Nakasendo Trail pt.2 – Walking the Way of the Water Wheels

Have you ever woken up with a layer of ice on the inside of your tent? It had been another below-freezing night on the Yabuhara river bank, deep in the Kiso Valley in the heart of Japan, and even our sleeping bags were a tad frosty. But we’d slept, and after completing the first leg of the Nakasendo Trail the day before, I don’t think anything would have prevented sleep. The ‘samui’ (cold) nights we’d experienced while camping so far weren’t letting up, but at least the day temperatures were reaching the high-teens.

Frosty Lodgings

~ Breakfast of Champions ~

After thawing out the tent in the rising heat of the morning sun, my travel companion Mic and I washed and drank from the river, packed our backpacks and set off to the nearby Yabuhara train station. Breakfast was a great and unexpected find. I’d remembered seeing a sign in a window for fresh bakes the night before, (Japan has really mastered the art of delicious pastries) and we headed back there on the off-chance it was open. It was, but when we stepped inside, it seemed to be a craft shop, selling unique, handmade trinkets, but no food. We were just about to leave, when I noticed it was connected to what looked like a community centre, where a group of ladies were sitting around a large table doing an origami workshop. They all cheerfully called, “Konnichiwa” as we edged in, spotting a stand at the side of the room, covered in fresh breads and pastries, and also coffee! We paid and took our bag of loot, and our coffee in paper cups, the origami ladies waving goodbye as we left, and ate the lot while waiting for our train.

Breakfast of Champions

~ Nagiso ~

A 50min train ride through pictoresque scenery; window seats; a kindle in Mic’s lap, a notebook in mine, we enjoyed the opportunity of soft chairs, prior to embarking on the second leg of our hike, from Nagiso to Tsumago-juku.

Nagiso was another sleepy little town, a little more equipped for passing hikers and tourists, with a handful of little shops and cafes by the station, their keepers perched outside on fold up chairs, watching the world go by. This is the base for most tourist companies running shuttles between Tsumago and Magome – the two most touristic Post Towns on the Nakasendo Trail, which book-end the last remaining original part of the ancient road. It is also a starting point to the old Nakasendo Pass, which follows closely where the original road would have led to Tsumago – this is what we were doing.

~ Nakasendo ~

We bought lunch in a local grocery store, repacked our backpacks, ensuring the weight was evenly distributed, and began the trek. The Nakasendo Pass to Tsumago begins just metres away from Nagiso station, and ascends beside the river, past a mini shrine on the left, and an old steam engine on the right. Blue skies added enhanced colour to our beautiful surroundings, with the river and gorge fading off into the distance behind us, and the temperature was rising, so we were soon changing into our shorts.

This part of the trail joins up with a country lane, passing through rural residential areas. The incline is small compared to the Torii Pass between Narai and Yabuhara, and the scenery is less dramatic, more serene, with pretty farmland and hills. We passed hillside shrines, which reminded me of the tiny worship houses built into the Catalonian mountains of Spain, and small villages with the authentic Edo era wooden houses, and wooden water wheels turning.

A Working Water Wheel

Every now and then, between the farms and old villages, we’d pass a great big modern new-build, with lots of land and fancy cars parked on the drive, in contrast to the ancient history etched into the landscape. A few cherry and plum blossoms were already in full bloom, dappling pink sunlight on the grass below, and teasing at what the following few weeks in Japan had to offer.

Early Cherry Blossoms

~ Tsumago-jo Castle ~

We reached a fork in the road; the right leading up hill to Tsumago-jo Castle remains, the left leading to Tsumago-juku. Leaving our backpacks trustingly against the sign post, we took the right-hand fork, up a steep incline, passing through dense bamboo forest, from which a wooden bridge once connected the castle grounds, and is now filled with earth. The sound of the birds twittering and echoing through the bamboo was incredible, and Mic was forced to patiently endure my excitement about being in my first bamboo forest! Not another human in sight; just endless bamboo, quietly creaking and making the light fresh and green.

Filled-in-bridge curving round the bamboo forest

We passed the place where the ‘Hori-Kiri’ (moat) once was, and up through the woodland past the ‘Obi Kuru Wa’ (defensive stone wall). The top of the mount was a large, circular plateau, with big rune stones strewn about, commemorating the wooden, Edo era castle that once stood there. It offered 360degree mountain views, leading our eyes down through the valley, with Tsumago-juku ahead. Behind us lay the Central Alps, snow peaks bright in the afternoon sun.

Kiso Valley & Central Alps, from Tsumago-jo ruins

Back down to the road, we collected our backpacks and descended to the little post town of Tsumago-juku – soon to be my favourite place on the Nakasendo Trail.

~ Tsumago-juku ~

Entering Tsumago-juku

Turning the corner leading down along the narrow road, following the stream on the left, and the classic Edo era wooden houses along the right, the view zigzags down the valley before you.

Tsumago Water Wheel

A wooden water wheel turns, splashing the stream part way down, while miniature ornamental gardens decorate the courtyards, with flora and forna filling each available space between. The green mountains surrounding the post town create a lush frame for the picture-perfect foreground.

Ornamental Courtyard

Tsumago was the 42nd of 69 post towns on the original Nakasendo between Kyoto and Tokyo, and is now one of the best preserved Edo era post towns, and a popular tourist destination. You can reach Tsumago by travelling to Nagiso on the Chuo Main Line railway, and catching one of the shuttle buses, or hiking the old Nakasendo. Ironically, it was the building of this railway line that caused Tsumago to fall into poverty, until it was revamped for tourism in the 1970s. I think the best thing about this town is that even though it thrives purely on tourism, none of it is staged. Tsumago is fully inhabited, and therefore completely authentic, as the locals you meet selling their goods actually do live there, and make their living by making and selling traditional products to travellers, just as they would have in the Edo era.

Tsumago-juku

There are lots of Ryokan guest houses in Tsumago, where you can get the full experience, with tatami mat rooms, onsens, and traditional meals. You can also get your luggage shuttled between towns, so you can enjoy a leisurely hike, but if like us, you enjoy a challenge and want to save a bit of money, I’d fully recommend going off the grid!

Tsumago-juku

A beautiful afternoon was spent wandering up and down, exploring the shops with different foods, coffee and tea houses, groceries stores, souvenirs, and of course, bottle shops filled with expensive sake. Beside the last house at the very end of the town, where the road continues onwards along the Nakasendo towards Magome, there is a life-size straw horse, apparently a symbol for good fortune, which is the first thing you’d see if you’re walking to Tsumago from Magome, as most people do.

Straw Horse for Good Fortune

Another little statue we began to notice outside a lot of buildings was the Tanuki – a sort of raccoon – wearing a straw hat and a dappy smile. They seemed to be outside all the ryokans and restaurants, so we guessed they were a symbol of hospitality, and once you notice them, you realise they’re everywhere! On some research I’ve discovered that they were originally Chinese evil spirits; shape shifters and tricksters. The Japanese, with their imaginative compassion, adapted this folklore, and the Tanuki is seen as benevolent and cheeky: a welcoming and wealth-bringing icon.

Tanuki

With the evening sun turning the wooden houses red, and the shadows growing long on the ground, our stomachs were beginning to rumble. Once again, there was no place in Tsumago to pitch a tent, and a last minute ryokan would have cost the earth, so we decided to back track a little way. We passed an old chap wearing a woven hat, and selling something from authentic bamboo steamers with delicious aromas coming out. Steamed buns! We purchased six with different fillings, which he wrapped in bamboo paper and bid us farewell with a smile, and we hiked back up towards Tsumago-jo ruins.

Traveller’s Supper

~ Camping in the Castle Ruins ~

The sun was setting, painting the valley with vivid colour, and we ate our steamed buns while they were still hot and delicious – my favourite had a walnut filling; Mic’s was eggplant. We pitched the tent on some nearby scrubland with valley views – previous campers had used this spot, and their was a ready-made fire pit. The sun set, and the flames rose, and the temperature didn’t drop! Finally, spring breathed in the night sky, and it was going to be the first comfortable night’s sleep in a long time.

Jun 13

Nakasendo Trail pt.1 – ‘Samui’ in Ancient Japan

Work had come to an end. The snow was melting, and the ski lift queues had disappeared. The season was over, and it was time to leave Jimmy’s House in Hakuba, with all its inhabitants the winter had collected. Moving out was sad, saying goodbye to the family of strangers I’d adopted over the last 4 months, all going separate ways; but it wouldn’t be bye for good.

The Nakasendo Trail is the ancient road between Tokyo and Kyoto, which was used by Samurai and merchants in the Edo era, between the 1600s and 1800s. Small parts of the old road still remain intact, and are open to tourists to hike and experience all year round. Mic (also from Jimmy’s House) and I both desired to backpack the trail, so we set off on our adventure at the end of the snow season in mid-March…

~ Camping in Matsumoto ~

Road to Matsumoto

Somewhere on a hill near Minami-Matsumoto Station, across a vast stretch of paddies and crops, we set up camp. Our view was of the Matsumoto suburbs across the valley, to the dramatic mountains on the other side. Mic and I had left Jimmy’s House, catching the 12:30pm train from Kamishiro station to Matsumoto, with fellow housemates, Gerry, Cam and Zac somewhere closely behind. (Zac had recommended the camping spot, and the three of them were to meet us there on their bicycles, commencing their own bike-packing journey.) We’d walked for around 45 minutes in the warm sunshine through a network of rice fields until we reached the foot of the mount. Passing two shrines, and some of the first cherry blossoms of the season, we climbed the steep, snowy path to the plateau, which was to be our home for the next two nights.

Room with a View

As dusk began to creep at the edges of the horizon, and our camp set up, we gave up waiting for the three boys, assuming they’d found somewhere else for the night, and we walked in twilight to the nearest 7eleven convenience store for dinner. An hour later, we traipsed back up the hill to our tent, finding ourselves following three tyre tracks in the snow! “Bikes! Three of them!” Mic exclaimed, and as we climbed, torch light beamed down the hill, and we heard Zac, Cam and Gerry cheering.

Our tents floated on the snow, lit from within like wish lanterns, with the stars strewn across the clear sky competing with the lights from the city below. Sitting around Mic’s campfire, spinning yarns and trying to keep warm, one by one we turned in, and endured our first freezing cold night, sleeping on the snow.

That was the coldest I have ever been in memory. We’d somehow convinced ourselves that snow was an insulator, but alas. It was anything but! The boys were all up at dawn, having given up on sleep; Zac, Gerry and Cam preparing for an early departure on their bikes. Meanwhile I was still huddled in a ball in my sleeping bag, with some deluded belief I’d stop shivering and fall asleep soon. Though they were the worst two nights, the mornings that followed were beautiful.

The sun rose behind the trees, slowly spreading a thawing warmth over us. I sat in the tent, packing and readying for the day ahead, while Mic did his yoga stuff outside on a patch of grass. Two birds of prey circled above us, calling to eachother, gliding and diving gracefully against a sapphire sky. The town clocks chimed from somewhere below, as the sun melted the snow, and all felt peaceful. This is a very tranquil, happy place in my memory.

First Camp

~ Matsumoto Castle ~

Standing bold between water and mountain, Matsumoto-jo is a premier historic castle, dating back to 1594, and is a Japanese national treasure. You can walk around the castle’s moat for free, passing beneath the impressive defensive gate, and through the park with a pictoresque red bridge that arches over the vibrant green moat. As with many important buidings, hundreds of Koi swim around in the waters, multi-coloured, enormous and gawping. As well as sharing their name with a Japanese synonym for ‘affection’, Koi are an important symbol of strength. In Japanese folklore, the little Koi in the Golden River wanted to swim in the Blue River, beyond the Great Waterfall. Any fish that showed the courage to swim upstream into the waterfall, grew wings and was transformed into a dragon by the gods.

Matsumoto-jō

We wandered through the sunny city and met with another Jimmy’s Housemate – Jake, who took us to an onsen before dinner.

~ Japanese Onsen ~

These luxurious public bath houses are definitely something you should try at least once! I have to admit, it took me ages to go to my first onsen, because I was nervous. After all, you have to be naked! Men and Women are separated in public onsens: women enter through the red veil, and men enter through the blue. When I finally went to my local onsen in Hakuba Goryu, I had the whole place to myself, which is great if you’re feeling uncomfortable about waltzing about in a public space with no clothes on, but it meant I had no one to follow and learn the etiquette from. So, when I strolled into the onsen in Matsumoto with my towel wrapped around my torso, with at least 20 Japanese women – who had clearly left their towels in the locker room – pretending not to look at me, I felt very Gaijin! Quickly stuffing my towel on a nearby shelf and submerging myself up to my neck in the hot water, I subtly watched the other women. They were simply relaxing, washing, quietly chatting and laughing among themselves, totally naked and totally comfortable, not judging another soul, and I quickly realised I had nothing to worry about. I thoroughly enjoyed the array of different spas, including a jet stream massage seat, and multiple outdoor spas. Relaxing in an outdoor lounger, submerged in warm water beneath a beautiful magnolia tree, I watched dusk fade the sky, breathing a cool breeze on my face.

~ Yakitori and Beer with Jake ~

I met with Jake and Mic in the lobby, and we headed across to a nearby Yakitori resaurant. Yaki means grilled, and tori means bird, but Yakitori can cover just about any meat or vegetable that can be skewered and grilled. We ordered everything on the menu and washed it down with a mug of Asahi, raising our glasses to ‘Kampai’ (cheers) to good food and good times.

~ A Train to the Middle of Nowhere ~

Our second morning in our tranquil camping spot was severely interrupted… I’m going to be totally honest here – if you’re a fellow traveller, and you’re planning on free camping, that’s great! We searched the web on free camping in Japan before embarking, and it is accepted, provided you are respectful and discreet. But, DO NOT LIGHT A FIRE, unless you are in a place with a designated fire pit, or you could be fined up to 30,000yen. We learnt this the hard way. Now we know.

Leaving Matsumoto on the sunny March morning, trudging through rapidly melting snow, we caught the train on the Chuo Mainline Railway to Kiso-Hirasawa. It felt like we were back in the Hakuba Valley, where the tracks cut round mountain bases and through evergreen trees, passing occassional communities of a few houses in the woods.

A cold wind blew, though the sky was deceivingly blue. There wasn’t a soul in sight as we got off the train, yens at the ready to pay at the ticket booth in the station, but there was no one there! The tiny village of Kiso-Hirasawa was deserted too, and we found a small park nestled between houses, to sit and enjoy our 7eleven sandwiches out of the wind. The village had a narrow street lined with old Japanese buildings – which were all closed for lunch – Mic likened it to Nizawa Onsen: another ski town, famous for its hot springs. The street eventually met with the main road, adjacent to the Kiso river.

We walked along the highway to the next town – Narai – which took around 30 minutes, and while the walk was rather dull, with trucks passing at high speed and our backpacks cutting into our shoulders, the traditional Post Town was worth it on arrival!

Evening in Narai-juku

Narai (Narai-juku) is the midpoint of the Nakasendo highway, which connected Tokyo and Kyoto in the Edo era. It is also the northern most Post Town, and still resembles it’s authentic purpose from that period.

~ An Unplanned Detour ~

I really wanted to stay and emerse myself in the ancient Japanese culture, but most places were already closed, and with no space to camp, and no available accommodation, we were forced to move on for the night. The man at the Narai tourist information centre was very helpful, firstly telling us we were crazy for wanting to camp because it was “samui” (cold), and secondly recommending a nearby Chinese restaurant where we could eat before our journey. Mic found a guesthouse two stops away on the train, and although it was a little more than our desired budget, we knew we’d thank ourselves for it later. …Or would we?

Darkness had fallen fast and heavy by the time we’d had dinner, and we caught the train to Harano. “It’s about an hour’s walk from Harano station,” Mic said, consulting Google Maps on his phone. Rubbing my sore shoulders, I smiled and nodded. “No problem!”

More than two hours later, we more or less collapsed through the lobby. The guesthouse was nestled in mountain peaks, at the top of a very long, very steep, very dark winding road. We’d hiked it in the pitch black of night, with just the aid of my head torch, passing nothing but ominous woodland, a few uninhabited houses, and what sounded like mountain rivers and rapids in the dark. Both of us ached; my shoulders and hips were bruised from my backpack, and I was very concerned about the rest of my backpacking plans. It felt like the longest two hours of my life, and there were moments when I didn’t know if I’d ever make it to the guesthouse.

The worst feeling of dread, and fear of letting us both down, was quickly turned into the best feeling of relief, and hope yet. A hot bath, and soft, white linen, fresh on an actual bed with an actual mattress, and a cosy wall lamp mounted above. My head hit the pillow and I was gone.

Morning came, bringing fresh sunshine into the room through the white curtains. We made the most of the included breakfast, realising as we stared out the dining room window, that we were quite literally somewhere in the mountains. A young shiba-inu who’d barked at us the night before, was sunbathing on the porch, and the kind hotel owner agreed to drive us back down the mountain to the train station.

Sunbathing Shiba-inu

We drove for at least 20 minutes, past peaks and ridges and enormous dams; rivers cascading down into the valley. Our host pointed out a huge, white-capped mountain peak – Mt. Ontake – the second tallest active volcano in Japan, at 3067m. He told us we were in the Central Alps, and we would have had quite a long walk ahead of us to get back on track!

Back at Harano station, we soaked in the warm, valley sun, and gazed up at the mountains we’d hiked the night before, in awe of ourselves! Had it been light when we arrived and we’d known that was where we were going, I don’t think either of us would have even attempted it! The train took us back to Narai, and we continued where we left off.

~ Narai- juku ~

Exploring Narai-juku

The little Post Town was thriving in the morning sun. All the little wooden shops were open, and tourists were bustling up and down the narrow street, checking out the authentic goods for sale. You can buy lots of traditional, hand crafted lacquerware in the Kiso valley, as that is the region’s oldest trade, and you’ll see it displayed in almost every shop you pass in Narai, as well as homemade flavoured rice crackers, perfect energy snacks for hiking.

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Narai Bridge

We checked out the arch bridge, inspired by a Japanese drum, and built out of 300yr old Cypress trees, and walked the length of the town, passing six ancient water fountains. We originally thought these fountains were linked to hidden shrines, but on further research, discovered that they are the original water fountains that supplied water to travellers and villagers in the Edo era, and are still very much used today.

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Traditional Water Fountain

Finding a tiny coffee shop along the street, with a door shorter than me, and flowers in baskets decorating the exterior, we decided to go in. We enjoyed some fresh drip coffee and marvelled at the miniature architecture inside the old building.

After purchasing some rice crackers for the road, we headed to the far end of Narai-juku, following signs for the Torii Pass.

~ Torii Pass ~

The Torii Pass crosses the mountains between Narai and Yabuhara – the next Post Town on the Nakasendo Trail – and is a steep ascent. It is most popular to do the route in the other direction, as it is slightly more downhill, but it made sense for us to do it backwards from our starting point in the Nagano Prefecture.

Leaving from Narai-juku late morning, we hiked up the stone-cobbled path, ascending into evergreen woodland, and crossing a gully with a river flowing down it. There was compacted snow on the path from the get go, so with our heavy packs on our backs, (Mic and I had swapped for the day, as his was a slightly better fit, even though they weighed the same) and careful footing, we were slow-going.

Start of the Torii Pass

Despite the snowy alpine altitude on the cusp between winter and spring, the sun beat down through the trees and we were in shorts and singlets in no time! We passed some Japanese locals who laughed at us, exclaiming that word again, “samui” (cold) while in their thermal fleeces, but in our defence, they weren’t carrying 18kilos on their backs, and they were going down hill! Another couple of hikers passed by, telling us to keep our eyes open for snow monkeys, as they’d just seen some crossing the gorge.

Old Rest House

Passing an original rest house – an old wooden structure like a bus shelter – we paused for a drink before continuing up the strenuous footpath. We turned a corner, and sure enough, there was a snow monkey, clinging to an overhanging branch right beside us, looking right at us before fleeing. Then I started noticing them everywhere, flying down the banks by the dozen, scampering over logs across the river to the other side, screaming to each other, babies in tow. Mic wasn’t as lucky – he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Climbing the Torii Pass

The path zig-zagged higher and steeper yet into the reaches of the mountain, snow and ice underfoot, up to the ridge where the road forked and began to descend to Yabuhara. From the path, we saw a big, stone torii gate, standing atop a mound covered in cedar trees. Climbing the stone steps up, we discovered an ancient, sacred Shinto shrine, overlooking Mt. Ontake volcano in the distance. There is a collection of ancient structures, surrounded by stone figures of samurai and monks, each figurine scattered with silver yen, and silhouetted against the golden mountain backdrop, in the light falling through the cedar trees.

Ancient Monk Statue

The path curved downwards, past postcard views of the Kiso Valley, along treacherous puddles of ice and frozen moss, until it flattened out into a cobbled woodland path, eventually widening into a road that meets up with the highway at Yabuhara. We’d successfully completed the first leg of our Nakasendo journey.

~ Yabuhara ~

Evening was approaching early as the sun threatened to disappear behind a peak, leaving us in the shadow of the mountains. Our backpacks were heavy, our bodies tired, and ducking down a steep, narrow residential road, Mic and I could almost taste dinner on our tongues, following the Westernized signposts for Yabuhara Post Town. Mic had already spotted a sign for a soba noodle restaurant, written in English, and was hungrily saying that he could smash a bowl of noodles!

We arrived at the top end of Yabuhara’s main street, to find it deserted, and the soba restaurant closed. “That’s alright, we’ll find something else!”

Yabuhara Post Town, like Narai, is a narrow, winding street lined with old wooden buildings. However, unlike Narai, it was more residential, with genuine houses, grocery shops, a clothes shop, a few barbers and a bottle shop. Everything was closed. We decided it was because it wasn’t 5pm yet, and usually restaurants open then for dinner, so we set off to find a camping spot.

Second Camp

We scoped out an ideal patch on the river bank, and as we pitched our tent, a local dog walker stopped to ask if we were camping there. Mic and I looked at each other nervously, “Hai,” (yes) we responded, and tried to ask if it was alright: “Kyampu OK?” The dog walker wafted the question away with his hand, “Yes, yes, OK, OK!” making an ‘OK’ symbol with his hand. Phew! But then he laughed and shook his head, “samui!” (cold). We all laughed, and he wished us good luck and continued with his walk.

He wasn’t lying. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Stomachs growling, we walked the length of Yabuhara – we hadn’t eaten since our hotel breakfast in the mountains – even the traditional guest houses were closed. Concern growing, we came across a man who’d just stumbled out of a doorway leading upstairs to the sound of people laughing and singing. “Sumimasen!” (excuse me) Mic said, grabbing his attention, and asking him where we could find dinner. The man doubled over, laughing, shaking his head. “No dinner! No shop!” he said, and then, pointing up the stairs, “Drink! Come, come!” he insisted, and with a shrug, we followed him up into a little bar.

~ Dinner with the Locals ~

Five senior men sat in a line at the bar, each with their own entire bottle of Suntory whisky. The bar lady welcomed us, introducing herself as Mayumi, and the men all budged up so we could sit down between them. Mayumi poured us a glass of whisky each, donated kindly by the man I’d sat next to, and gave us both half a banana. She asked if we liked Yakisoba, and 15 minutes later, she produced two large bowls of noodles, filled with vegetables, seafood, pork, and delicious flavours, and watched with a warm, satisfied smile as we tucked in. I felt like a lost orphan in a story who’d just been taken in by a sweet grandmother!

The evening went on in swigs of whisky, with several phonecalls to wives, telling them to set up the spare beds for a couple of Gaijins they’d just found, repeating that word “samui” over again – too cold to camp. Then the microphones came out, and suddenly it was a karaoke bar! The old chap next to me did a Frank Sinatra duet with Mic, while I clacked some castanets, stifling my histerics!

As the hour grew late, Mic and I put on our jackets and asked Mayumi-chan what we owed. She looked at the chaps, and they all agreed, nothing! A gift from them! Shaking hands and saying “Arigato Gozaimas” (thank you very much) many times, we bid farewell to our new friends, overwhelmed by their limitless kindness, and made our way back to the river for another chilly night. At least there was no snow.

Dinner with the Locals

… To Be Continued …

Dec 26

A Tent with a View – Camping New Zealand

“Most folks are tourists – they bumble around NZ hoping to ‘see the sights’ without expending much effort to find the truly unique uncommercialized spots. Travellers, on the other hand, are fewer. Travellers attempt to find good info about wonderful spots and experiences.” (Cook. S, NZ Frenzy Guidebook, p.91)

In March 2014, while I was living in Wanaka, New Zealand, I was invited on a roadie.

The trip was planned for 10 weeks, and we would mostly be camping.

Our crew was Jonny from Edinburgh, Scotland, Yogi from Bayern, Germany, Gian from Saronno, Italy, and myself, from the Isle of Wight, England.

We packed:

3 tents

4 sleeping bags

4 backpacks

2 tarps

a box of cooking equipment

a gas canister

a chair

a fishing rod

climbing gear

4 cameras of various description & a GoPro

a library of Travel Guides, leaflets and maps

and a Nissan Bluebird with a flat battery.

It was cosy to say the least.

It’s difficult to estimate how much money to take on an unplanned journey like this one, but calculating the costs of fuel, food and accommodation is the best place to start. Department of Conservation (DOC) campsites are pretty much everywhere on South Island, and are usually $6 per head, if not free; the fuel for the Nissan was about $100 between the four of us every 2-3 days; and food was mostly budget stuff we could share and cook easily on the camp-stove. All in all, Jonny recommended taking about $3000 (£1500) for a 10 week trip. I managed to save about half that, and travelled for a month, but it depends on your personal itinerary.

Although the majority of this journey was unplanned, some extent of planning is essential. Having a Plan A and Plan B and a Backup is a good way of planning without actually planning! We were always checking out alternatives in our DOC campsite guide and Lonely Planet books.

The journey began on Tuesday 18th March.

A strange mist started to engulf Wanaka’s Mt Iron, as if erasing it from the horizon of my future. But I would be back.

Milford Sound

Milford Sound is one of New Zealand’s most iconic locations. We camped in the wet and humid fiordland, where there was nothing but rain and sandflies, and a sense of uncertain magic in the air. Steamy mist engulfed the green sea mountains, and the four of us sheltered in the car beneath a tree, relying on a bag of wine to keep us warm! This place is also known as Ata Whenua, (Shadowland), where between the boggy planes are rushing rivers and twisted goblin forests.

The 120km drive from Te Anau to Milford Sound is “a visual cornucopia of delight,” (Cook, S. NZ Frenzy Guidebook, p.196). The mountains begin to approach you on the horizon through the Eglinton Valley, rising up around you, craggy and piercing and belittlingly big. Then you go through damp woodland, passing glacial rivers and pools, finally breaking out at the entrance to Homer’s Tunnel. We simply had to pull over and get out. 360degrees of rocky mountain faces, with fresh waterfalls cascading from sheer mile high drops.

Homer’s Tunnel itself was eerie and quiet. It goes right through the heart of the mountain, and you can see each chisel and pickaxe mark in the walls from when it was dug in the late 1930s; the signatures of over a decade of hard labour.

We emerged out the other side, suspended high up among mountains on a road that winds down to sea level. All around are glistening rocks and dramatic peaks and even New Zealand’s only mountain parrot – the Kea – came out to play, terrorising family picnics at the viewpoints.

On arrival at the gateway to Milford Sound, we celebrated with a compulsory cider from the pub, and then went on the foreshore walk. This is well worth it – especially if you’re on a budget and want to avoid tourists! The walk loops around the shore line, not even 20 minutes, with perfect unspoilt views. The sun hovered over Mitre Peak, casting a dense haze over the seascape with a golden tinge, and The Bowen Falls projected water off the side of the mountain as the spectacular sailing ships drifted across the foreground.

We made our way back from Milford Sound in neutral, clenching our buttocks every time we went up hill, as we’d all forgotten that Te Anau is the last place to fill up the petrol tank!

That night, we found a beautiful campground in The Hollyford Valley, with wood-burner powered shower huts and a crystal river running right through. It was here that Jonny befriended a character called Ludwig – a French fisherman with a bottle of cognac… but that story’s for another time…

The Lost Gypsy Gallery

In The Catlins Forest, New Zealand’s far south, we camped at a place called Curio Bay, where we spent the morning of a crimson sunrise surfing with Hector Dolphins. Our surf instructor, a local man called Nick, advised us to go to The Lost Gypsy Gallery, just up the road in Papatowai.

A small group of artists and inventors have put together a compilation of strange, interactive works, mainly made out of recycled junk. An old gypsy caravan, which appears to have grown into the bushland, is choc full of gadgets, experiments and puzzles, while the garden behind – “The Winding Thoughts Theatre” – which you can enter for a donation of $5, is a cornucopia of clever, tactile mechanisms that make you feel like you’re back at the water tray in kinder garten!

Dunedin

This topsy turvy old city is twinned with Edinburgh, and while Jonny ceremoniously wore his kilt the whole time we were there, the only real likeness to Scotland was the weather! It was however, a fantastic place to meet people and enjoy the Gaelic bar culture, with real pints on pump, and of course, New Zealand’s very own Speights Brewery.

Moeraki Boulders

North of Dunedin, along the East Coast highway, lie the science phenomenon, the Moeraki Boulders. Huge round dinosaur eggs of rocks, all clustered together on the beach with waves crashing against them. Maori legend has it that the ancient canoe, Arai-te-uru, sailing from Hawaiki, was wrecked, and the boulders are the fossilized eel baskets and kumara washed up from the wreck. Scientists say that they are concretion formations eroded from the cliffs.

West Coast

From the calm and quiet east coast, we cut inland across Mckenzie Country and the Lakes, sleeping mainly in fields hours from any tarmacked roads, where the stars outshone our campfire. Stopping for breaks at the spectacular Lake Tekapo, and Mt Cook – home of Sir Hilary Edmund – we made our way to the wild West Coast.

We got through the bleak village of Haast and headed south along the coast, through rainforest, windy trees, and mountain views, until we reached a little place called Jackson’s Bay. It’s a desolate place with just the ocean and a tiny cabin called The Cray Pot, where fresh fish and crayfish are caught, cooked and served with chips in baskets. Jonny and I enjoyed huge helpings of butterfish, while the boys cowered in the car from the ferocious sandflies.

Making our way north along the hair-raising cliff-edge road, we passed little bays and houses built on the edge of wild beaches. We took the scenic walks to both Fox Glacier and Franz Josef Glacier, which have decreased in size a lot since the last time I saw them in 2007. We passed through the quaint little town of Hokitika, filled with galleries and greenstone factories, and made for Arthur’s Pass.

Arthur’s Pass

Lush mountains that look like they’re wearing big woolly green fleeces line the horizon; with rivers running in between. The road criss-crosses with the Alpine Train track before winding up the steep ascent into the pass. Through the mountains, the road is a high-raised flyover, cutting right through the scenery. We stopped at the top, where a group of Kea came to investigate our car, picking and pulling at the rubber seals on the doors and tapping on the back window. They are extremely intelligent mountains parrots; curious and tactile, with a beautiful rainbow of colours on the underside of their wings.

We lost Jonny further up the Pass, at Castle Rocks, a top climbing destination. These formations loom over the dusty grasslands, framed by grey mountains that look oil painted. They are sacred and were once home to Maori tribes, serving as good shelter and protection.

Akaroa

Matt – a good friend Jonny and I know from Cardrona – offered us a place to stay at his home in the little French town of Akaroa. Akaroa is a sheltered harbour on the south of Banks Peninsula near Christchurch. Occupied by the French in 1840, this pretty town has French road names, French shops and cafes, and a generally French look about it, with window boxes and blue, white, red striped flags on the buildings.

Matt shared a quirky house with a few local lads he worked with. They had a stream filled with eels running through their garden, which they’d feed leftovers, and in the evenings they’d light the BBQ and play darts in their garage where they’d built a little bar, and get up to boyish shenanigans.

Matt took us to the Bay Heads – the southern tip of Akaroa, reached by driving off-road and through private farmland, (we had to stop and ask the farmer). With a couple of friends and a few beersies, we sat on top of the blustery cliff, watching dolphins playing in the ocean below.

Abel Tasman – Paddling Paradise
Abel Tasman was probably one of the most beautiful and worthwhile adventures. There are many 1-5 day journeys to choose from – we chose to kayak for 2 days and hike for 1. There are even water taxis, which will transport you from bay to bay.
We booked the excursion at the i-Site centre in Motueka, and met at the water taxi base the following morning for instructions. A guide provides you with your kayaks, running you through launching, berthing and safety procedures. You are also provided with a map and instructions on where to leave your kayak while camping, and then you’re off!

Beautiful blue ocean; lush green mountains; golden bays only accessible by boat; natural rockery smothered with wildlife; unexplored islands dotted along the coastline. Complete serenity, just the salty breeze on your skin, and the ripples of the sea gently lapping the side of the kayak. As you paddle up to various bays, you are overcome by the twittering in the trees; a cornucopia of different sounds, from the Fantail to the Tui to the Bellbird. Shags dive in the shallows, disappearing and then popping up somewhere else. A couple may perch on the rocks, wings outstretched to dry in the sun. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the baby seals, lolloping along the rocks, then slipping into the sea and swimming over to investigate, twisting and dancing in the water.

We camped by the beach, setting our tents in the shelter of trees, and rising with the sun and the birds to pack up and carry our kayaks down to the water’s edge. On the second night, we stayed at Awaroa Bay, where the beach is only accessible at low tide. Packing up early in the morning, we tied our boots to our backpacks, rolled up our trousers, and made the beach crossing. Even at low tide I was wading through knee deep water, with tiny seashells spiking the soles of my feet. Any later and we’d be swimming!

The hike crosses from boardwalks, to bushland paths, to soft, sandy beaches. It is challenging terrain, climbing up cliff side mountains, and then sinking in sand, but every step is more than worth it. The colours alone are breath taking, and the only people you see are there for the exact same reason as you.

Barrytown

In a house on the cliffs of Barrytown, on the West Coast near Punakaiki, live Steven and Robyn the blacksmiths. Yogi and I went to the knife making workshop the couple have been running for years, welcoming travellers into their house and teaching them how to make knives! Here we met 3 Canadians; Joe, Justin and Danielle, a Dublin guy called Adam, a Dorset girl called Lucy, and a German called Raphael. We all donned big shirts, (like the paint shirts you have to wear at primary school), heat protective gloves, and a pair of googles.

We forged the steel in the forge fire, hammering the blade into shape on huge anvils before cooling it for 10 seconds in a bucket of water and duck poo! After sawing and essential sanding, we moved onto the handle, which we cut from New Zealand Rimu wood.

Steven took an interest in each of his clients, remembering each one’s name and making jokes all the time. He remembered me as ‘The Mighty Mouse’, and had an association for everyone. Shoes and work shirts off, it was time to break for lunch. Robyn invited us all into her kitchen for a smorgasbord of toastie goodies and tea, where we nattered and played with the dog before going to see the other animals and play on the enormous 30ft swing. It was like being at Grandma’s house!

After lunch, we perfected our individual knives, giving them a mirror shine, and finally protected the handles with Kiwi polish, topping off the day with a glass of homemade “Barrypagne” champagne.

Our exploration of South Island was complete, so it was time to make the transition to the North Island. We took the Bluebridge ferry from Picton to Wellington; about a 4 hour crossing, and began a week of Autumnal weather in New Zealand’s windy capital. From there we went up the east coast, through Palmerston North, Wanganui, up the Surf Highway to Taranaki, along the Forgotten Highway inland towards Taraunui, Waitomo, and Aroha, and ended in Tauranga.

The North Island has a larger population, less open space (but still heaps), and therefore DOC campsites are hard to come by. Camping is more expensive, and the weather confined us to shelter and so we moved quickly from town to town. Eventually, in Aroha, the main tent was taken down in the night by the monsoon and the camping trip came to a harsh end.

Some of the best moments while travelling are in uninteresting places, and while they stand bold in memory, they are not captivating to an audience. Evenings in strange campgrounds, sometimes infused with wine, sometimes not; or moments of car madness from simply sitting too long. When you’re with a new group of people so diverse, you cherish those moments where you laugh and share little nuggets of togetherness that only those who were there will understand.

One of my favourite spots was Lake Ianthe on the West Coast. It took us a while just to find the D.O.C campground, which was hidden down a track to the water’s edge. There’s only room for about 8 tents there, but the location suggests not many people go there.

The evening was so serene. Yogi tried his luck fishing, while the sun lowered in the sky, casting some gorgeous colours across the water. Another group of campers built a big fire and cooked their fish and potatoes on it, and I sat on the edge of the little pontoon taking it all in.

Another of my favourite spots was Kakanui on the East Coast, right on the edge of the Pacific ocean. We camped on the cliff just above the beach, which had drift logs strewn across it. The waves were beautifully ferocious, and we watched as people surfed and kayaked them.

There was a little tree in the corner of this camp area, with branches all low and twisted. For some reason I was drawn it, and kept finding myself perched on the overhanging branch, legs swinging, watching the other campers. We sat for ages here, picnic blanket out, music playing, sunshine blazing, Jonny carving driftwood with his penknife. I put my tent up early, so the sun would warm it up. The boys, however, waited until the sun was faded and the wind picked up. It was amusing watching them try and pitch their tent when the canopy kept flying away! After all that, the evening drew in cold, and I ended up sleeping in their tent anyway to keep warm.

That was the night Yogi sat in his fold-up chair with his pipe, and said; “In years to come, we’ll all meet up again, and we’ll bring our kids and they’ll play together, while we try to remember everything about this trip!” We laughed a lot, and Gian made flatbreads on the campstove, and we sang and joked.

The next morning we unzipped the tent onto a glorious scene of crashing blue waves under a yellow sky, and we drove away from the campsite with a light and airy feel of content.

Yet another of my favourite places was Orepuki, down on the south coast between Invercargill and the Catlins. It reminded me of a little village back home on the Isle of Wight called Brooke. The characters we met in the local pub, mixed with the sunset on the beach, and the stargazing, and the French cyclist who let me play his tiny guitar around the campstove, made this tiny place very significant.