Road Map

Queenstown – Wanaka – Franz Josef – Punakaiki – Murchison
7 days – 775km

The alarm goes off early. It’s with no regrets that I leave the campsite where I spent the night. It cost me not less than $15, for no drinking water and toilets with a smell that definitely makes you not want to use them. But I had no choice: in Queenstown, it’s impossible to discreetly park overnight. The rules are strict and there checks are constant.

Today, I’m planning to do the Ben Lomond track. It’s THE most famous hike in QT, promising a breathtaking panorama on arrival. I climb under a grey sky, which spreads its cloudy patches around the surrounding peaks, and along the weaves of Lake Wakatipu, down below. I don’t see many people. Apart from the start of the trail, which twists and turns quite steeply through the forest, the rest is relatively rolling and clear. It’s only at the foot of the summit that I realize the view has to be earned. The last kilometer and a half is awfully steep.
I thought I was in good shape, despite a certain lack of training, but I quickly withdrew my self-congratulations. I stop every fifty meters to catch my breath, and silently insult the summit I see, but never reach. My only consolation is that I’m absolutely blown away by what’s in front of me. On the right, a valley of brown mountains with relief and furrows so sharp you’d think they were drawn in pencil. On the left, the blue of the lake with the last filaments of clouds dissipating under the heat of the sun. It’s unreal.

I reach the peak in a state of advanced redness, but not without a certain pride. And with the supreme satisfaction of enjoying the view and the place only disturbed by the trembling wind: there’s nobody else there but me. I start the descent as the platform begins to fill up, choosing a different route to the one I took on the outward journey. It takes me through a forest of red conifers and thick rainforest, following a path that would be invisible without the little orange markers, but oh so pleasant to decipher.

I spend the afternoon relaxing in the sun at the Arrowtown campsite, where I’ve decided to spend the night. I try to alternate nights in good-quality campsites with nights in free camps, or cheap campsites. My obsession: to not blow my budget. Arrowtown turns out to be an excellent choice. It’s a peaceful village a few kilometers from Queenstown, resting in the middle of a mountain cirque. It offers its verdant calm and fresh breath to humble visitors, and I feel just right, here.

I return to town in the evening, rolling windows open in the sublime golden light of 7pm. I’m having a beer with another Wellington friend of mine, L. The atmosphere in town is delightful: the terraces full, the lake sparkling, the pianist playing his tunes on the pier, the barbe-à-papa stand never empty. We stroll along the water’s edge in the park, chatting, just in time for the sunset.

The next morning, I awoke to the fresh smell of summer in the mountains. The one that reminds me of Chamonix. I stroll through the village of Arrowtown, a lovely vintage gem (all the signs here are old-fashioned, including Night & Day, the local 7/Eleven), also home to an excellent coffee roaster: Wolf.

I then head back towards Queenstown, all windows still open, and continue on to Glenorchy. Apart from the destination, whose main attraction is a little red fisherman’s hut and some lovely walks, it’s the road to get there that’s simply incredible. I was warned: you’ll drop swears every single bend before the splendor of the landscape. And that’s exactly what happens. The color of the water, the texture of the mountains, the play of light and shadow in the cloudy sky, the vanishing line of the road… Everything is a succession of fragments of unspeakable beauty, which I can’t even capture in a photo, because I’m driving and it all happens in a matter of seconds each time. I find it hard to believe that each new day can surpass the last in wonder, and yet. I’m dropping a what the hell every two curves.

I stay a little while in Glenorchy, where my favorite spot will be a little green and white library, sitting on the side of the road, straight out of a Wes Anderson’s movie. Then I head back down to QT, for an afternoon spent between a Nutella doughnut, a coffee, a meditation by the lake and a reading session in the park. I even find myself spontaneously drawing the tree I love so much, because I love it so much. I hang around, looking at everything, trying to soak it all in. Finally, Queenstown got me. I don’t want to leave.

But I have to hit the road for Wanaka. After a night next to the Kawarau Bridge, and a very few hours meandering through the austere gorges and sunny plains of Central Otago, known for its vineyards, I make it to the small town, home to the famous Wanaka Tree, under a furious wind. Some quick research leads me to the prettiest café in the area: Kamino. I spend my whole early afternoon there, reading and editing photos.

Despite the wind (aka the thing I hate the most in life) I decide at the end of the day to take a little walk. I want to get a closer look at this famous tree that grows in water. And as I expected, there’s nothing impressive or extraordinary about it, except that it’s in the water. All on his own. I’m far more in awe at the trees that surround the lake. They’re immense, and all bend with the same graceful movement under the onslaught of the wind. I cross their dense line to discover that they encircle a park, itself home to century-old trees. There’s not an ounce of breeze or noise here. Just the trickle of sunlight on the soft grassy plains, and cedars, redwoods… Their presence soothes me.

Without waiting for the sun to set, I head back to the campsite to cook myself something tasty. Then, I take a long shower (it’s hair-washing day), asking myself existential questions. The next day’s rainy morning consists of laundry. And the discovery of a beautiful deco shop (The Workroom) that I photograph from every angle. And long hours spent in a large, bright, cosy, modern café – Scroggin – working on articles for this blog, which at that time was still only a project in my head. I take advantage of the sun’s return in the afternoon to sit by the lake. I watch the little white sailboats cross it from side to side, and write a little. In the evening, I treat myself with a good taco and corona in a nice taqueria I spotted the day before, opposite my favorite café.
On the way back to my van (true story) I come across one of my very close friends from Wellington, E. We were supposed to meet here (he’s been living in Wanaka for a few weeks), but a little mix-up in our messages made me think we’d miss each other. What an incredible sign of destiny to have us almost bump into each other in the street, at eight o’clock in the evening! We can’t believe it. We sat down to talk for half an hour, and parted two and a half hours later, at almost 11pm. It’s said there’s no such thing as chance, only appointments. I want to believe it, and I’m really happy to have been able to say goodbye to him properly.

It’s a pale morning, swept by a pale sun. I eat breakfast in the van, the door slid open. I’m watching little hares frolicking in the vast grounds of the camp where I’ve spent the night. I’ve got a big stage ahead of me today: 280km of road, including the Haast Pass, before heading up the coast to the town of Franz Josef. Maps indicates four hours, but that can quickly rise to five or six, depending.

The start of the route is fabulous, along Lake Hawea, which reveals its deep blue between light fields and dark mountains. The same goes for Lake Wanaka a little further on. Then, little by little, the vegetation changes, thickens. I soon find myself surrounded by vertiginous hills, covered in a dense mass of deep green. The atmosphere becomes wild, mystical, and as I keep driving, the sky darkens. I finally reach the coast, and stop at the water’s edge to eat. But nothing turns out as I’d imagined.
My salad, prepared in advance at the campsite, has started to go mouldy. I’m attacked by hordes of sandflies, who take the opportunity to get into the van as I gather my things for a picnic on the beach. It starts raining when I get to the beach, and there are still just as many sandflies hovering around me. I retreat inside the van, finishing my meal behind the wheel. In the car parked next to me, I watch a couple frantically swat gnats on their windshield. I realize they’re sandflies. Ten minutes later, I do the same, before setting off again in the pouring rain.

My visit to what is commonly known here as the glacier region (the Fox and Franz Josef glaciers are said to be very beautiful and visible from the road) is a major disappointment. This is largely due to the weather, which, after the storm that spoiled my driving pleasure for almost an hour, is now clinging thick clouds to the mountainsides, obscuring my view. I can’t catch a single glimpse of ice. Yet, I take a walk around Lake Matheson, famous for its sublime reflection of Mount Cook, which on this day reflects nothing at all. I sleep in Franz Josef, in a rather nice campsite surrounded by rainforest. But I don’t like the atmosphere of the town, nor the region. I feel strangely oppressed.

I leave the area, stopping at the Okarito lagoon. Then, I follow a series of uninteresting stretches of road. My plan is to go on up to Punakaiki. I spotted a nice free camp just at the entrance to the village. As I approach my destination, the sky widens, the view opens up and the surroundings become spectacular once again. I’m driving along a road, separated from the ocean only by a meter and a half of wild green grass. On my right, a border of white cliffs. In extremis, I find a place at the free camp, from where I can hear the waves lapping. They seem dense and numerous.
I read in the van, it’s hot. My ankles and feet are like a battlefield, horribly itchy. I go to the beach to get some fresh air, put a chair on the sand to enjoy the end of the day. I keep reading. Then I eat. I read again. Then I return to the water’s edge to watch the sun disappear, and the soft colors take over the landscape. The white foam, the powder blue, the cotton clouds hemmed in pink, the half-moon suspended in the clear and greedy sky. The vastness of this place opens an abyss within me. I find in there relief – the feeling of being able to breathe again – melancholy, tiredness. The desire for everything to stop, and in the very next second, that twinge that tells me I’m going to miss it all. I’m empty of thoughts. 

Punakaiki’s main attraction is the Pancake Rocks. Understand flattened rock formations that rise out of the water and resemble piles of pancakes. This phenomenon is caused by erosion. I take the discovery walk in the morning, before breakfast. Then I set off on a walk I’d noted, winding inland along a pleasant little forest track. It follows the transparent brown, sometimes dark turquoise, path of a crystalline river below. The whole tour takes not less than two hours. I end it with my favorite ritual of all, a coffee and scone in the sunshine. Then it’s time to head on to Murchinson, which is just a convenient stopover to cut the journey in half to my next point of interest: Abel Tasman Park.

Murchinson is the archetypal remote village you’d find in the middle of the USA. Only composed of a convenience store, a gas station, two or three shops from another era and a main road. Everything there seems frozen, outdated, the front signs as well as what you notice under the dust of the shop windows. All that’s missing is the bundle of dry grass that would cross the street pushed by a small breeze. But curiously, the atmosphere is not hostile. No doubt though that the sun has a lot to do with it. I’m even surprised to find a certain charm in the whole place.
The best spot, however, is the local campsite, which stretches along a wide and fresh river. I soak my legs in it for a while, enjoying the summery air that flows across the tiny beach, swept by the laughter of children and dogs running and splashing. The water is of jade. I spend the late afternoon gazing at it from an armchair on the terrace, finishing the report of my day in my travel notebook by a simple: it’s fantastic. 

[To read the previous chapter of this NZ’s South Island road trip story, head here!]

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