Road map

Christchurch – Pukaki Lake – Hooker Valley Track – Dunedin
3 days – 667km

Mount Cook faces me. At his feet, the long fluorescent blue stain of Pukaki Lake stretches between him and I. All around, meadows rise in waves of brown and gold, sometimes dark green. And that’s it. There’s nothing else. Just this iconic panorama, and I.

I parked my van on a small deserted parking lot, thinking it would soon be joined by a pack of its peers. But time passes and it’s still on its own. I start to think that maybe I wasn’t allowed to stay overnight on this carpark. And if no one comes, it means I’ll be spending my first night entirely alone. I don’t want to think about it. And when I do, I look at the mountain. It reminds me why I’ll be happy I did it. 

A little before 9pm, the sun disappears in a golden brown explosion, deep orange reflections, even my eyes can’t believe it. To the east, lenticular clouds begin to form in the sky, taking on unreal hues of purple, fuchsia, blue. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life before. Some f*cking clouds shaped as flying saucers! I smile like an idiot, almost in disbelief before this fascinating sight. I pace up and down the parking lot, taking photo after photo, doing nothing but looking, marveling, it’s only the first evening and already this is what’s on offer. How lucky am I.

Once the night has fallen – I’m indeed the only living soul around – I tackle the problem of the van’s curtains. Problem being, it doesn’t have any. It doesn’t have much already, I thought curtains were at least the minimum, but apparently not.

I must admit I chose the cheapest one, realizing afterwards that the rental agency was awfully rated on Google, and I understood why the very second I arrived to pick it up. Picture a grass field, with an old metal container as only building. I thought it was the office, it wasn’t. It was nothing but a gross and messy storeroom. I’m greeted by a girl rummaging around in an opened van, seems like this is the office I was looking for. The van is scattered with plastic basins full of keys and papers lying around.  

I’m not gonna lie, I’m on the floor. But it’s too late, I’ve paid for everything already. I leave it to my lucky star. If I survive those three weeks in a van patched up on the grass by weekend mechanics, it’s because I’m really lucky. We don’t even do a proper inventory of the vehicle, just a quick tour around. Fortunately I ask a few questions, making her realize half the equipment is missing – gas for the stove, a tube for draining the grey water. And the curtains? Ah, none. Grrreat.

It’s okay, Marie. It’s gonna be alright. 

I leave the place with a shiver down the spine, repeating to myself it’ll be fine. So when at the third red light the engine suddenly shuts down and doesn’t start up again, I clearly want to bawl. 

If I made it to Pukaki Lake, it’s because the engine eventually started up again, as you can guess. I still stopped by the « rental agency » to report the problem, the girl being of course very lovely and perfectly useless. She said that the van had all the certifications required, that everything was fine, that I shouldn’t worry, that she would have given me another one, but she didn’t have any clean and ready.

I spent the first 80 kilometers stiff as a board behind the wheel, telling myself no matter what would happen, there would be a solution anyway.

Now I’m sitting on my red skaï mattresses, looking at my surroundings and thinking about how I can block out my windows. My microfibre towels go, of course, then the folding table I wedge against a seat, a bag I hang from the ceiling handle, my shirt I hang from the sun visors. It looks like nothing, but it works. I don’t know it yet, but I’ve just invented my new evening routine.

The first night goes off without any trouble. I don’t sleep super deep – but really, what are the chances of me getting knocked off by a serial killer here on this lovely lake shore close to the road? – but I do sleep. I open an eye just in time to witness the slopes of Mount Cook pinkened by the rising sun, right in front of me through the window. This is a certain definition of luxury.

Two hours later, I discover the stove they gave me is a rusted broken piece of crap which probably hasn’t been used by anybody in the last three years. Stupidly, I didn’t open the cover to check its condition when they handed me the keys. Lucky me tea can infuse in cold water too. 

I hit the road toward Mount Cook village to get a closer look at this summit, and at the same time to drive along one of the most scenic roads of New-Zealand. I’m not disappointed. The color of Pukaki Lake is truly unreal, and the mountain range that appears from bend to bend in the background is breathtaking. I drive with my phone at hand, always thinking that this new point of view is more beautiful than the one from three minutes ago.

As I go deeper into the valley, the surroundings become more arid, rocky. Close to the village, long meadows are battered by the wind, tall grasses are flattened in the gusts. Sandy clouds swirl above the parking lot and shake the car. I had planned to go for a hike, but right now, I don’t even want to go out of the van. Reason takes over eventually, I didn’t come all this way to watch a DOC parking get abused by elements and then drive off again. 

I set off on the classic Hooker Valley Track, trying as much as I can to get past the gusts that lash my face.  At least it’s sunny. The track is nice. There are suspension bridges, lovely viewpoints over the glaciers, then after a bend, bam, Mount Cook is back. It’s beautiful, there’s no denying it. I keep it on sight until I reach the top of the trail, which ends at Hooker Lake, an opaque glacial lake with large seracs floating on it.

I had planned to spend the night in the village, but once back in the valley, I don’t feel like staying: the environment is too austere. Never mind! Let’s go somewhere else. It takes me a good ten minutes to leave the car park, the van keeps stalling, exactly like at the red light in Christchurch. I look like a damn fool, people around me think I’m just bad at maneuver my car. When the engine finally start up again for good, I sigh, but the relief won’t be long, I have to stop again two kilometers down the road to take a shower. I had read it was a hot one, and it is, if you have a two dollars coin. I don’t. Well, it’ll be a cold one. But how good it is to be clean!

I make it back down to Pukaki lake without a hitch, stop at Twizel to buy something to eat and decide to stay overnight at Pukaki again, as the spot is pretty damn cool. This time, I go to the official free campsite, way more bigger than the parking lot I was on the day before. And the vibes are nothing to compare: on this one you have vans and motorhomes everywhere, but I don’t mind, at least I feel a little encompassed. I settled myself on top of a hill, with a full view on the mountains. CLASS. 

I watch the day set in sipping a brick of iced coffee, road trippers next door chopping onions, uncapping beers. As I tour around the camp, I observe every opened trunk, duvets poking out, garlands, miniature kitchens perfectly organized. They are all so fucking well equipped. I’m jealous.

The wind is still blowing.

Day three. Sky is grey. I spend the morning in Twizel, in a nice café spotted on my way to the shops the day before. Okay I may be sleeping in the back of my car, it doesn’t mean I’m losing my little habits.

I chill for a while, as I’ve got a long stretch of road ahead of me: down to Dunedin, much further South, on the coast. And three hours on New-Zealand roads is like driving on départementales in France. It takes all day.

Shortly after Twizel, the landscapes start to delight me again. I pass by Benmore Lake, a real beauty with hills all around, prettier than anywhere else, I cannot explain why. I pull off twice. I’d like to stop everywhere, but I don’t have time. I then drive through countless godforsaken holes, each time telling myself that the van’d better not let me down there. The stupid thing started to stutter weirdly, even though I’m driving over 80km/h. I’m scared stiff. 

I arrive at Moeraki Boulders, an Otago peninsula beach famous for its huge spheric rocks set in the sand. They look like giant turtle shells licked by a placid grey sea. Sky is of lead. Seagulls complete the decor. 

I cross Dunedin in the late afternoon, under a gentle sun once again piercing through the stellar heights. I’ve spend the last hour glued to the GPS thinking « only 30km to go… only 20km to go… ». It’s gonna be a long 3000km like that.

The city looks nice, despite heavy construction work everywhere. I don’t stop there. I go straight to the free campsite I’ve found for the night in Brighton, just a little down south. It’s full when I get there, fortunately there’s a second one just a few kilometers further on. I park the van and go for a stroll along the beach. The waves’ ballet is hypnotic. The sea is immense, violent and quiet. Just to watch it, to listen to it, just this make me feel good. I need more sea in my life. 

I spend the evening snugged at the back, small lamp on, music playing, editing my pictures and writing in my travel journal. Tomorrow my alarm goes off early: sunrise on the agenda.  

[To read the next chapter of this vanlife adventure on New-Zealand’s South Island, click here !]

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To listen to accompany the reading…