I don't remember the ferry ride to Picton on the south island because I was asleep. My St Paddys Day hangover had set in nicely and the whole hour of sleep I had at the hostel proved not enough to keep me conscience throughout the crappy kids film that they put on in the cinema. As the ferry came into port we were greeted by beautiful sunshine and lush green forest. As we collected our luggage we caught our first glimpse of our new bus and chain-smoking driver called Seagull (we came to the conclusion later that he actually did look a bit like a seagull). The bus was a heap of junk that they obviously had tried to save money on. It smelt of an old, damp loft, the seats had barely enough room fort short legs, never mind anyone taller and the air con fluctuated for boiling hot to freezing cold. In any case, a hot bus was not the best environment to sit in with a stinking hangover. I was sick as a dog and it took all my effort to not throw up everywhere.we stopped a few times to pick people up from hostels and have an ice creams before eventually arriving in Abel Tasman national park at around 6pm. We stayed in a campsite-like hostel called the Barn, only 100m away from the beach and the national park entrance. It was a quaint little hostel with a resident goat and it's own herb garden for you to pick from whenever you wanted. That night we lit up the camp fire and we all huddled around it telling stories of back home. We soon got bored of this however and decided to roam the national park in the complete darkness, always fun when you don't have a torch and there are roots and rocks absolutely everywhere. Stories from back home then became horror stories as we clambered round the trek, making me a bit paranoid being the last one behind on the trail (everyone knows the ones at the back are the first to be picked off). We got to a beach and to make Keith, an English guy from Norwich, feel better after his long run of bad luck, we wrote his name across the beach in big logs making him feel manly. The beach is now obviously called Keith Beach. Original, I know. That night I was so tired I had to leave the rest to hit my pillow and sleep like a sleepy thing.
The next morning I was meant to be going on a trek then a sail back to the camp but my body wasn't letting me leaving my bed until half nine. Plus after whitsundays in Australia I thought it was a bit pointless to going sailing again, especially wen there wasn't a breath of wind. So after a spot of breakfast, Katie, Brennan, Keith and I set off into the park with the idea that we were going to walk the 3 and half hours to a beach called Anchorage and take the ferry back.
The park itself is found on the northwest point of the south island of New Zealand and is just on the coast, with stunning beaches, islands and wildlife, including seals and dolphins. The walk was generally quite an easy one but we stopped along the way to check up on Keith beach, to rock climb upstream and to teach me how to frisbee (apparently I have rubbish wrist action). We got an hour away from Anchorage beach and we decided to turn back, especially since it was 4pm and it took 2 and half hours to walk back. We had great banter all the way around amking the day a good laugh. Quote of the day by Keith - "I'm an awesome sightseer. You give me a sight, and I'll see the s*** out of it." Legend. We got back that night starving hungry so I chomped down my dinner, including a large cadburys bar, and was sneakily told that it was Brennans birthday the following day. I then snook out to the local bakery that was still open and bought a chocolate cake and a candle and presented it in the kitchen that evening, as they here staying in the park for an extra two nights and I wouldn't see him for his actual birthday. he seemed pretty chuffed but I'm just glad I made the effort. After a few hours around the campfire again I was ready for my bed, weary from the 6hour walk I had completed in flip-flops.
The next day we got on the bus and the door was broken, delaying us by an hour to fix it. Marvellous start. Door fixed we headed to Barrytown, apparently known as Barry-No-Town because the population consisted of a whole 42 people. On the way we stopped at a number of stops, some for lunch, some for grocery shopping, but something I was very chuffed about was stopping for the stunning views of Seal Cove, the Pancake rocks and Cape Foulwind Walkway. The weather was perfect, complete clear skies and blazing hot sun, something that is apparently rare on the west coast of the south island, so I was smiling from ear to ear. Seagull informed us that we were staying in a family run hotel, the only pub in Barrytown, and the slogan attached to the hotel is "what happens in Barrytown, stays in Barrytown." It's also known as Baz Vegas. O dear. This hotel just happened to have a room full of dress up clothes and free pool table. Add alcohol and that's a recipe for a party. It was a weird and wonderful night with strange costume combinations, stranger alcohol combinations and some serious dance moves. Irene and I dressed up as two old grannies that represented the smell of our bus. Everyone had a go at dressing up and we all mixed together, causing a few interesting moments. Two irish girls who were travelling together fell out over an English guy and a guy from Boston had to go bed early because he had too much too fast. Trust the American. At last I thought it was a good idea if I went to bed knowing that I was one of the four of us getting up at 6:30am for jade carving.
I woke up still drunk (sorry grandma, I'm sure you're getting sick of me writing about these moments). Always good when you're about to operate heavy machinery. We were picked up by a charming wee man called Hamish and taken to his workshop down the road, full of lumps of jade and huge drills of every shape and size. There I chose my stone and my design - a figure of eight which was a Maori symbol for everlasting peace and friendship. We sat there grinding and drilling away for 5 hours in total with only the occasional overview and adjusting from Hamish. I was fascinated by the transformation of the dirty slab of rock that was given to us from the beginning and the patience that goes into forming such pieces of art. Even with the hangover, I was in a brilliant mood when I finally hung my perfected jade carving around my neck. Screw buying it in a shop. This was my own creation. It was the best one out of everyone elses too. Obviously. Off to Frans Josef!!!