The magic kingdom Penny Smith
Falls under the spell of New Zealand’s majestic South Island
MAORIS might call it the Land of the Long White Cloud, but these days New Zealand is better known as Middle Earth. The country has become the home of Hobbits, Orcs and Ents, but I am going to attempt to write about South Island, where The Lord Of The Rings was filmed, without a mention of those little blighters.
There are few countries as stunning as New Zealand. One day my companion and I drove for two solid hours past golden tussocked hills and limpid lakes with not a moving thing in sight and no phone signal.
‘It’d be a nightmare if we broke down here,’ I said in the middle of the longest game of I-Spy this side of the MI5 building.
In a little over a week, I managed to suck on a medieval piece of ice from an iceberg, walk up a mountain to a glacier, speed along a braided river so shallow and cold that no fish live in it, watch whales, and sleep in a wondrous treehouse more well appointed than Prince Charming’s castle. And the food... well, the fish is so fresh it slaps you. But let’s begin at the beginning. From Wellington on the North Island we flew over the Cook Strait, one of the most dangerous and unpredictable stretches of water in the world, to Queenstown, described as the adventure capital of the world. In other words, it’s a haven for bungee-jumpers and paragliders. But for those of us who like to breathe our air, rather than feel it whooshing past our ears, there are many other things to see and do.
Our first hotel was the stunning Azur Lodge, with its staggering views across the deep, dark Lake Wakatipu. A 100-year-old steam boat, TSS Earnslaw, chugged along, belching out black smoke – a taste of Edwardian life in this farthest outpost of the British Empire.
‘Not a bad view,’ I said, admiring one of the world’s most serene landscapes from a huge bed with sheets that had a higher thread count than a spider colony.
The next day, a bus picked us up to take us to the small settlement of Glenorchy, a paradise for walkers, or trampers, as they call them here. Stewart, our bus driver and guide, gave us the lowdown. In short, life is s good and possums are bad.
‘They may look sweet and furry, but they’ve decimated the wildlife on the North Island,’ he said. ‘Every possum squashed on the road is s one less that’s eating the indigenous s birds and vegetation.’
The national bird, the kiwi, is most t at risk, since it’s a daft sort of animal with enormous nostrils, no sensible flight options and a penchant for building nests on the ground.
Later, we zipped up the ice-blue braided river in Mount Aspiring National Park in a jetboat. ‘This is where the famous greenstone comes from,’ shouted our host Bill, from Dart River Safaris, as we passed a shale slip. Greenstone was used by the Maoris for axe heads because it was sharper and stronger than iron ones used by Europeans.
After our exhilarating ride, we were handed over to Rod, who took us on a guided walk through an ancient beech wood. ‘Taste these,’ he said, handing out pieces of leaf from a nearby plant. ‘They taste of caramel milkshake.’ Oh, those naughty Kiwis and their sense of humour. When our mouths stopped burning, Rod explained that Maoris use the fiery leaves in cooking and also as a laxative. ‘It works well. I should know – I used to be 200lb heavier.’
Our next adventure was in Milford Sound, which Rudyard Kipling called the eighth wonder of the world. It is surrounded by sheer rock faces that rise almost 4,000ft, and is home to some of the highest waterfalls you’ll ever see. A boat took us out to the open sea, where our captain told us: ‘This is pretty much what the dinosaurs would have seen.’
And at that point, a pod of dolphins suddenly popped up, leaping and frolicking around the ship, as though to say that they knew that too.
The next day we took an hour-long drive to Wanaka, a small town on the edge of a pristine lake, surrounded by the spectacular scenery of Mount Aspiring National Park. Riverrun is a delicious luxury lodge, with the sort of wide view immortalised by painters of big canvases. Owned by a wonderful, warm woman called Meg, the lodge is like the Little House on the Prairie, only with bigger bathrooms. There’s even a hot tub tucked away in the garden,
which you can sit in at night to gaze at the stars.
We walked to the Clutha river and a little fantail bird almost landed on me. It was like that scene in Snow White, when birds are charmed by her singing – only this time it was me and I was humming out of tune.
The next day we joined our ‘tramping’ guide Chris Riley. As we stomped to get up close and personal with the Rob Roy Glacier, we learned about the best leaves to use after being caught short in the bush (they’re nice and soft), the cabbage tree (the tallest lily in the world), and the kiwi (the female leaves the male to sort out the eggs).
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the glacier was right in front of us. High. Vast. With pink algae and turquoise-blue hollows. We traipsed about the icy river rushing beneath its towering drifts, and watched pipits, bellbirds, grey warblers and riflemen dart and whistle.
And so to Mount Cook. We drove through an extraordinary landscape – snowy peaks, mirror lakes, tussocked hills with velvety, sandcoloured grass, and weird clouds like hollowed-out mushrooms.
We were taken to a lake which formed a few decades ago from the 17-mile-long Tasman Glacier, and our boat manoeuvred between recently calved icebergs.
‘Welcome to my office,’ said captain Stu, who proved that ten per cent of an iceberg is above the water by turning a tiny one upside down.
He let us knock off a little piece, and I let it melt in my mouth. ‘That piece of ice was actually formed in medieval times,’ he said. ‘Wow!’ I replied. ‘A 700-year-old piece of ice. Cool. Literally and metaphorically.’
From there we drove on to Lake Tekapo and the Peppers Bluewater Resort, where we had an excellent meal washed down with some delicious Beetle Juice pinot noir.
The view, yet again, was magnificent. Actually, can you assume that all the scenery in New Zealand’s South Island is staggeringly beautiful at all times? Thanks.
We took a six-hour drive the next day, descending from the mountains to Kaikora on the rugged east coast. There we checked into what has to be one of the most knockout hotels in the world – the Hapuku Lodge has five exquisitely appointed treehouses with views across its olive grove to the sea.
KAIKORA is a great place for whale-watching, and it was awfully exciting when we finally spotted a male surfacing and then slapping its massive tail on to the water.
Our final destination was Blenheim, the centre of New Zealand’s largest grape-growing region. A man called Aussie picked us up in the morning to go sampling. At St Clair, we fell in love with some wine. At Cloudy Bay, we fell in love with shome more wine, and at Wairau River, we fell in love with shome brilliant bottlesh of the shtuff.
‘How do you know you’ve been burgled by an Aussie?’ asked Aussie out of the blue. ‘Dunno,’ I said.
‘The beer’s gone, the TV’s showing rugby, and your roast lamb’s got love bites.’
Later he drove us to a boat on the Kaituna River, from where we chuntered out to Marlborough Sound. And there, surrounded by jewel-like scenery and sky so clear you could clip a crystal on it, we feasted on green lipped mussels, which thrive in the emerald-green water. Our holiday was a whirlwind of fantastic food, scenery beyond compare and water teeming with life. Despite the fact that all of The Lord Of The Rings was filmed in New Zealand, to me it seems to be only one kingdom – a magical kingdom. It’s a long way to fly, but it’s so precious.