While waiting, the sun emerges and we buy a ticket before realizing we have no money and there are, apparently, no ATMs in Bluff or on Stewart Island. Two hours until boat time. A little under one hour back to Invercargill. It's the only way. It's a race against time.
On the way, the Corona's engine beats like my heart after a smidgen of exercise as we push it past 100 km/hr. Quick aside on the Corona: it was made in Japan so there radio frequencies run from 76 to around 90, so we can only get about 2, sometimes 3, radio stations at any given time; also, if you exceed 105 km/hr, a bell rings incessantly. PING-POONG. Over. And over.
Anyways, we're at about 120 most of the way. So we're listening to this bell most of the way, which doesn't do much to alleviate stress. (perhaps the reason it was installed... ?) To save time, I prepare numerous peanut butter sandwiches (Nicki claims the PB is the best she's ever had) for our 3-day hike on the Rakiura Trail of Stewart Island - which we also haven't registered. So, on top of this, I call the Department of Conservation on Stewart Island to make arrangements for our hut lodging for tomorrow night. The man on the phone informs us that it is not possible and spots in the hut are claimed on a first come, first serve basis. And it's Easter weekend. Dreadfully sorry, but best of luck anyway.
Back at Invercargill, same grocery store as before. Nicki? Do you have your keys? Yes? Good.
We run into the foyer and extract some bills. A man outside plays violin within listening distant - no doubt an attempt by the powers that be to calm me down.
No time for that though! Gotta catch a boat! Race back to Bluff and get there with time to spare.
The sea proves tougher on my constitution than I had anticipated. I attempt to keep an aura of strength but my stomach turns as the boat digs into a wave, smacks through to the surface, bounces back, and repeats for over an hour.
The island comes into view and in retrospect, it reminds me of LOST when they first attempt to leave the island. I digress. It's a beautiful, mountainous protrusion from the massive, stoic sea. The ferry docks and our first stop is the information center to rent a room for the night.
Stewart Island dockNaturally, it wasn't that easy. Most of the island's accommodations are booked up. The only availabilities are some doubles that are upwards of $300. The lady at the information desk suggests a friend of hers may be able to help us with a room at his apartment, but this sounded a little invasive to me. After some searching, we were able to shack up at a Backpackers Lodge in one of the staff quarters, a room designed for one, probably no more than eight feet by six feet, for $48. The manager seems annoyed by what Nicki informs me to be my brash American voice, lack of inter spacial etiquette and my neediness to be accommodated. Nevertheless, she was very helpful and spirited. After all, it was Easter weekend. Here's Nicki and me bein cheesy in the staff quarters (for reference, the camera is on the opposite side of the room):
On a brief night walk, Nicki and I explore the beach and discover the Kai Kart - a small , light-blue trailer with the the kitchen built into the center and places to eat on either side. In the mood for some local cuisine, I order fried blue cod with chips; Nicki orders potato wedges, which comes with a side of runny pepper sauce mixed with a thick sour cream. My fillet is still freshly fried, wrapped in a newspaper that is drenched with oil. As I eat, it falls apart in my hands exposing sweating white meat beneath a golden skin. It's the most satisfying eating experience I've had in some time, and certainly the best in New Zealand up to this point.
Consumption is always a release of sorts and this delicious meal stood as the antithesis to the rest of the day - a chance to finally relax and relish in such good fortune offered by such great people. All bad situations over the course of today were met by me with this terrible, fatalist perspective that I wish I did not have. Yet, while I rued the misfortune, others were more than willing to offer their assistance. Helping others is a beautiful thing, isn't it? It says, "I am going to assist you in fixing this problem. Not because I have to nor is it because you're paying me to do so. I just want to." It puts you in touch with the universality rooted harmoniously within and among humanity.
Sometimes, it's easy to feel lost and alone in the go-go-go United States.
When was the last time you locked your keys in your car and people passed by, pretending not to notice you?
Better yet, when was the last time you passed someone by?
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