Thursday - Nelson

Sadly, our time with DeEtte as our traveling companion has come to a close. She has been a real trooper, spending untold hours behind the wheel--and a few more at the kitchen counter—to make sure we had many memorable experiences on the North Island. We’ve enjoyed sharing stories with her along the way as much as we’ve enjoyed sightseeing.


By 11:30 am, DeEtte had deposited us at the Auckland airport for our Air New Zealand flight to Nelson. Flying domestically within New Zealand was certainly a different experience from flying into the country from overseas. The check-in kiosk not only printed our boarding passes, but also the luggage tags that we attached to our own bags, which we then deposited ourselves on a conveyer belt that went directly to the loading dock. The waiting area for the gate turned out to be the waiting area for everything else, too, and when it was time to board, we simply scanned our boarding passes and walked across the tarmac to the plane. No one checked our ID; no one weighed or scanned our luggage. 

No jet bridge, and no jet, either. Neither of us could remember the last time we flew on a prop plane.

Unike female birds, whose plumage usually is duller than their male counterparts', Air New Zealand's female employees sport uniforms that are a lot flashier than the men's drab vests.

The day was clear, so as we flew we were able to see parts of the North Island that we had not been able to visit. As we approached Nelson on the South Island, we noticed that there were no wind-driven whitecaps on Tasman Bay; it would be a fine day there as well.

Even though the Nelson airport had eleven gates posted, everyone went through the same set of doors and there was room on the tarmac for maybe three planes. It reminded Michael of the airport in Idaho Falls thirty years ago.

The baggage claim consisted of the same cart onto which the bags had been unloaded from the plane, now pulled around to the front of the terminal. The building also had an outdoor observation deck on the second floor, much like the one the Salt Lake City Airport had forty years ago.

From the air, we had seen pallets of lumber stacked along Nelson’s docks. The shuttle driver who picked us up at the airport explained that along with tourism, lumber is Nelson's biggest business. Our route into town took us mostly through the city's colorless industrial areas, so our first impression of Nelson was not very exciting, but that would change.

Water from our shower is contained only by
 a curtain and a rubber tube stuck to the floor.

Our charming hotel, Accents on the Park, is located in the center of town. It might better be described as a hostel on steroids: several bunk-style rooms cater to young backpackers, while others are more suited to families. We have the queen “ensuite” room (meaning that we have our own bathroom) upstairs at the back of the building. Our windows look down into the hotel’s yard, where several campers have pitched their tents.

Directly across the street from the hotel are the beautiful gardens that surround Christ Church Cathedral. The Anglicans who settled Nelson in the mid-1800s wanted their church to mimic the great cathedrals of Europe, but as often happens, time and money forced them to alter their plans. The basic format follows gothic outlines, but the tower (completed in the 1960s) looks much more modern. The roof is supported by gothic-style pillars, but when you go inside and look up, you realize that the pillars are supporting flat ceiling panels instead of arches, and the decorations on those panels seem Maori-inspired. 

A feature we have never seen in a European cathedral

Most of the stained-glass windows depict saints in the typical fashion, but a few more modern ones feature local scenery.

Since it was late afternoon by the time we got settled in our hotel, we didn’t have time to go across town to the World of Wearable Art and Classic Cars Museum (a true disappointment), so we opted for the nearby Suter Art Gallery (small and not very exciting, especially since the main section was closed for a new installation) and a stroll through the Queen’s Gardens. 


There we saw a number of interesting trees and shrubs that we couldn’t identify. (If you can name them, please add a comment to this post.)

While walking back through the central shopping district toward our hotel and the restaurant where we had reserved a table for dinner, we happened upon a string quartet setting up their music stands at the edge of the sidewalk. Because they were all twentysomethings, and because they played the fourth movement of Borodin’s Quartet no. 2 very well, we surmised that they were students at the Nelson School of Music.

Hopgoods is the only restaurant in New Zealand at which Michael had made dinner reservations before we left home. He told Nancy that he chose it for a nice Valentine's Day celebration, but in reality he just wanted to try this place that had received a rave review in Fodor’s. Michael had a bacon-wrapped lamb shank on a bed of mashed green peas with mint, baby carrots, turnips and colcannon croquettes. Nancy had turbot (the catch of the day) with artichoke hearts, kumara puree, and caponata with lemon and pine nuts.

Chocolate mousse with coconut sorbet and fresh cherries.

Cheesecake with poached peaches and raspberry sorbet.

Since we felt the need to burn off a few of those calories, and since there was still plenty of daylight left, we took off down a walking path along the (mostly dry) Maitai River that bisects Nelson. Off in the distance, we could hear bagpipes, so we followed the sound and found the Nelson Highland Pipes Band rehearsing outside their meeting hall. As we stood waiting for them to quit practicing marching formations and start playing again, a man came out of the building next door swinging a pair of poi. We had seen this Maori skill demonstrated at the Tamaki cultural center: the poi is a soft ball attached to the end of a cord, and it is swung around (usually in pairs) to create interesting patterns in the air. They are often used as part of traditional Maori dances. The man, who owned the nearby toys-and-games shop, explained that several other poi artists were coming within half an hour to practice as an ensemble. We had to decline his invitation to stay and watch, or even participate if we wanted, because the sun was setting and we still had a long walk back to the hotel.

We loved the dramatic light on the hills behind the Nelson Civic Center.

Michael was afraid that the noise from the campers and cafe/bar below them would keep him awake, but he needn’t have worried.