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A sparsely-updated blog by a crazy woman with bad taste in almost everything.


3 minute read

I’m only grumpy because I’m exhausted. Didn’t sleep well the night before last, had a LONG day yesterday and didn’t sleep well last night either! Stupid city-centre hostels opposite the busiest street and the loudest pub in the town… oh and having to ‘sleep’ with the window open due to having a full dorm. (SCOWL)

At the YHA in Invercargill, waiting around for my flight to Stewart Island. I’ve decided to go mental and spend three days over there, it will be all good, I’m hoping. Long walks on the beach (and in the bush), reading, and generally getting bitten by insects and rained on. I’m looking forward to it a lot more than my description would imply.

Yesterday was a very pleasant surprise. I got up at 7, for the first time since I can’t quite remember and hopped on the Kiwi Experience Bottom Bus to check out the arse-end of the world (thus called by Mick Jagger when the ‘Stones played a gig in Invercargill and got pelted with eggs, apparently). The Catlins coast was great. Called after some dude who attempted a dodgy land deal, it used to be covered in native bush, but all of it bar a small area has been cleared for farming… there used to be lots of small communities and businesses there but we passed derelict schools, factories and churches on a few occasions. The scenery and the wildlife was amazing, (Hector’s) dolphins, (Fur & Elephant) seals, (Hooker) sealions and the like (we got well close to the sealions, which wasn’t quite comfortable… those guys are scary). I saw a petrified forest, which was cool. Nothing like I had expected, of course (with my mines-of-moria-esque mental pictures) but definitely fascinating. Stone that looked like wood, but felt really strange. There were even some stumps that were large enough to count the rings on.

Looking down from a lighthouse at rocks surrounded with seaweed that looked like human hair, I was reminded about a rubbish poem I wrote for farawayguy years ago.

A butterfly flower opens in my heart

Touch like breath of softly waking truth

Pulsing sea-lit tresses curl, inhale

May angels cradle safely

Your silver ink on my soft skin

Except I couldn’t remember any of it. Was probably a good thing, but I found it again all the same.

Oh, and our driver/guide was a man called Bloke. What a winner!

Going to try to call for some accommodation in Stewart Island right now, hopefully I don’t end up at the sleazy man’s hostel or at the massage parlour hostel.

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