Train rides, pancake rocks and a country in mourning

I'll start with the train and the weekend away and come to the rugby in due course.

The plan for the weekend was a return train trip to the west coast, staying overnight in Greymouth. So that's just what he did. Unsurprisingly the train was full of tourists. I guess it's mainly a tourist sort of an activity, plus the cost of the tickets makes it a little prohibitive for your everyday Kiwi, I'd say. It's not cheap. It was interesting seeing different national characteristics at play in our fellow passengers, it would have been a great place for a sociology study. At a few 'major' stations along the way the train would stop to give everyone chance to get out, stretch their legs and have a quick cigarette if needed. When it was time to board the locomotive would sound it's horn/siren thing. At that time the Malaysians passengers would sprint to board the train, while the Aussies had a much more "it'll wait" attitude.

I've never been on a train journey before where the reason for the trip is the train journey itself, rather than the destination. Except maybe when I went on a steam train at Pickering on a school holiday when I was about 10 or 11. The reason for the Tranzalpine train line is definitely train line itself. The scenery was just stunning, and so varied. After leaving Christchurch the train sped across the Canterbury plains, heading towards the Southern Alps. The contrast between the plains and the mountains was remarkable. Without the mountains, the plains would just be... well... plain. As well as the plains, there was gorse-covered foothills complete with yellow flowers, alpine valleys, wide glacial river gorges, rocky wilderness, snow-capped mountains and subtropical rainforest. You couldn't take your eyes away. One blink and you'd miss the next stunning view or beautiful, craggy outcrop. It all seemed to be too much for the person sat opposite us though. He slept for at least three hours or the four and a half hour journey. He'd nod off for half an hour or so before waking for ten seconds, videoing some scenery and then nodding off again.

Some of the farms we passed were really barren and isolated. It wouldn't be an easy life living and working up there, I can tell you. I now know what is meant by "the middle of nowhere".

Halfway through the trip we reached a station called Arthur's Pass. In the commentary the train staff gave us over the PA we learned that some bloke called Arthur Dobson found the pass over the Alps in the 1860s and that it proceeded the west coast gold rush. It's New Zealand's third highest train station, supposedly, at 737m about sea-level. (I've always wondered, is sea-level measured when the tide's in or out?)

We arrived in Greymouth about 45 minutes late. It was a good job we weren't on the day-trip. In theory the day-trip ticket has a one hour turn-around, enough time for a little wander around and some lunch. Being late would have severely restricted that.

Greymouth is a town of about 9,000 people, the biggest town on the west coast of the south island. I don't know what Gabrielle was on about. It's no Darfield. It's got a Warehouse after all. And a Subway. And the sun was shining, just like it had for most of the train journey. Our first impressions were that it was more than OK for one night. We were definitely glad we didn't listen to the girls at work and decided to stay over, especially with the train being late.

A big tourist attraction not to far from Greymouth are the pancake rocks at Punakaiki (not Pukekohe or Pukeka), limestone rocks that look like stacks of pancakes and are eroded in interesting shapes including blowholes through which the sea bursts at high tide. We thought it would be a good thing to do so checked out hiring a car and getting a taxi. The hire car was definitely the best idea, so we did that. It was well worth the 45km trip north up the coast, not only to see the rocks themselves but also just for the drive and because we got to see a weka (bizarre little thing).

The coast road was just stunning. Beautiful coast line, hills and cliffs straight falling straight into the sea. Palm trees, giant ferns, creeks and streams. Strangely it reminded me of Ghana, the road from Accra to Takoradi. I'm not quite sure what it was about it that seemed reminiscent of West Africa, maybe it was the green-ness and the wild sea breaking a hundred yards or so from the road, and the limited evidence of human inhabitation. It's hard to explain.

Back at the hotel it was time for a little kip and the perfect time to watch Canterbury romp home against Otago in the Air NZ quarter-finals. Following that we headed out for dinner. There was just no-one around. The town, apart from the odd taxi, was deserted. Like really deserted. I presume it gets busier in the holiday season, but it certainly wasn't busy last night. The first place we tried for dinner closed at 8pm and the second, the one we chose, was empty. Halfway through our meal another couple came in, and at that point the customers outnumbered the staff. The food was very tasty though, and beautifully presented.

England were playing Australia at 2am NZ time in the rugby world cup quarter-final and I'd intended to get up to watch it. In our hotel room there was an advert stating that the bar downstairs would be open to show all the rugby games. At 2:10am, after wandering around a deserted hotel, I found the advert to be false. Back up to the room, TV on, trying not to wake Joanne (with no luck), I watched the game. I'm sure everyone knows the score by now. 12-10 to England. Bring on the semis.

And speaking of the semis, England will be playing France, not the All Blacks. I didn't want to support France really. I really did intend to make the ABs my second team but it was impossible. In the UK sports commentators have to be impartial. That rule doesn't apply here. The commentary was a little partisan, to say the least, and blinkered too. True, the yellow card was debatable, and the second French try was scored after a forward pass, but you can't blame that (or the English ref...oops!) for the final result. They didn't do enough, nuff said. Before the two matches I was actually thinking an England loss might be preferable. I was so sure (like the rest of the country) that NZ would win and an England v New Zealand semi would make work unbearable, this week and following weeks.

We drove down to Hokatika this morning. Leaving Greymouth, the skies reflecting the country's mood, we spotted a silver fern All Black flag at half mast. It's good to see someone with a sense of humour in defeat. At least I think it was meant to be tongue in cheek.

One of the most amusing things to come out of the weekend is how everyone thinks Joanne's an Aussie. They know her accent has some sort of Antipodean thing going on, but it's not quite Kiwi.

Oh, and on the train on the way home (delayed, again, meaning we missed church this evening) I learnt the true meaning of optimism - trying to build a house of cards on a moving train. The woman on the other side of the aisle to us had high hopes. Unfulfilled hopes too.