There are only 3 roads that cross the mountains to the west coast in South Island. If you happen to be cut off from one of these you're hosed for a while. We were planning to head north to Karamea beyond the northern "escape route". We were watching the news in the morning and they were issuing a "heavy rain warning" for north Westland, guessing at about 170 mm (6.65 in.) of rain. We talked to the proprietress of the lodging establishment about the situation and our plans. She shrugged and said "take your toothbrush".
The road to Karamea is narrow and winding; sometimes along the coast, sometimes through steep hilly terrain called the Karamea Bluffs. We were told to keep our eye out for "slips" (land slides). At points it was raining so hard that the wipers on full couldn't keep up so we had to slow to impulse speed and hope no one was coming from the other direction.
Now, Karamea is sometimes referred to (mostly in its own literature) as the "West Coast's best kept secret". It's no secret; there's just no reason to ever go there unless you're doing the Heaphy Track. When we got there it was rainy, gray and dismal. It reminded me of Blade Runner without the cheerful scenery.
The first thing I had to do was hit the john when we got into town. I got a quick look at what to expect while standing at the urinal:
Now just how on earth do they expect you to be able to make an informed purchasing decision when they don't tell you what flavors? One mince pie and the other Tui beer?
And since we're talking about urinals, something that was once commonplace in the US, but is now rare, is prevalent throughout NZ. The big wide stainless steel trough urinal where you can stand 6 abreast and carry on conversations about how the rains are affecting the crops, or how you did whitebaiting this season.
I try to think back and figure out just when our urinals became porcelain with the "gay barrier" partitions. I'm guessing it probably started in school. Some soccer mom (we'll call her Pamela) probably started whining to the school board about how she didn't want her little son Jimmy to find out he was inadequate until he was married and his wife had a chance to break the news.
And let's not forget proper etiquette. In accordance with the International Center for Bathroom Etiquette (http://www.icbe.org/) you always have to leave a vacant unit between you and other "participants" whenever possible; eyes forward, no talking. God forbid you get stuck with the handicap pisser. Moving on...
One of the first things we wanted to do was to settle on lodging for the night. The prospects were grim. We went to the iSite and asked around. They told us the The Last Resort (aptly named) was probably the best. We were disappointed to find out that Karamea isn't technically on the ocean, it's on an estuary (read mud flat at low tide), so there were no ocean-side accommodations. We checked things out and decided (based on limited options, and not wanting to camp in the rain) to book in for the night.
The facility is supposed to be sort of a tropical island theme. The walls were cast concrete with cute little portholes for windows:
To me, the ambiance was more like, I don't know, Havanna one year after Castro took over.
They sort of need to clean the gutters a little
"Now just step back a little bit...little more, almost got it..."
I found archeological evidence of Maori human sacrifice
It is a rain forest after all, but it reminds me of Jurassic Park
Notice the gentle babbling brook in the background? And now back to the hot showers...
Cynthia makes a friend...
What a cute little kitty. The trouble is that after having him in the room for a short visit, all through the night the little bastard yowled outside our door. I don't mean meowed. I mean YOWLED. That's not including the cat fight at 3 am.
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