May 15th, 16th, and 17th - Picton and the Marlborough Wine Region

We bid adieu to the North Island and arrived in the port town of Picton after a 3 hour ferry ride. Most North Islanders that we asked seemed to hold the South Island in high regard, and upon our very first impression we immediately concurred. The Marlborough Sounds welcome you to NZ’s larger, quieter half; abrupt, tree lined islands snake through the water like fingers and create picturesque landscapes in every direction. People have setup holiday homes (known as ‘baches’ over here) all throughout the sounds and they all have small bays which they can essentially call their own. The mail service doubles as a tour company as they bring letters and supplies to these remote establishments. We stayed at a hostel across from a cemetery known as Tombstones. It has been described as a member of the new sect of ‘flashpackers’, which combine the ideology of a backpackers (low price, communal kitchen, etc.), with rooms and amenities which mirror a proper hotel. We scored a double room for the price of a dorm and the hostel had a guitar, piano, hot tub, ocean views, internet lounge, and TV room to keep us occupied. After the frenzy of Wellington we chose to simply relax that day, cook separate meals and generally just recuperate. The following morning we went on a solid 3 hour hike to a point overlooking the Cook Strait and had a heart to heart on the first half of the trip, the good, the bad, and how we planned to tackle what was to come. We agreed to be more spontaneous and to try and make a few more contacts with other hostellers now that Simon was gone. It was great chat and I think I finally made Kelsey appreciate the appeal of the long, secluded walks and other nature activities I had planned because we both felt refreshed and vindicated having been granted an opportunity to air whatever grievances we had and discuss how to make the most of the South Island. After the walk we drove a bit inland to the Marlborough wine region, passing through the larger town of Blenheim for a small town right in the heart of wine country called Renwick. The most peculiar thing occurred just after we checked in and Kelsey went to take a nap. I was sitting alone in the common room, studying maps and guidebooks in an attempt to decided where to go next when a British chap entered, asking me if I knew the way to a particular well-reviewed pub in town. I admitted that I did not know the way but I pointed to the trusty Lonely Planet guidebook and proclaimed that it had never steered us wrong. Sure enough the pub was in there, and it did indeed have a glowing review. He was grateful for the advice and inquired if I would like to join him for a pint. How fitting, I thought, as we had just discussed that this was an aspect of our trip that had been lacking. Kelsey, having just woken up, was astounded to hear me inviting her to the pub for a pint at 5 in the afternoon, but gladly accepted. Kelsey, I, and our new friend Andy headed for the Cork and Keg, the only pub in this small town of probably 500 inhabitants. I bought us a round of the local brew, Moa, with each of us choosing a distinct variety. Within moments, one of the locals picked up our foreign accents and began introducing himself. He was the strangest looking fellow I think I’d seen since I’d arrived. He wore a long sleeved, plaid shirt, the type you would expect to see on the highlands of Scotland, as well as an old English cap and he was drinking a tall glass of red wine. He seemed more than pleased to have some new company to talk to and we soon found ourselves immersed in his story about life on a vineyard in the area. We found out that he had found himself a wife from Thailand who cooked him spicy food, which I could’ve never imagined in a thousand years given his character. He claimed he was an engineer, the kind who builds sheds for cattle and the like. He also told us of his cat who likes to sit on a chair with his paws on the dinner table, joining him and his wife for meals. He was so happy to converse with us that he eventually gave Andy and me his card. Oddly enough, it turned out he grew grapes for Oyster Bay, the one New Zealand wine I am particularly fond of back home, and the one winery I hadn’t been able to find. Along with his card he offered us a bed and some food if we were ever in the area again, and who knows, I might try to take him up on his offer, that is if he remembers me after all the wine he put back. The following morning we set off on hired bikes for a wine tour. It was sublime; the sun was shining, the colors were vibrant, and nearly all of the wine was free! One would only need to bike for a minute between vineyards before dismounting and being treated to 5 wines per establishment. We had Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Noir, Pino Grigios, Champagne, Cider, Dark Beer, Light Beer, you name it. By the days end Kelsey had 3 bottles of wine and 3 bottles of beer, while I picked up two bottles of wine which would go nicely towards easing the pain of my sunburn. It is looking as though our prayers were answered as these last couple of days have been exactly what we were both looking for. Instead of another multi-day wilderness trek we may follow Andy to the coastal town of Kaikoura where he offered to give us free surfing lessons amidst the mountain landscape. Worry not those of you waiting to hear another tale of us doing something outrageously dangerous as we are most definitely going sky diving, immediately followed by 3 bungees and 1 canyon swing in the very near future. Perhaps this wine is just the cure I’ll need to soothe my jangled nerves after tossing myself from this series of high places.