Storyline: Home to home westward
Oh, the bus drivers! They are so good and friendly. They also have a great sense of humour. They act as conductors checking you in, baggage handlers loading oversized suitcases large enough for you are 3 friends to fit into, tour guides giving you tons of information, entertainers delivering a joke, anecdote or two around every tight corner, nannies taking care of every passenger, especially the younger or sick ones and finally, drivers. And on these narrow, twisty and very steep roads you have to be a good driver. And a very good bus driver.
We took our first “official” bus from Christchurch to Dunedin. First officially booked because, due to a weather-related landslip and track closure, the train between Kaikoura and Christchurch did not run on the day we had to depart. So, they bussed us instead. This also resulted in a 50% refund of our train fare. Our initial itinerary included buses from Greymouth to Franz Joseph and onwards to Queenstown, but because of the closure of State Hwy 6 due to part of the Waipo Bridge south of FJ being washed away in a torrential downpour, we headed southeast instead. We went to Queenstown via Dunedin. Our fare for the buses via FJ was eventually refunded. Our bus driver from Christchurch to Dunedin was the only youngish one we encountered. We’ve heard there is a shortage of young bus drivers in NZ. Our drivers, all except this one, looked nearer to our age. Some were retired from other jobs and enjoying driving around South Island.
Arriving rather early for our departure (walking downhill from our B&B took ½ of the time of walking uphill) on a chilly morning, we saw two buses in front of the station. As we arrived, a driver asked us where were we going and then, pointing to the second bus said, “I will let you on if you want”. This was so nice of him to give us a break from the chilly breeze, since they usually don’t open the doors until 15 min before departure. While we were chatting, a young couple arrived. The driver hastily asked them if they were for Christchurch as that bus was pulling away from the station. “Yes” they said. He pointed to the bus that was already on the road and then pointed to the opposite direction saying, “Run fast down there and wave him down…” Then he ran with them. Mind you he was our age. He eventually outran them and stopped the Christchurch bus as it came around the block. They were lucky to be rewarded with such a great service after sauntering up so shamelessly late (one is required to be at the stop 15 min before departure).
He checked the fluids, cleaned the bus, let all passengers on and we departed on time. He gave us all the narrative about places we’d stop at or drive through, history, geography, flora and fauna, and all this while focused on driving. “You can use the free wifi” he said, “but when we enter the gorge if your head is still down on your phone you shouldn’t be on this bus.” Not quite at a comfort stop, a boy ran up to him so he found a toilet for him in the next town. Shortly after, a young woman moved up to the to the front seat behind the driver. By the time she said she was really sick she threw it all up, all over the herself, the bus and even the bus driver’s backpack.
Luckily, we were near a place he could pull over, but just barely. He got her down and out, then ran back for her purse. After about 20 min in which she recovered and he somewhat cleaned the bus, he sat her in the jump seat by the front door, gave her a paper bag (they have a stock of them) and we pulled away. Twenty something meters after, she realised she had left her phone back where she had been, so he stopped again and let her walk back to retrieve it. And then there was the comfort stop. In the meantime, a few more people grabbed paper bags…
This bus was full of commuters, so he’d stop at many little towns and villages to drop them off or pick some up. At one place in the middle of nowhere he let the young boy off. “Is anyone picking you up?” he asked and the answer was yes. But there was no one to be seen, so we waited until an older boy on a bike showed and announced himself as the one responsible for the boy. “Can’t leave them alone” the driver said and we all agreed. Don’t recall his name (they present themselves at the start of the journey), but he was a really good man. Needless to say, the views were absolutely spectacular, especially approaching Queenstown.
We departed from Queenstown for Milford Sound on an early and cold morning. We had asked the girl in the administration office of the InterCity bus at Christchurch if we could book front seats. They were not booking seats, but she left notes to the drivers (all electronic) that I have motion sickness. So, when Johnny, the driver of the Milford Sound tour bus arrived, he called my name first and let us in to the front seats (he had “reserved” notes on them). I was really glad because the road is extremely twisty, steep with tight turns one after another and I did not get sick at all.
This was the bus taking mainly tourists to Milford Sound for the 1pm, 90 min boat tour of the fiord before bussing them back to Queenstown. We did not return with him but spent the night at the Milford Sound Lodge, which was a really great place to stay and in perfect weather conditions, but for this later.
Two people did not show up on time. He called the office, then waited, then eventually we moved to the next stop in Queenstown. They were still nowhere to be seen. Then we stopped in Frankton. Nope! So, we eventually departed without them. Three hours later, just when we were departing from Te Anau, a young Asian with a toddler showed up at the door and asked if this was the bus for Milford Sound. Yes. And she was the missing passenger. Then she disappeared and we waited again. I was joking she’d miss the bus again, but it seems they select these drivers for their patience and politeness. “Must be an awfully expensive taxi ride”, Johnny mused. She eventually returned with her husband. “How did you get here”, Johnny asked. “Driving”, the husband replied. They boarded the bus and no one understood their story and why if they were driving, they needed a bus, etc…
Johnny talked all the time as he was twisting and turning on the roads. He gave us all the history and geography, spelling all the names of the places we passed by, including the Maori equivalent if there was an English name, the name of the plants, the birds living in the area, etc. I wish we had recorded him. He told us so many stories, it was just amazing how resourceful he was. We learned the has a device that gives him a warning if there is a car approaching from the opposite direction around the narrow corners, since the bus can’t quite fit in its lane around such. He pointed to the little orange triangles on the trees by the road. These were markers for the traps set for the possum, feral cats, stoats, weasels and rats they are trying to eradicate. All these mammalian predators are introduced species, and have had a devastating effect on the defenceless indigenous fauna, such as the national bird – the kiwi. It is now estimated that there are over 36 million possums. There is an ambitious plan to rid the island of these predators by 2050 by setting thousands of traps. Good luck to them! Since we learned of the eradication plan, when walking in the forest we notice the traps. A drop in a bucket, it seems, but they don’t want to use poison that may kill something else.
Johnny told us how deer were introduced to the mountains for hunting and then in the 1950s and 1960s they started to catch them in nets dropped by helicopters and bring then down for farming. Eventually they got enough males and females for breeding. Sheep were introduced by Capitan Cook on his third visit. Johnny also told as about the tracks in Fiordland, the “trampers” as they call hikers, the huts that have no showers and one does not shower for days, etc. And of course, there is a guided tramping, or glamping that costs about $600 a day (tramping is 3 to 4 days) per person, but you are taken care of, if your pockets are deep enough.
After Te Anau we had 5 stops to observe nature and take photos. And then came the Homer Tunnel: a 1.2km, hand-hewn road access to Milford Sound that was opened in 1954 after 19 years of digging. The view downhill on the other side, approaching Milford Sound was spectacular. The approach view was even better uphill the next day when we could see the soaring peaks above us through the glass roof of the bus.
We said goodbye to Johnny at Milford Sound and called for the shuttle to the Lodge. Our next day’s return was only as far as Te Anau, some 2 hours of travel. The driver found us seats somewhat near the front and we enjoyed the quiet music of the 80s, which he said showed his age.
I had booked our next bus from Te Anau to Queenstown online, departing after 5pm: rather late if one checks out at 10am. We learned that there was another company that runs local bus services and we could transfer our booking to them for an earlier departure. So, we did. This was a rather interesting small 18-seater bus towing a trailer for all the luggage. It took a bit longer than the big coach since it stops at many places the main lines don’t service, but we were early back at Queenstown. The only thing we missed was the driver’s commentary.
Tom, who drove us from Queenstown to Mt. Cook, didn’t stop talking either. He told us the names of every mountain, peak, hill and stone we drove by, the names of the towns, villages and shacks, the origin of the names, the dates they were founded, history, the names of the lakes and their depth, rivers, streams and trickles Perhaps some are retired history teachers. Tom for sure sounded like one.
“There is the first bungy jump”… and he gives us all the story, when it was built, technology at the time, people jumping into the water before that…. “It’s Good Friday. If you make it by 9am it is free…no strings attached”, he deadpans, and the passengers burst into laughter. It is a chilly morning with fog or low clouds crawling up the mountains. We walked to the bus station in the morning. Half an hour before departure the bus arrived, and the driver let us in.
A lady who was subsequently picked up from a hotel in town pretended that she had motion sickness and they seated her across from us. Shortly afterwards, she began enquiring about a helicopter ride to the glacier. Hmmm, if one has motion sickness, a helicopter ride wouldn’t be appropriate, would it…? As time went on, we figured that she had more money than brains. The honey they were selling in the farmer’s market (we did buy some fresh fruits there) was too cheap to be the good one. “How do you know?”. It was $100 in Milford Sound, she replies (that is $100 for a 100g jar of manuka honey). Aha! So, if it is cheaper in the framer’s market than in Milford Sound something must be wrong with it… There was a problem with her schedule for the helicopter, because she had also booked lunch at Mt. Cook, Tom said, but at a stop he called again after she insisted, she wants her helicopter ride. They need four people and there are only three. One more and they can organise a flight at 12:30. “If you pay, I’ll come” Alex volunteers. She didn’t seem too impressed with his offer.
At another stop we were delayed, waiting for the driver and Alex and I joked that the lady had cornered him wanting her helicopter ride. Whatever the delay was, the lady got her ride along with two others from our bus. We had quite a few photo/selfie stops. The views, as everywhere else, are stunning. The drive was pleasant and except for the few steep and sharp turns where Tom stopped talking for about 5 minutes, I enjoyed the relaxing and entertaining ride. From the body language and few quietly exchanged words and glances between Tom and Suzi (this is the first bus that we’ve taken where the driver has assistant), I gathered that a truck had recently slid into the river around one of the corners. Nobody hurt, and the truck was promptly towed out. Then we passed a smashed-up car just off the road. Tom quietly told Suzy that it had been there for a couple of weeks and that the licence plates were removed. “The owner is probably uninsured and thinks he can abandon it without consequences. But the police will eventually track him down and hold him accountable for towing it away.”
Later in Mt. Cook, Alex saw posters above the urinals with maps showing all the accidents in the area and attributing a cause to each one (drowsiness, distraction, speeding, and failing to keep left (tourists! ) were the main causes. Great place to alert male drivers!
Among many stories, he told us the story of Shrek, the sheep that got lost in the mountains near Tarras and eventually found years later with wool not being shorn all this time. They called the TV to show how an unshorn sheep looks after so many years. Some creative teachers and student later decided to write a story about it. They sold enough books to fund buying computers for its students, and have subsequently been able to donate over a quarter million dollars from book sale proceeds to a children’s cancer society.
We had our last bus ride in NZ with Tom from Mt. Cook to Christchurch, where we say goodbye to NZ and fly to Brisbane, Australia. He was as entertaining as before. All buses depart from upper platform of the Hermitage hotel, Mt. Cook village, which is 2 floors above the reception. Tom was the only one who had assistants speaking Japanese.
Apparently, they have many Japanese tourists taking this bus. His assistant checked all the names and there was a passenger missing. After some calls, Tom was told she could be at the Youth hostel. So, we drove past our lodge where a few people boarded the bus, then to the hostel, where another group boarded the bus, but the lady wasn’t there. Tom then drove by the Alpine Motel. Nope! He drove all the way back to the hotel to see if she wasn’t actually waiting at reception downstairs instead at the bus stop. Nope. Then up to the bus stop. Mind you maneuvering a bus around these narrow spaces is not an easy task, but he made it seem so. He checked with the bus concierge. No one. We repeated the route, through Mt. Cook Lodge, and the hostel. He went in the hostel to tell them he is leaving without her. So finally, 45 min late we departed without a passenger.
It was a rainy day with not much of a view. It had been raining since the previous evening. Dry two days ago, river beds were full of water. When we pulled in to drop passengers off at the first hotel at Tekapo a big Asian group boarded the bus. And there was the missing lady, too. We didn’t get the story. Did someone drive her to here to catch the missed bus, or had she misstated her pick-up point when reserving? Anyway, apparently this happens often, despite all the efforts of the bus drivers and staff to ensure you are not missed. Mind you, the regular InterCity bus won’t chase you around as you read in our story above.
Tom told us many more stories with a quiet, gentle, nonintrusive voice. He told us the story of Makenzie, a notorious Scot rogue and sheep thief (or was he?), who was deported from the country, and after whom the Makenzie Valley was named. From time to time Tom would sing a folk song. He sang a very long song about the valiant Makenzie who, together with his faithful dog, became a hero. It must have lasted 10 min. At the end the bus erupted in applause.
He told us about their political system the names of their PMs from the past to nowadays, etc. etc.
When it got dark, he urged us to recline and doze… Then passing important places he’d quietly tell a story or two. This little town Rakaia is named after river Rakaia, most famous for salmon fishing. Only 2 salmon and 2 trout a day per permit… Locals smoke it or preserve it in jars for the winter. As I used to do many years ago back in Bulgaria.
We said goodbye to Tom, who dropped us off very close to our accommodation in Christchurch and I am sure I’ll hear the voice of this quiet gentle New Zealander of Irish descent for a very long time. “And so folks, on your left you’ll see…, named after an old family who arrived on one of three ships in 1870 and went on to…”
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