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After spending Christmas Eve in the nearly-empty Portland Hotel in Wellington, I drove around the city for a bit on Christmas morning. I didn't really miss Christmas because, with the palm trees and the balmy weather here, it didn't feel like Christmas and it was hard to imagine people in America celebrating the holiday, especially since I was wearing shorts and thongs (that's thongs as in footwear, not as in swimsuit – definitely not a pretty sight on me).
Wellington, located on the southern tip of the North Island, is the capital of New Zealand and is a vibrant city packed in close to the bay with steep hills on three sides. On Christmas morning, however, the city was virtually deserted, which made driving on its one-way streets a breeze.
Although there weren't many people around, Wellington seemed like a nice city and, with the hills and the bay, it has a dramatic setting, something like a semi-tropical version of San Francisco. And speaking of breeze, the winds blast through the nearby Cook Strait nearly every day, giving the city the nickname of Windy Wellington. Gee, no wonder driving around Wellington had been such a "breeze."
I boarded one of the Interisland ferries, called the Lynx, that afternoon and crossed the Cook Strait bound for the South Island, a two-hour trip. It was a smooth and pleasant ride on the catamaran-like Lynx, and the boat was packed with festive travelers. And I mean packed, to capacity. I had snagged one of the last spots on this crossing when I had reserved it several days earlier from Auckland.
Late in the afternoon the ferry pulled into the South Island terminal in the picturesque town of Picton, a town that I hope to spend more time visiting during my trip back up the coast. I had made a reservation for that evening in a private campground in Picton but it was very bleak and crowded, so I made a quick exit and instead found a nice room at the wonderful Broadway Motel in the middle of town, where I spent a pleasant night.
Pleasant, I should say, with one exception: the three mutton sausages I cooked for dinner. I mentioned this before briefly but I'll discuss it in more detail here. As you may know if you followed me around the U.S., my favorite dinner on the road is brats and beans. That's "brats" as in bratwurst, spicy German sausage that's a Midwestern tradition and something I got hooked on when I lived in Wisconsin many years ago. I've been disappointed here in New Zealand not to find any bratwurst, not even in the big supermarkets in Auckland. They didn't seem to have plain, ol' hot dogs either. So in desperation I bought a package of mutton sausages.
As Jerry Seinfeld once asked, "What is mutton, anyway?" Well, it's sheep, Jerry. And as you probably know, New Zealand is crammed with sheep – something like 40 million of the little buggers, which means lots and lots of mutton sausages. I guess I'll have to find a better staple for dinner because mutton sausages are really nasty. Unfortunately, the Doritos option (always a good alternative to a real dinner) is out, too, because they don't sell them in New Zealand. They do, however, sell something called "Bulk Chips" which are like a blander, thicker version of Doritos and are fairly palatable.
Other than eating mutton sausages and Bulk Chips, there are a lot of things to see and do in beautiful Picton, such as exploring the countless bays and inlets in adjacent Queen Charlotte Sound. However, the town was packed with tourists, so after spending a night there and eating those disgusting mutton things, I continued heading south the next morning.
Above left: The Lynx, one of four inter-island ferries, pulling into Wellington harbor. The only time I could get a reservation was on Christmas Day, and I was lucky to get that. It takes about two hours to cross the Cook Strait and, with a car, it costs about US$100. Above right: The Lynx pulling into its berth.
Above left: Unloading vehicles. Above right: "Windy Wellington" is a compact city with steep cliffs on three sides, and a well-protected harbor.
Above left: Finally, loading up. Above right: Saying goodbye to the North Island as we head out into the choppy Cook Strait, bound for the South Island. Captain James Cook discovered this strait during his first voyage to the Pacific in 1769.
Above left: A couple hours later, the Lynx pulled into Picton, the South Island terminus for the inter-island ferries. This is Picton at dusk. Above right: Picturesque Picton.
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