When we got up the weather had gone “coastal”. Rain was falling from the sky like Wall Street bonuses. We suited up and headed north along the highway. We noticed that the flow of campervans coming from the north had slowed to a trickle. We’ve noticed that when the weather turns bad, the campervans all seem to bunch up in the nearest town like cattle in the rain.
We stopped at Franz Joseph glacier for coffee. Not really sure what the emperor of Austria has to do with this place but I’m sure someone does.
Does this mean I need a gelatinous endorsement on my license?
It's never too wet for fishin'
Further on we stopped at the Hari Hari Tea Room in, um, Hari Hari. Cynthia had really taken to the little kiwi delicacy known as the “meat pie”. I had fish and chips. It was a great place to just chill while we watched people.
We would watch people come in and make their purchases, BS with the proprietor and just generally hang around. It was pouring outside so we took our time. We got a kick out of the attire. Dad would come in, stocking feet (we’ve noticed a lot of “No gumboots, please” signs at stores in rural areas), short shorts and rugby shirt. Traipsing behind would be the boy wearing (yep) socks, shorts, rugby shirt. The girls were a bit cuter. Standard uniform that day was a little dress with knit tights under, gumboots and an umbrella. Very cute.
The Bushman’s Centre
(www.pukekura.co.nz) A little further on we came to Pukekura, population:2. This place is a scream. It’s carved out of the dense bush. It’s a café/museum/gift shop. You gotta know I’d love this place because it just might be the most politically incorrect place I’ve ever seen. They have lots of letters hanging on the walls sent in by those whose delicate sensibilities have been upset by the place. Upon entering the facility, the Bank of Pukekura posted their exchange rates:
You see, the Bushman’s Centre “has a pathological distrust of possums, animal rights activists, and Aucklanders”. In the café you can purchase (among other things) snacks like possum pie, possum jerky, and possum pate’. There was a sign there that says that the government will no longer let them sell possum that hasn’t been inspected and certified. And since the government doesn’t inspect and certify possum, then for a $4 donation to the museum fund, they will give you one for free. Sadly, they were out on that day, for I would dearly love to be able to say I had one. “We’ve got all the mash fixed up, but we don’t have any pastry right now. We got venison though”. Already had that.
In the “museum” in the back (which looks a lot like your grandfather’s garage inside) there are a few caged possums,
a fetid pool that is supposed to have giant eels in it, and a movie theatre where he shows a movie having to do with the helicopter deer culling operations that took place in New Zealand, “before the bureaucrats took over the mountains” he said. Most of the film is taken from a movie called “The Last Great Adventure”, and I gotta tell you, there are some shit hot chopper pilots in this thing. Gave me goose bumps watching. Hell, with some of the tougher kiwis the pilot would chase the deer down and the right-seater (the pilot flew from the left in these) would just leap out of the chopper onto the deer’s back and bulldog him to the ground. I went straight from the movie and said to the guy “please tell me you’ve got this on DVD!” $45 later and it’s in my suitcase.
Did I mention it was raining?
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