Azamara Journey - Milford Sound

Today went from monochrome to Technicolor. We spent the night creeping around the south of the South Island, through Foveaux Strait, past the bright lights of Invercargill in the night, and along the Fiordland coast, around and up from the bottom left-hand corner (south-west to you compass nerds). Shortly after we woke, the ship was easing into Dusky Sound, to glide through the misty, moisty fiord where the tops of the peaks were hidden in cloud. People were impressed, and taking photos, but I held my peace about how Milford Sound would totally eclipse what they were seeing, and make all their pics redundant. I’m restrained like that.

Back out through Breaksea Sound onto the Tasman coast, we soon took another detour into bigger, greener Doubtful Sound for more of the same, luxuriating in the sunshine and the untouched, and untouchable, vertical native bush that could hide anything – takahe, moose, moa… There were certainly seals, as we turned into Thompson Sound to return to the Tasman.

We sailed up the coast a few hours, and I went to a lecture by an American professor about New Zealand’s self-image, fully prepared to bristle and argue, and found myself agreeing with everything he said. Good job, Allan Hanson. The ship then turned right into an unprepossessing-looking inlet, all grey and misty, and we found ourselves heading towards the light: the sun was shining in Milford Sound, the sky was blue, and those high, high, sheer rocky peaks were as spectacular as ever, trails of low cloud below the tops. 

We dawdled by a tall, graceful waterfall, watched kayaks and catamaran cruisers, small planes made to seem even smaller by the scale of the scenery, and were smug about how lucky we were to be there at all, especially in bright sunshine.

Tony the Invisible Cruise Director lived up to his name, and I found myself doing his job, telling people about the fiord, the rainfall, the freshwater layer, Mitre Peak, the Milford Track and so on. I might mention this to him, if I ever see him around the ship.

The Queenstown overnighters rejoined the ship, a piano played on the pool deck, the captain announced the strong possibility of “motion on the ocean” as we head across the Tasman Sea to Hobart, and we said goodbye to New Zealand. I think most people were pleased, on the whole, with what they saw here – though, naturally, the weather was often a disappointment on this particular cruise, what with that storm and all.

At dinner we chose to sit at a table for eight, and were joined by a couple from South Georgia, another from California, and a pair of ex-Kiwis from Melbourne. That’s the nice thing about the open-dining option on cruise ships: new people, new stories, new ideas. The not so nice bit is that sometimes your neighbour will turn from you as you’re mid-sentence, to join the conversation at the other end of the table, which he (did you guess it was a he?) had been listening to with one ear and had decided was more interesting. What, mate, the (lite version) history of Aboriginal oppression in Tasmania not dramatic enough for you? Better spend your time in Hobart drinking Cascade beer and keeping your blinkers on, then.

Azamara Journey - Dunedin

Good old Dunedin! Broke the pattern, gave us a warm sunny day to appease all the grumbling Brits on board (who of course are unaccustomed to inclement weather). So we glided into Port Chalmers on a glassy sea under a sky of pink wisps, and after breakfast boarded the Taieri Gorge Railway train, which was conveniently right by the ship.

Sitting in (mostly) 100-year old carriages, and welcomed by the lovely Daphne, one of a crew of enthusiastic volunteers who keep this service running, we rattled through Dunedin, past Wingatui, and away towards Middlemarch (though our trip was only to Pukerangi) through farmland and then into the gorge. It was pretty spectacular. 

People were comparing the route favourably with the Rocky Mountaineer, which was a bit of an overstatement, but the gorge is certainly high, steep and narrow, the river stained dark with tannin foaming over huge rocks that have fallen from the cliffs.

The line was built to service the gold fields, and though it was finished too late for that, was still of much use for agriculture and the Clyde Dam builders. There were tunnels, bridges and viaducts (including the Wingatui Viaduct at 47m high), sheep and wild goats, oaks, larches and native bush. At the turnaround, doughty locals had stalls selling fudge, patchwork, and merino scarves and tops that were very popular, as we’d climbed up into cloud.

Back in sunny Dunedin, after a quick scoot round the Octagon (Robbie Burns’ statue the colourful victim of guerrilla knitters) I took the shuttle to the port again, to mosey round the Maritime Museum. There’s a big Antarctica connection at Port Chalmers, many expeditions having left from here, and they had Shackleton’s typewriter (by the way, his skipper on the Endurance Expedition, Frank Worsley, was born in Akaroa and I walked past his birth place there yesterday) as well as more eclectic items such as a glass tube of cod liver oil, a bomb fragment from the Japanese raid on Darwin in 1942 and a dainty little iron for doing collars. There was also a bold statement that “There is nothing mystical or complicated about a sextant” followed by a dense and impenetrable explanation of its use.

We sailed away in bright sunshine, the royal albatrosses nesting on Taiaroa Head so big that they were easily visible. Having seen the sun rise, I also watched it set as we ate dinner outside on the Pool Deck. Final Azamara observation of the day? People will dive with great enthusiasm into criticisms of shipboard arrangements and certain staff (namely Tony the Invisible Cruise Director), until they learn I’m writing a review of the cruise, at which point they become immediately defensive and energetically praise the ship. Almost half of them are repeat cruisers, one couple on their eighteenth trip with the company. So that tells you plenty.

Azamara Journey - Akaroa

New Zealand isn’t coming out of this cruise very well, so far. The weather has been a huge disappointment to the passengers (and to most Kiwis ashore, it must be said) – some of the Australians are already looking forward to getting to Tasmania and some proper sun at last (which must also be a first, given how most mainland Aussies regard Tassie). Of course, the scenery, when visible through the mist and rain, has not been at its best.

The Captain seems a jolly sort and much more hands-on with the passengers than Tony the Hotel Director, who has been pretty much invisible – to the bitter discontent of the solo travellers, who on past experience expected much more personal attention, and are feeling neglected. Even the Captain, though, has been disgruntled by the weather information he’s been supplied by the NZ authorities. Apparently, the Tauranga storm turned out to be far worse than he was advised, and he would have taken other action had he known what it would be like – and thus, presumably, avoided the flooding of several suites up on Deck 8, which necessitated the replacement of the carpets.

Last night was bumpier than he was expecting, too, with much stronger winds. Being down on Deck 4 here, though, we got a smoother ride than those higher up; and we’re midships too, which helps. Even anchored today in the harbour, the engine was running to keep the ship steady – as a rock, actually, so well done whoever was at the wheel. The tenders gallantly made repeated 5-minute trips to the jetty, periodically disappearing in clouds of spray as they bounced over the whitecaps.

But eventually the weather improved enough to get ashore – though not enough to do the dolphin swim that was originally scheduled which, given the temperature, was a small mercy – and I strode along the waterfront and up Rue Balguérie past its pretty little wooden cottages surrounded by lavender hedges to the Giant’s House with its fabulous garden.

Josie Martin has spent 20 years playing/working hard both landscaping and planting her colourful garden, the framework for which is a huge collection of mosaic paths, walls, figures and fountains. She’s used pebbles, broken china and tile, ornaments, glass and mirror to make patterns and decorate people and animals, steps and seats, sculptures and archways. It’s fun, pretty, amazing, arty, colourful and impressive, and very well worth going to see. 

I got really bored and crabby hanging around on board after lunch, waiting for the weather to improve - but once I got ashore and had a good wander around Josie's garden, getting up close with all her amazing works, my mood improved 100-fold. So thanks for that, JM.

Azamara Journey - Picton 2

I almost got a little bored today, before our departure from Picton at 2pm. It was dull and wet again, and I’d forgotten to bring my book, and, well , Picton. But then I remembered the Edwin Fox, and counted my blessings.

The Edwin Fox is an 1853-built barque that’s the focus of a museum just a few minutes’ walk from the ship, and I spent a contented couple of hours poking around it. The museum is really well done, with a video about the ship’s history and restoration, lots of genuine artefacts, and pleasingly arcane information: I learned about scarf joints, treenails, daggerknees and teredo shipworm. Outside in dry dock was the hull of the Edwin Fox herself, authentically weather-beaten and decayed, but still big and impressive.

She was built in Calcutta from Burmese teak and traversed the Pacific, Atlantic and Indian oceans for 20 years, carrying everything from raspberry vinegar to rapists, before ending up ignominiously as first a freezer and then a coal bunker here in Picton. The vinegar was just one of many cargoes transported – the rapists were transported in the wider sense: convicts sent from England to Australia. Being anal and having plenty of time, here are some details I noted from that one voyage: the youngest was John Lowes, 18, given 6 years for stealing; the oldest William Beresford, 59, given 15 years for forgery; the crimes ranged from sheep stealing (kind of coals to Newcastle for them, ending up in Australia) through pickpocketing, sacrilege, highway robbery, habitual drunkenness (ditto) to carnal knowledge of a girl aged under 10 (11 year-olds presumably fair game). William Burston of Taunton got 14 years for a misdemeanour, which seems a bit harsh.

Their conditions on board were horrendous, crowded into a prison at one end of the main deck, with two cannons trained on it. But the settlers who were the next four cargoes fared not much better: steerage was just awful, families of 6 crammed into one double bunk space with vomit and human and animal faeces dripping into it, gruel to eat, and nothing but cold sea water to wash in – for more than 100 days. Courtesy of Shaw Saville, believe it or not.

So being at a bit of a loose end on Azamara Journey today, sprawled on a queen bed in a comfortable stateroom, with lots of lounges scattered about and more eating options on board than you could shake a stick at, including an Indian cuisine special tonight to look forward to, wasn’t, in comparison, much of a hardship…

Azamara Journey - Picton 1

The Cook Strait crossing normally takes 3½ hours on the ferry – for us last night it was more than eleven. Thankfully, not because we were fighting rough seas, but instead avoiding them, by sailing in the opposite direction almost as far as Palmerston North, to give them time to abate before we headed back south into the Marlborough Sounds. Nice to know Azamara puts passenger comfort ahead of fuel economy.

It was grey and wet this morning, so when our tour driver Don announced that this is NZ’s sunniest province, there was some disbelief – but the acres of neat vineyards backed him up. Our first call was the Omaka Aviation Heritage Centre, which ought to have been our sole destination. We only had an hour there and to study the exhibits and appreciate the artistry of the story-telling there really deserves about three times that.

It’s Peter Jackson’s private collection of WWI aircraft and related memorabilia, all displayed with Weta Workshop panache and brilliance, and it really is stunning. Genuine aircraft, rebuilds and models, many of them staged realistically, with stories and masses of rare artefacts in cases… it’s unique and we were so sorry to have to rush past most of it. “Take a photo of that storyboard to read later,” advised the guide heartlessly. And we never got near the WWII hangar. Tch.

All we were taken to do afterwards was have a tasting at the Moa Brewery, and some chocolate at the Makana factory – both pleasant enough, but if we’d been more clued-up we’d have made our own way to Omaka and spent as much time there as we needed.

Picton’s waterfront is ok but it’s a transit town really – small and touristy and not offering much to do. It’s a shame that we have more time here than originally scheduled, because Kaikoura, along the coast, is off the itinerary after November’s big earthquake raised the seabed by two metres. It’s one of an unfortunate trilogy of disappointments this trip: the big storm a few days ago meant the Tauranga (gateway to Rotorua) stop had to be skipped; then no Kaikoura tomorrow; and after that, the recent wildfires around Christchurch damaged a bridge on the TranzAlpine track so that train trip is a no-go too. It’s all just nature, but it’s hard for some of the passengers not to feel victimised. I wonder what Azamara might come up with in compensation?

Azamara Journey - Wellington 2

The rain caught up with us this morning, but fortunately not the wind, so our scuttle along the jetty to board the Azamara Journey, while damp, could have been much more unpleasant. This is Wellington, after all.

The ship is on the small side, as with Silversea, which is what I like in a cruiser. There’s room for 686 passengers aboard, and the philosophy of the company is Destination Immersion, ie “Longer stays, More Overnights, Night touring”. Unlike Silversea, though, it’s casual, there are no formal nights, and it seems bare feet are permissible everywhere except the restaurants. They still have their standards, though: the room guide’s Guest Conduct Policy warns sternly: “Crew members are prohibited from engaging in physical relationships with guests.” Oh, and “Guests must be fully toilet-trained to enter the pool.” Good to know.

So far the ship seems, though recently renovated, a bit less fancy than Silversea, and though everything you’d want is here, not all of it is included, which is disproportionately irritating.

This afternoon we were moored in port. I did yoga, we had drinks at the bar and then dinner at a shared table in the Discoveries restaurant, where the food was very good (not helped though by our being whisked away just before the main course to fill in immigration forms five decks higher at the behest of two uniformed officials - despite our departure from NZ being five days hence). The company was amusing, well-travelled and entertaining (couples from Canada and California) and I warmed to the woman who has learned as the years have passed to travel very light, declaring “Nobody notices what you’re wearing”. Sad, but true; and also convenient.

We set sail for Picton at 9pm and went to bed to be rocked to sleep – and hopefully not turfed out of it while crossing Cook Strait (Captain’s announcement during dinner: “There will be movement.”)

Azamara Journey - Wellington 1

Defying the usual norm, we escaped Auckland’s rain and impending 100+-year storm, and headed south to Wellington’s calm, sunny weather. It was a real pleasure to wander along the city’s waterfront, which is authentic and interesting and varied, unlike Ork’s boring rows of new restaurants and soulless public buildings. Wellington’s waterfront has history, art, poetry and a piano, and is peopled by strollers, runners, cyclists, stall-holders and swimmers. There were paddle-boarders and kayakers, tourists and locals, sea gulls and sparrows, and the sun shone down benevolently on us all.

At Te Papa, there’s a new exhibition, Bugs. It’s designed for kids, but the guy at the desk said that grown-ups spend more time there. With good reason: Weta Workshop has, appropriately, had a big hand in it: it’s obvious, from the exhaustingly meticulous standard of workmanship. I mean, a big bee at the entrance, maybe 40cm long, took 180 hours to make, of which 4 days were spent attaching 2500 individual hog’s hairs to its body. Inside the exhibition were a huge praying mantis, swarms of dragonflies and bees, and another sort of fly attacking a cockroach, all done with mind-blowing detail, fancy lighting and lots of accessible information – but, thankfully, not too much of it (I’ve just been writing an opinion piece about museum guilt, so it was on my mind).

We were back there again that evening, for the Az-Amazing evening that is a feature of each cruise with this company, Azamara. We’re boarding the ship, the Journey, tomorrow for an 11-day tour of the South Island and then across the Tasman (two days at sea!) to Hobart and finally Sydney. The cruise began in Auckland and called at the Bay of Islands and Napier, but my famil begins here at Wellington.

The entertainment was, naturally, Maori, introduced by “internationally-famous actor” Temuera Morrison, who gave the audience of passengers (mostly American, then Aussie, British, Canadian, German, Chilean and Belgian, with just a few Kiwis and four Japanese) a foreigner-friendly version of the language and culture. Then he let loose the concert party with their action songs and poi dances - a good half of which I remembered from my Maori Club days back in the late ‘60s - before the unimaginatively-named Modern Maori Quartet came on stage to give a friendly and professional set of more universally-recognisable songs. It was good, and the audience gave them a standing ovation at the end, which was pleasing.

And then we walked back to our hotel along the waterfront again, the lights twinkling on the glassy water, artworks spotlit, restaurants humming, doors pushed back and tables outside, people strolling, music in the air… it reminded me of Cape Town. And also, coincidentally, of Hobart. I’m looking forward to tomorrow, when I’ll start the journey that will take me there.