Bad Case of Wanderlust (My Trip Around the World): Nelson and Abel Tasman (Feb 16-18th)

We rode off the ferry at 5am. After much argument, I finally convinced Franca to get some more sleep while I drove. My first view of the South Island were every bit as dramatic as I had been told.

I opted for the scenic route along Queen Charlotte Drive and reveled in my choice as one stunning vista after another opened up before me, from mountain peaks to lakes to rolling pastures and farms, all in under two hours and all brilliantly illuminated by the morning sun.

As we came within an hour of our destination, the need for sleep overtook me, so we pulled over onto a lookout over a verdant valley and slept for nearly two hours, awoken only by the sound of a semi rattling past.

Our hostel had no problem admitting us early, and by noon, we had settled into our charmingly rustic digs with two other travelers and seated ourselves poolside.

We walked to pick up some groceries and wandered around Nelson a bit, taking in the bohemian vibe of the place.

Then, armed with a map and a rabid thirst for our favorite libation, we set off for Nelson wine country.

We stopped at three different vineyards, my favorite of which was a small family-run operation called Brightwater. I relished every one of the vintages we tasted there, and my particular enjoyment of their sauvignon blanc, despite my usual preference for reds, motivated me to buy a bottle for my birthday dinner the following month.

Franca and I had a grand time, swishing our glasses and listening to the tales of the vintners at each stop, but after three stops, we had had our fill. I had committed to spitting out at least half of what we sampled, so as to keep my wits about me while driving, but even so, I felt the need for some sustenance. We stopped off at a local farm, picked up a bushel of fresh veggies, and indulged in some delicious homemade ice cream mixed with fresh fruit.

That night, we tucked in early. But not until we had run into my friend Peter, whom I had met in Sucre, Bolivia and again in Buenos Aires. Even halfway around the world, I still saw old friends from the travel trail!

The next day we set off for Abel Tasman, on of NZ's renowned national parks. We had made a reservation to kayak along the park's shore but decided we preferred to hike so we headed north to the most remote and least trafficked section, not realizing it would take us all morning to get there. After several stops to confirm that we STILL hadn't passed our destination, it came into view.

As usual, the trip had consisted mostly of hairpin turns on steep inclines with the road falling away perilously to the sides, but the last leg took us along the most wickedly windy roads with whole lanes cordoned off where the pavement had buckled and tumbled downy the mountainside. By the time we finally found the parking lot and got on the trail, 1pm had come and gone.

I had thought the trail consisted mostly of beachside paths and had dressed and packed accordingly, but we were in for a serious hike. My hiking sandals didn't exactly measure up to their name, and I found myself often slipping on the dry dirt and sand. We were discussing my two-day old bike wounds and how if I fell again I'd better fall on my ass and not on my face, when... I fell. I fell two more times over the course of the day, making the wound on the heel of my hand worse each time. Franca's said that Italian superstitions held that everything happens three times, so I blamed that.

Fortunately, the hike proved well worth the struggle, providing a fantastic workout and breathtaking vistas on and over multiple beaches.

The day passed quickly, despite our exertion. We chased crazy kiwi birds with our cameras, fought off giant dragon flies and thorny grasses along the overgrown trail, and almost flashed fellow hikers on half a dozen occasions while heeding nature's call. We never seemed to see anyone else except at these times! Except for one remarkably slow guy we kept overtaking after each of our swimming or sight-seeing stops, despite the fact that he never seemed to stop.

Toward the end of the day, we watched the seals play at Seal Point. The walk felt punishing from this point on, and we spent most of the last hour saying to one another, "The parking lot's gotta be just around this next bend, right?" At last, we saw familiar territory, transformed magnificently by the setting sun.

I tore my shoes off as soon as the car came into sight, popped open the trunk, and hadn't even shut it before I started devouring my half of the pasta we had prepared that morning. Lukewarm spaghetti never tasted so good.

In order to avoid driving across such treacherous terrain in near pitch darkness, we set out after only a few bites and a short conversation with two Basque guys who couldn't believe that an American even knew what Basque country was. We found a gas station just in time before running out, and made our way back toward the bottom of Abel Tasman. Having miscommunicated with our intended CouchSurfing host, we were far too tired to hunt out accommodation after a 2-hour drive, an 8-hour hike and another 2-hour drive. So we drove into the lowest part of Abel Tasman, down the seemingly longest 10k road ever, parked in the lot outside of the kayaking center, huddled under Franca's sleeping bag, admired the dazzling celestial display through the windshield, and fell asleep.

The next morning, we awoke at 7am, drove to a nearby campsite, where I used the pay-with-coins shower, and drove back to the kayaking center. After a brief demonstration, the staff drove us to the beach, helped us into our vessel, and off we went.

We took a little while to find our rhythm together, but once we had, we decided to break off from the crowd and head first to the island across the water, where we could enjoy our lunch free from the crowds. But as we detached our rubber skirts and attempted to climb out, Franca misheard me saying I was getting out as SHE should get out, we tipped the kayak, and into the water I went, stupidly having just taken my Iphone out of the dry bag. Whatever. It was old and almost dead anyway.

Afterward a tasty lunch and a nap on the beach, we climbed back in and headed out. I seriously enjoyed kayaking, particularly because Franca had wanted me to drive, so I got to control the rudder with pedals.

We went to the opposite side of the island to watch the seals sunbathe.

One dove into the water and swam right under our kayak.

Afterward we headed back across to one of the beaches on the mainland, where I found a whole colony of mussels growing on the rocks.

We took another nap, realized we only had an hour to make it back to the embarkation point, got back in, and hightailed it back. Our return proved comical, as the shore looked entirely different with the turn of the tides, and we confused two of the beaches, almost running aground. Much to the amusement of the other kayakers passing by, we had to get ourselves out by using our oars as poles along the bottom.