This morning is Sir Edmund Hillary's funeral, way up north in Auckland. But the Sir Edmund Hillary centre at Mount Cook is a natural gathering place for people to pay their respects, and the place is getting busy. There will be a memorial service and then the funeral service in Auckland will be displayed on a large screen in the cafeteria. This is a momentous and sombre day for New Zealand.
On any other day the funeral of Hone Tuwhare, a much loved Maori poet, would have been the main news. He transcended cultural bounds and became simply a much loved New Zealander. But today, while Hone is being buried not far from Auckland in Kaikohe, most New Zealand eyes and TV cameras are pointed at Sir Ed's state funeral.
But I won't see any of it. I have, as usual, an awfully long drive ahead.
Driving along the road next to Lake Pukaki, I listen to the radio coverage. It really does seem like the nation is standing still. Except, that is, for a lone cyclist - braving the downpour and riding who knows where? He's one of many that I've seen in the last few days, with panniers on their bikes and clearly cycle-touring. It seems a popular activity in the South Island. But I don't envy this chap. I know how long this road is, and this stretch will still only get him back to the main road. As I approach him and pass, he sticks his thumb out to hitch a ride. I smile. If I had a big enough car or van, I'd stop.
As I drive the radio commentary continues, and it nags away at my conscience without me knowing why. Eventually, having driven at speed for nearly twenty minutes and still only covered half the distance back to the main road, I turn round and head back to the Sir Edmund Hillary centre. This is such an event, for a country that I'm growing fond of, and I'm so close, that it seems wrong to ignore it and drive. Twenty minutes later, I'm parking at the Sir Ed centre, running through pouring rain, and catching the second half of the local memorial service.
It's more moving than I expected. There's a lot of genuine affection for Sir Ed, and a lot of national pride wrapped up in his story. At the end of the service, the crowd sings the national anthem, and then a lone bagpiper leads them up the stairs and outside, where there is a statue of Sir Ed. I can't see what is happening up there - it's a small area and there are lots of people. So I go to a small room where they're screening a history of Sir Ed's life. There's a lot to learn about him, but I really do have to go. So it's a rain-lashed dash back to the car to get my camera, take a couple of photos and then I'm back on the road. But this time with a clear conscience.
I pass the wretched cyclist again. It must be an hour since I first passed him, and he's still nowhere near the main road. He thumbs a lift again, I beep an acknowledgement and drive on. At least the weather is clearing. The clouds are breaking up and sun is warming the air and drying the road.
When I finally reach Highway 8 and head north, I see three hitch hikers and they're young ladies. At last! Having paid my dues picking up first a possum hunter and then an aspiring possum hunter, Karma is smiling on me. They need a lift to Tekapo, which is where I need to buy petrol. Perfect all round. I have all my luggage with me, including my snowboard bag, so we spend a few minutes figuring out how to squeeze everything in. Finally, with girls and backpacks all safely crammed in, we're on our way.
My new friends are:
- Claudia - a student, studying Civil Engineering;
- Denisse - a student, studying Agronomy; and
- Camila - a qualified dentist.
I decide to make up for my shortcomings with humour. So about ten minutes into the journey, having spent five minutes building up some courage, I start talking in Spanish. I tell them that I don't mind if they want to talk in Spanish and, if they don't want me to understand, all they have to do is talk quickly. They're surprised and impressed. I end up impressing myself too, as much of the remaining 15 minutes is conducted in Spanish. I realise that I'm able to bore women in two different languages.
Arriving in Tekapo, I drop them at the hostel where they're staying, and we exchange email addresses. That's the last highlight for several hours. I fill the tank in Tekapo, and start driving again. As I reach Geraldine, the rain returns, harder than ever.
Last time I was here and heading back home, I went past Christchurch, through Kaikoura, and up to Picton. This time, I'm taking a different route, more inland and skirting some of the ski fields. I had hoped to get an idea of the mountains in the area, but the weather has made this impossible. I drive grimly through the deluge until I reach Methven. I need a break. I park, and find a supermarket where I buy some milk, some water, and a sandwich.
I also find a small shop that makes and repairs outdoor clothing. I chat for a while to the lady in there. It turns out she knows someone from the snowboarding forum that I'm on, and we chuckle about his death-defying near-misses with avalanches. I've never met the guy myself, and had thought about meeting sometime during the winter, to go boarding somewhere. Maybe I'll be safer sitting in the bar! I also remember that I need a repair on my snowboard pants, so I get them from the car. She says she can copy the whole design and make me a second pair! So I leave them with her, get a ticket, and receive instructions to return in June.
I get back on the road, and drive again. The scenery is probably great, but I can't see it for the rain and the spray and the low cloud. It only starts clearing as I approach Kaikoura, but from that point on it's a nice evening. The sky darkens from orange to deep red to purple and finally to black. About an hour south of Blenheim, I drive through a moth swarm. It last for about 15 minutes and, lit up by the main beam, they look like asteroids flying past my car. Naturally, I immediately become a space fighter pilot - a strong silent hero - a good man in a world gone bad. For 15 minutes I battle those enemy space fighters, dodge those asteroids, swoop through space, perform heroic deeds, and move on. As the asteroid cloud thins and eventually disappears, my space ship is battle-scarred and I'm battle-weary. But I've saved a planet from domination - the planet Santiago, and its three beautiful princesses: Princess Claudia, Princess Denisse, and Princess Camila.
The rest of the drive is, predictably, less eventful. Arriving in Picton, this time I manage to find somewhere to stay for the night. The Yacht Club hotel in Picton has one room spare, and it turns out to be a fantastic apartment. It's a shame it's so late and I can't enjoy it. I go straight to bed, setting my alarm so that I'll be up in five hours time, for the early ferry back to Wellington.
