We were dropped back at our hotel, but not before singing our guts out in the van on the way home – everything from Billy Joel to the Australian national anthem. Luckily the British couple who were the only others on the tour were very patient and understanding.
Back at the hotel and remarkably sober we decided to play a round of golf at a crazily cheap 9-hole course just outside town. Off we went, and found ourselves in a cow paddock with flags on it. Still, for $5 incl. club hire, there’s no complaining. In style and with delicate grace we decimated the course, each of us eventually making it round, the only casualties being two of my balls (another $3), but I still managed to nab the trophy by a few shots – the first game of golf I ever remember not losing.
To the hotel again, and we snuck some kiwi television in before hitting the sacks – “Beauty and the Geek” was a favourite.

Next morn we hit the frog’n’toad on our way to Greymouth. The drive was pretty interesting save for the minor fuel scare, where we first nearly ran out and then nearly had heart attacks at having to pay over $1.50/L for it. Catastrophes averted we made it to Greymouth and checked in at the hotel. By this time we were experts at asking around for advice – this time we got the tip of taking a drive along the road North of Greymouth (towards Westport) which had recently been titled one of the Top Five Drives in the world by the Lonely Planet Guide.

That afternoon’s activities were already planned though – caving. Not exactly what I’d expected (it was like an expedition more than a ride), but quite personally challenging because I took the option to climb through a few sections of really tight areas. I’d never really had the opportunity to see if I’m claustrophobic so I was a little worried, but not for long. I think that bit of uncertain adrenaline I had made me enjoy the trek more. We did some tubing through a section deep into the cave, and then climbed out, stopping off at a couple of places on the way to drink some hot Milo, before going on to do some more really narrow sections, including one beauty of a rock called “Rebirth”.

The guy who led us was really cool, and employed one or two psychological tricks aimed at people who are either scared or unfit or just plain whingers. The ones I noticed were “on the way back we’ll take a shortcut, it won’t take as long”, and when going through Rebirth “it’s ok, I’ll get you through”. We were lucky that there were no people in our group who were really scared or whingers. What we had instead were some Taiwanese guys and girls who didn’t really understand English (or at least Kiwi) as well as they could have, and were often going on too far or turning the wrong way or something. It nearly became a issue when we were out of the caves heading back to the van and we stopped to do a mud slide ride.

Early the next morning I had the lucky privilege to drive us to Blenheim over what would be a rally-driver’s dream course if not for the regular road-works. We checked in at Blenheim with enough time for Bryce to have another nana nap before starting a wineries tour around the Marlborough area.
The first place we stopped at was the best – St Clair. To the point where we even bought a bottle of their top wine – White Label Reserve Sav Blanc. The next place whose name escapes me (it was a NZ native bird…) had a quite nice Brut, but most of the rest blended together into mediocrity. We three did take one opportunity to sing in one of the cellars (Billy Joel: River of Dreams was our song – simply cos it was on the radio), but only after we roused Bryce from yet another snooze. The tour finished at Mud House winery which was also quite good actually – the only half decent reds we had all day. The kicker though was the shop next door – Preznels – that make their own spirits and at this shop give away free samples of them. Well Steve and I went to town, free and strange shots served by a cute (if 16yrs old) girl was a top, if tartish way to finish the tour in our minds, and we made sure to try everything they recommended – within reason of course, though we did let through the Screaming Orgasm.

Air New Zealand are generous hosts, and perhaps the biggest drawback with Steve’s remarkable idea of replacing this flight path with a slingshot is that we’d miss out on the in-flight sustenance of a plastic container of mineral water. Oh well, not all plans are born perfect.
Arriving in Nelson there was, for the first time in my entire travel history, someone waiting with my name on a piece of card. The card read “Green Schier” and already I was starting to like the South Island. The girl behind the card was from the car hire company, who apparently don’t have an office at Nelson Airport. She took us outside to where the luggage truck would drive up the luggage trailers and gave us some forms to fill out. Bryce excused himself to go off and do whatever it is that Bryce does, while Steve and I, feeling heartily jovial, shared some jokes with the hire car girl, causing her to giggle, at least at us. The luggage trolleys came and went before Bryce returned, but he did make it back seemingly alright, and we were directed to our car. It was a late 90s Corolla hatch, with an auto box and no CD player, but it was our baby for the next week or so.
As we’re loading our luggage in I could have sworn I heard someone mispronounce my name over the PA system, and headed back inside to investigate, leaving the mocking of “where’s your wallet, where’s your iPod” behind momentarily, only t o find that I had in fact left this very journal {the book that I first write these entries in} on the plane. I secretly thanked Bryce for taking his time, and we promptly bailed into the car ready to rock and roll. As I started to pull away, I stopped and told Steve to ask the girl if she wanted a ride back into town. She told us No, and pointed to a lady sitting on a bench next to our car who’d taken quite an amused interest in us, saying “My mum brought me in”. Our laughter roared louder than the measly engine as we took off from the airport in an attempt to find our hotel using the barely adequate map provided for us.

We ditched the map idea and drove in what we figured was the general direction of the beach, or the town, or whatever the signs pointed us to. After a couple of bemused minutes we found “Beach St” and the place our Connections mates were staying. And just around the corner was our street, and our hotel not far down it.
The date was Jan 26th – Australia Day, and we three were keen to celebrate it in style. A few questions and an amazingly back-of-Burke search later we came to realise that there were no public BBQs to be found anywhere in Nelson, not even anywhere near the beach! Oh well, the backup plan was to use the hotel owner’s own BBQ that was set up on the front patio area of the hotel’s 1st storey. Great, a plan! Steve and I bail down to the supermarket while Bryce snoozes.
Supermarkets in NZ are strange. Canned fruit is not with the canned veges, half a dozen eggs come in boxes with a great big 7 on them, and single potatoes are stored in a completely covered box not near the bagged potatoes. These problems aside though, Australian wine is cheaper there than here, and a 6-pack of Fosters (a must surely for ex-pat Aussies on our national day) was a whole $7.50.
In no time we were laughing. We even bought beetroot and pineapple to go with the regular compliment of BBQ’d meat and veges, and we had a ripper, finishing off the night by falling asleep to Australia beating Sri Lanka in a narrow 1 day cricket match.
The bedding arrangement was interesting though. When we first saw the room for three Bryce asked “can we possibly have three beds please?” – they’d given us a single and a double only… and some mirth wa put into determining who they thought was whose bitch.