Akaroa

Akaroa (ah-kuh-RO-uh) is a one of the larger tiny towns along one of the many bays that ring the strange little nub that sticks out of the east coast of New Zealand below Christchurch. On the map below, you'll see it on the right side of the largest bay. (Ignore the pin. I did not create this image, but it shows the general area pretty well.)

The drive from Christchurch took about an hour and a half, but, as anyone who has driven much in New Zealand knows, it was a rigorous hour and a half. Unlike the United States, which has long stretches of straight highway that hardly require you to steer, every road we've driven on in New Zealand twists and turns on its way up and down hills. There is no downtime behind the wheel. I was a bit anxious to travel to this part of New Zealand because there have been terrible fires recently. (Investigations are ongoing, but foul play is suspected.) I wondered if parts of the road would be closed or whether the skies would be filled with smoke. We were surprised, however, to see only one burned spot, and for the most part it seemed that only the grass had burned away. The trees still seemed green and intact. 

If you look very carefully you can just see a plume of smoke in the very center of this picture. A singed hillside lies to its right. Fires were mostly contained by the time we drove by, though we did see a helicopter toting a large bucket of fire-retardant. 

We passed through several tiny towns on our winding way toward Akaroa. They often came as surprises because the road carried us up and down so steeply and suddenly that often we couldn't see what was on either side of us. There was little traffic, for which I was very glad because the road was unbelievably narrow, and every bus or truck that roared by left me gasping. Eventually, we worked our way up to Summit Road, which, as you would imagine, traces the apex of a line of hills. We pulled over, captivated by the view that dropped off on either side of us. 

Summit Road

To the right - not a lake but a bay!

To the left - the open ocean

We had a quick lunch, then headed to Le Bons Bay. Eliot recommended this spot for an open-water swim, and it was purported to be both one of the most beautiful bays in the area and to have one of the best beaches. The road, impossibly, grew even narrower as we headed down the hill toward the beach. Lush pastures beckoned on either side of the road, populated by newly shorn sheep and occasional groupings of horses. Flowers--wild roses, lupines, and lots of others I couldn't identify--were in full swing.

The beach proved to be lovely indeed, though very windy. There were hardly any people on it and the sand was soft and fine, albeit covered with piles of some of the heartiest seaweed I've ever seen. Some of it was kelp-like, and other types had tentacles that looked and felt like strips of leather. The water was that unbelievable shade of turquoise I have always associated with the tropics (though, in my opinion, it was pretty darn chilly here).

Ed tested the water. It was shallow for quite a ways out, but it appeared to calm down a bit where it finally got deeper. He donned his wetsuit and headed out but lasted only about 15 minutes. The waves, even where they weren't breaking, were too big to get much of a swim in. 

I occupied myself with beach-combing. I've never been on a beach with more shells. Mostly I found thick, ridged clamshells and mussels, though there were some more exotic snails occasionally and rare pieces of fragile sand dollars. A few days ago we saw some mussels in a grocery store that seemed unbelievably large, but the shells on this beach put them to shame. The largest one I found was about as long as my foot. One would have needed a knife and fork to eat it, and I think I'd only have been able to manage about two. 

This is NOT the largest one I found; the big daddy was about 25% larger. 

From Le Bons, we drove into Akaroa. It is simply lovely. Attractive houses dot the hills and a string of shops and restaurants hugs the waterline. There is a small beach with a sandy area that gives way to rocks on either side, and people swam to and dove from a small floating dock. It was hot. Ed hopped into the bay for a much more successful swim while I explored the town, then we shared a bottle of Sauvingnon Blanc on a pleasant patio that featured a rather grungy-looking but very talented pianist. (The wine, like all Sauvs I've sampled here, was excellent. The winery is called Babydoll because the proprietors, eager for an environmentally sensible and cheap way to control weeds, got the idea of using sheep in their vineyards. Since normal sheep are tall enough to eat the grapes, however, they've opted for a breed called babydoll sheep that grow to be no more than two feet in height.) We very much enjoyed our stopover but were ready to head out the next day. Every storefront was devoted to tourism and the place was packed with other sightseers. While the locale is lovely, I don't recommend spending more time in Akaroa than it takes to soak in the natural beauty.

With a little time to kill before going to the airport, we opted to go to Willowbank Nature Reserve, which is a mere seven minutes from the Christchurch airport. We didn't have time to tour the whole thing, but there is a wonderful section that features animals native to New Zealand that we made our way through. One of the best features of this place is a kiwi house. Kiwi are strange creatures and almost no one gets to see them in the wild because they are nocturnal, shy, and masters of disguise. But the kiwi house is lit by only a few red lights, simulating night, and during daylight hours the kiwi stalk around hunting insects. (During the night, the lights in the house are turned on so that the kiwi will think it's daytime and go to sleep.) We entered the hushed, dark enclosure to find people lining a walkway, peering into the semidarkness to either side. Every now and then, someone would hiss or gesture to a companion and point into the dark borders, and if I strained hard enough I would see the odd, bobbing gait of a kiwi as it moved through the underbrush, probing the ground delicately with its long beak. They make a very soft sound as they hunt and move surprisingly quickly, considering their ungainly style. They were much bigger than I expected them to be.

This guy has nothing to do with our visit to Willowbank, but I'm including this picture so you can see how large kiwi are.

Another exciting encounter starred a bird I'd heard about but not yet seen. Happily, we couldn't have missed this little feathered show-stopper, as he nearly ran right into us! The fantail is larger than a sparrow and smaller than a robin, and its maneuverability is astounding. Fantails eat flying insects and they use their tails, which they can fold into a tight little bundle or spread into a dramatic splay, to help it swoop in tight, vertical trajectories as well as from side to side. The one we spotted was in hot pursuit of a bug flying right in front of us, and after it gave chase for a bit, it settled onto a branch right next to us to let us admire it. Its beak was tiny, but I suppose that's just the thing for catching gnats.

Other notable sights were a baby gibbon being coddled by both parents, a regiment of marching

New Zealand possums

ducks who hoped very much that we had bought bird food for them (we had not), a crested pigeon that looked like a punk rock musician, lots of black swans, kaka and kea birds (like parrots), and the dinosaur-like tuatara lizard. To Ed's disappointment, the ring-tailed lemur didn't show itself. We did, however, meet a native pig whose snout was oriented at such an angle that it's rather amazing it doesn't drown in rainstorms. The placard suggested that it enjoyed a scratch behind the ears, so Ed obliged and was rewarded with a grunt. We had learned that "possums" here are actually cute and cuddly-looking with soft fur (that is made into scarves, hats, and slippers, or spun along with merino wool into yarn for extra-warm sweaters), and we got to see one in the reserve that wasn't smashed in the middle of the road. Don't be fooled by their pretty faces, though. Possums are an invasive species and threaten native birds and mammals.

On our way out, we encountered a rather flustered looking mother with two tiny pairs of feet just visible under her skirts. As we watched, we realized that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Eventually, no fewer than nine little ones emerged. Ed couldn't resist making friends.

As we prepared for our flight back to Queenstown, we learned that we hadn't seen anything yet in terms of lax airport security in New Zealand. When one is scheduled to fly on a turbo prop plane, there is no check at all. We simply marched onto the plane, stowed our bags above our heads, and watched a little sadly as Christchurch fell away below us.