February 17
Wellington to Gisborne
Overnight I decided that I had a sore throat developing. Not good news. I might have to cough and splutter all over my friends in Auckland.
I needn't have bothered with buying a new alarm clock as I woke a few minutes before it sounded at 06.45 and managed to remove myself from the house as quietly as possible at 07.10. The taxi was waiting and I was at the airport in plenty of time to photograph the big birdie and to have sandwiches and coffee for breakfast. If only the light in the terminal building was better for photography!
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The plane was small, the smallest that Air New Zealand possesses, a 19 seat Beech 1900. With no photography allowed on the tarmac I couldn't record it. I will have to do it at the other end.
The assistant driver, who also acted as the ticket collector, Health & Safety Officer and trolley dolly (not that there was a trolley), warned that the flight might be a bit rough on the way up. We did bounce a little but not too much.My seat over the wing prevented much of a view but once we reached cruising height we were in cloud so it didn't really matter. The airport at Gisborne is famous for the railway line which bisects the runway. Unfortunately, I saw it neither during the descent nor during taxiing. |
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We landed on time, I took my bag, found a taxi and was at the Bella Vista motel within ten minutes of touchdown.
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The suburbs aren't really exciting but my walk, which started along Gladstone Road, the main street, took me through the Botanic Gardens and along the river, on the other side of which was the Museum. The weather was warm enough but humid and dull. The gardens were very green but had few flowers. They were a pleasant place through which to walk but not really a suitable place for an afternoon out. |
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The river had lots of birds but not much water. On the other side were some very smart looking houses.
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There was a Meeting House outside the Museum. Basically it was a war memorial, quite new and well maintained. I entered the Museum, paid my $5, used the facilities and wrapped myself around a much needed cold drink.
The main collection was fairly typical of a local museum. Lots of Maori and colonial artefacts and some more modern bits and pieces. Of spectacular interest, however, were photographs from William F Crawford, who arrived from Ireland in the 1870s, became a brewer, a photographer and, eventually, the Mayor. I don't know about his beer but his photos were excellent.
There was a beautiful collection of ceramics, including lots of Lalique, and one of landscapes, some of the best I have seen.
Hidden around a corner I found a photo panorama of Gladstone Road, the long road out of town where my motel was. The panorama didn't stretch quite as far as that but was an excellent record of a street, made in 1975 as part of a student's studies. Around it had been arranged other photos illustrating events in the town's history. It was good.
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Leaving the Museum, I passed the fountain, crossed the river and walked through the town. I realised that the footpath was, in fact, the old railway line, complete with tracks.
On the edge of the harbour I found the Wine Centre - closed. It only opens in mid afternoon. No use for lunch or for a tasting.
I wandered across the road, photographed the huge pile of logs, which form the main cargo both here and in much of New Zealand, and located Works, a restaurant recommended by Robert.I sat under an awning, ate a pleasant, if expensive, lunch and downed a couple of glasses of Millton Chardonnay. |
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I walked back over the railway bridge and then followed the beach to the statue of Captain Cook, who landed here, took one look and went away again.
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A short distance away is the statue of Young Nick, the cabin boy (like Roger of that ilk in Captain Pugwash). He spotted land and, given his Captain's reaction to the place, was probably soundly flogged for his indiscretion.
Waikanae Beach looked a bit scruffy but I'm sure some sun would have helped matters. With the food stalls and car parks, it did bear some resemblance to an English seaside resort.
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I turned inland towards the railway station, which looked very down at heel. The offices which were advertised as offering train rides etc looked derelict.
Drizzle was starting to fall as I returned to the town and retraced my steps to the Wine Centre. I waited under an awning, hiding from the rain and waited for it to open.
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At 3 pm, a very nice lady opened up and made me very welcome. I drank a glass of Matawhero Chenin Blanc and discussed wine and other things.
There was no chance of me having a wine tour as there was a cruise ship in town tomorrow and the only man who did tours was fully booked.
She did suggest that I come to the Wine Centre, open all day for the cruisers, and try to sneak onto the special steam train excursion that had been organised. I agreed to give it a go.
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With the drizzle still falling, I walked home, trying to locate a posh restaurant en route. The nice lady told me where it was but I couldn't cross the road in heavy traffic and finally spotted it on the other side of the river.
I collected some supplies on the way home and finally reached the motel somewhat damp after a two kilometre walk.
I accosted the manager, who had told me that it probably wouldn't rain. He was as apologetic as a Frenchman can be but left it to his wife to check me in.
I rested, dried out and rang a couple of restaurants to reserve tables for the next couple of nights.
At the appropriate time I left the motel and walked the two kilometres back into town, to the USSCo bar and bistro. It was smart, busy and professional.
I had an excellent glass of The Family Company Gewurztraminer, very powerful, one of the best that I have had recently.
A cream cheese amuse bouche appeared, followed by some prawn gyozo. I could probably have made the dumplings taste better but they wouldn't have looked as good. The pickled and shredded vegetables which accompanied them were very good.
The steak was excellent, as were the vegetables which accompanied it. The service matched the food.
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I chatted with an Australian couple who were fascinated with me photographing my food and also with the young guy who served the wine and who may or may not have been in charge.The long walk home was warm and dry and made me feel good about the amount of food that I had consumed.Right: The long walk home |
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