As we stood ordering bagels, we suddenly remembered we had eaten lunch at the same Noah’s on the day before we flew to Buenos Aires in early October. “I feels like we were just here,” Colly said, and I agreed while my chest hiccuped with anxiety.

It felt as though all those months abroad — which had stretched so elastically and netted so much in a single week, so that on the first of every month I’d express disbelief at how much we had experienced — had snapped back and condensed into a blip to make mental space for the task of reorganizing our lives and getting ready to move back into the house.

Checking out of a hotel in Marlow, England, on our last morning before flying back to California.

I’m feeling profoundly mixed emotions upon our return and need to think more about the transition before trying to write much about it. I got weepy on our last night in Marlow, a lovely town outside of London, as we checked out of a hotel a final time and toasted our trip; then, I got teary with joy as we approached my hometown of Ojai last weekend for a reunion. I also am in the process of thinking through the next phase of this blog, so stay tuned and thanks to all of you who’ve read it regularly!

In the meantime, I’m publishing the following list as proof and as a reminder to myself that we really went to all of these places. We called this our “sleepover list” and had fun updating it as we traveled. Most are linked to previous blog posts if we wrote about that destination. Three places are listed twice since we visited there twice, so the number of places totals 83, but the bottom line is that we moved and unpacked 86 times!

The Sleepover List: August 15, 2009 – June 15, 2010:

1. Claremont hotel, Oakland (slept there the night before we left since our house was all packed up)
2. Holiday Inn Express, Fallon, Nevada
3. Days Inn, Delta, Utah
4. My brother and sister-in-law’s cabin on Last Dollar Road in Telluride, Colorado
5. Colorado River campsite during rafting trip
6. Holiday Inn Express, Moab
7. Mountain Village condo near Telluride
8. Mesa Verde National Park motel, Colorado
9. Double Tree Hotel, Durango, Colorado
10. Pearl Street rental home in Boulder, Colorado
11. Quality Inn near Black Canyon National Park, Gunnison, Colorado
12. Telluride family cabin again
13. Red Feather Inn near the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Arizona (what a dump!)
14. El Portal Hotel, Sedona, Arizona
15. Holiday Inn Express on Route 66, Barstow, California
16. Morgan’s parents’ house in Pacific Palisades, California
17. Casa Ojai Best Western, Ojai, California
18. Embassy Suites near LAX
19. Recoleta apartment, Buenos Aires, Argentina
20. Llao Llao hotel, near Bariloche, Argentina
21. Cabaña at Villa Huinid, Bariloche, Argentina
22. Guardianes del Bayo, Villa La Angosturo, Argentina (aka the place with all the gnomes)
23. La Comarca Suites de Montaña hotel next to the gnome cabaña,Villa La Angosturo, Argentina
24. Overnight on the bus to Mendoza (this link is to Colly’s great blog post about the experience)
25. Casa Glebinias, Chacras de Coria (near Mendoza), Argentina
26. Meridiano Sur hotel, Santiago, Chile
27. Quay West apartment, Auckland, New Zealand
28. First night RV: Waiwera Holiday Park, North Island
29. Second night RV: Beachside Holiday Park near Paihia in the Bay of Islands, North Island
30. Third night RV: Kerikeri Top 10 Holiday Park, Kerikeri, Bay of Islands, North Island
31. Fourth night RV: Kauri Coast Top 10 Holiday Park near Dargaville, North Island
32. Last night RV: Orewa Beach Top 10 Holiday Park, Orewa, North Island
33. Cabin at Blue Lake Top 10 Holiday Park, Rotorua, North Island
34. Van der Boom’s house, Whakatane in the Bay of Plenty, North Island
35. Great Lake Motel, Taupo, North Island
36. Holiday Inn, Wellington, North Island
37. Cabin at Harris Hill farm, Nelson, South Island, New Zealand
38. First night campground in Abel Tasman National Park, South Island
39. Second night campground in Abel Tasman National Park, South Island
40. The Barn backpackers’ lodge, Marahau, South Island
41. Abel Tasman Marahau Lodge, Marahau, South Island
42. Chelsea Gateway Motor Lodge, Westport, West Coast of South Island
43. Karamea Last Resort, Karamea, West Coast of South Island
44. Charming Creek B&B, Ngakawau, West Coast of South Island
45. The one and only Blackball Hilton, Blackball, West Coast of South Island
46. Greymouth Gables Inn, Greymouth, West Coast of South Island
47. Flock Hill Lodge along Arthur’s Pass, South Island
48. Kirkpatricks’ guest house, Queenstown, South Island
49. Meriton apartment, Sydney, Australia
50. Jemby Rinjah Eco Lodge in Blackheath by the Blue Mountains, Australia
51. Albury Country Comfort Motel, Albury, New South Wales
52. Jubilee Lake Holiday Park, Daylesford, Victoria
53. Anchor Belle Caravan Park, Phillip Island, Victoria
54. Apartment at 1 Esplanade, Lakes Entrance, Victoria
55. Cabin at Batemans Bay Big4 Holiday Park, Batemans Bay, New South Wales
56. United States Embassy, Canberra, Australian Capital Territory
57. Apartment at Clifton Suites, Canberra, Australian Capital Territory
58. IBIS airport hotel, Sydney (what a dump!)
59. Kowloon Shangri-La hotel, Hong Kong
60. Oakley Court Hotel, Windsor, England (barely 14 hours between flights)
61. Apartment in the Barri Gotic quarter, Barcelona, Spain
62. Aiguaclara Hotel in Begur, Costa Brava, Spain
63. Renaissance airport hotel, Barcelona
64. Apartment in Rome, Italy
65. Apartment in Venice, Italy
66. Albergo il Focolare, Treviso, Italy
67. Hotel Du Lac on Lake Garda, Malcesine, Italy
68. Apartment in Vernazza, Cinque Terre, Italy
69. One night in the awful hotel-that-shall-remain-nameless, Florence, Italy
70. Hotel Loggiato Dei Serviti, Florence, Italy
71. Hotel Hermitage, Prato, Italy
72. Hotel Campione near Lugano, Switzerland
73. Hotel Cascada, Lucerne, Switzerland
74. Hotel Splendid, Interlaken, Switzerland
75. Apartment on Lake Geneva, Montreux, Switzerland
76. Hotel Perren, Zermatt, Switzerland
77. Hilton Garden Inn, Bologna, Italy
78. Hilton Airport Hotel, Rome, Italy
79. Marriott Grosvenor Square, London, England
80. Oakley Court Hotel, Windsor, England
81. The Grand Hotel, Brighton, England
82. Silverdale B&B, Seaford, England
83. The Compleat Angler, Marlow, England
84. Morgan’s parents’ house, Pacific Palisades, California
85. Lower School dorm at The Thacher School, Ojai, California
86. Morgan’s parents’ condo in Mammoth Lakes, California

That’s it! Next stop, on June 20, home in Piedmont, California!

Related posts:

1. Eat, Run, Love
2. Two Months To Go
3. Playing Around Rotorua

On the road between Queenstown and Glenorchy (click to enlarge).

On a run with Morgan this morning, I wistfully said goodbye to New Zealand and its intoxicating, idyllic landscape. We headed out from our friends’ home near Queenstown, where we stayed for over a week, and took a trail that showcased so much of what I’ll miss about New Zealand: ragged peaks that rise up sharply to cut the sky, and blue lakes that spread out to make the mountains appear even larger. Soft pastures and tangled bushland that reflect so many shades of green, and trails that lead past communal huts and over bridges carefully covered with a no-skid surface. New Zealand apparently decided early on in its short history as a country to make hiking (or “tramping,” as it’s called here) a national priority.

This trail leads to our friends' home at Closeburn Station.

And the sheep — it wouldn’t be New Zealand without them. We inadvertently cornered a big flock against a gate and had no choice but to run right through. What a sendoff: a chorus of sheep at my feet, a group of alpacas to our left, and three fat and sassy horses to our right. This isn’t the Queenstown most people know — the Queenstown of bungy jumps, ski slopes and the famous Shotover Jet — but I highly recommend a taste of life on a station (what Kiwis call sheep or cattle ranches).

Here are a few other recommendations and final reflections from New Zealand to frame Morgan’s photographs:

As we transitioned from the South Island’s West Coast to Queenstown, ever more big and beautiful mountains and lakes kept bursting into view like the grand finale in a fireworks show.

Mount Cook, NZ's tallest mountain (3754m or 12,316ft), as seen on our drive next to the brilliantly blue Lake Tekapo.

The rivers flowing on the Southern Alps, like this one on Arthur's Pass, have the color and clarity reminiscent of a gemstone.

Before we left the West Coast, we stopped at Pancake Rocks in Punakaiki (between Westport and Greymouth). The “pancake” stacks are columns of limestone with almost perfectly thin, horizontal layers fantastically carved by the wind and sea, which rushes into the columns and spews through blowholes.

One of the Pancake Rocks blowholes that fills up and churns like a giant washer.

One of the water- and wind-sculpted figures at Pancake Rocks.

Turning east and quickly gaining altitude, we drove over Arthur’s Pass and found ourselves gazing at mountains above timberline on a road barely clinging to the shale sides and flanked by steep drop-offs. It reminded me of the San Juan Skyway in Southwestern Colorado, and it felt as though we had driven from Big Sur to the Rockies in only an hour or so.

Along Arthur’s Pass, we spent a couple of nights at Flock Hill Lodge, a beautifully landscaped retreat with comfortable cabins and a tasty restaurant on the edge of seemingly endless open space. Rock outcroppings on the green mountainsides look so magical that filmmakers decided to shoot The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe near here a few years ago. We headed out on a trail called “The Narnia Track” and saw why this area is a mecca for mountain bikers and trampers.

The view out our window at Flock Hill.

Colly and Kyle pretended they were characters from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe as we hiked toward the film location.

Kyle got a spring in his step when he found a fossil toward the end of our Flock Hill hike.

Then we bombed down to Queenstown, the home of our high school friends The Kirkpatricks (the same family we kayaked with). Entering town, I suddenly felt as though we were back in the Patagonia Lake District, but the lakes and sky reflected a brighter, clearer blue. Lake Wakatipu, shaped like a lightening bolt, zigzags through craggy glacial peaks aptly named The Remarkables. If you look in the sky almost anytime, any day, you’ll see splashes of color from adventure seekers in parachutes swooping around and wafting down.

There's always someone floating overhead above Queenstown.

Colly struck a pose on the chairlift to the luge overlooking Queenstown.

There is so much to do in Queenstown — it’s a playground of adventure sports, similar to Rotorua in the North Island, plus a winter ski destination — but we didn’t do anything notable in town except swoosh down the luge. All we really wanted to do was soak up the pleasures of country living. Ahhh … the joys of being in a real home, with a real kitchen and washing machine and two wonderful boys to play with our two kids. Who needs TV or a Wii when you’ve got “chooks” (Kiwi for “chickens”) to care for? Long-term family travel really benefits from built-in downtime like we had last week, preferably at the beautiful ranch home of a dear friend. Being on the road for months heightens appreciation for and pleasure in the opportunity to do ordinary things, such as baking pumpkin pie, playing marathon Monopoly games and finding a dentist to clean our teeth.

We had dinner and spent a night with our friends in a communally owned "hut" (a small, rustic house) near Moke Lake outside of Queenstown.

Since I’ve been going on and on about New Zealand’s natural environment, I’ve neglected to say much about the people and customs I’ll miss as well. People who call ice cream cups “pottles” and breakfast “brekkie,” who wear wellies (rubber boots) with skirts or shorts, who still dry their clothes on a clothesline, and who sometimes say “hooray” or “cheerio” for “goodbye” seem predisposed to be extra nice and welcoming. This is a country that still relates in an old-fashioned, Midwestern way: telephoning with impromptu invitations, ringing the doorbell to chat, smiling and wishing strangers “g’day.”

Another thing about New Zealand: flashy cars are few and far between. We fit in with our third-rate, 12-year-old rented station wagon. I’m actually going to miss that car, because of all the time we spent in it and the places it took us — even though it made one of my biceps ache whenever I drove because the wheels are so out of alignment that I had to grip the steering wheel to keep us going straight. We named the car Dink because its license plate letters are DNK, and we laughed about how we’ve managed to turn the DINK acronym (Double Income No Kids) on its head (double kids, no income).

Goodbye, Dink!

So cheerio, New Zealand, and thanks to our friends and hosts from the past two months. Your country is brilliant and we’ll miss it heaps.

Want to see more photos? We finally updated the gallery with additional South Island shots.

Related posts:

1. Christmas in a Manger at Nelson, New Zealand
2. The Wild, Wild West Coast
3. In the Backwoods of Blackball, Not Your Typical Hilton

A recent 24-hour period gave us that kind of experience in a remote corner of the South Island’s West Coast region — in part because I was gullible enough to fall for a joke.

A vintage advertisement for The Blackball Hilton, "Cheapest In the West" (click to enlarge).

Many months ago, when I was mostly ignorant about New Zealand and starting to plan our itinerary here, Morgan and I heard of a mountainous trail race that finished at The Blackball Hilton and decided to sign up. The Hilton was part of the draw. What a treat it would be, I thought, to stay at an upscale, familiar hotel chain after so many budget motels and campgrounds — and convenient, too, since it would be right at the finish line. I can still recall the mental picture I had of a typically plush Hilton lounge and lobby.

Only after we registered for the January 16 race did I google Blackball and discover the “Hilton” is a creaky Victorian inn and pub built in 1909, located way off the main road in a dying mining town with only one general store and a couple hundred residents.

“I would never stay here again,” shouted out one TripAdvisor.com reivew. “The rooms had layers of dust and dirty carpets.” Another detailed, “There are many quirky things about this hotel — the dolls staring at you as you turn round a corner upstairs. The poetry in the toilets and washrooms. The gallery in the middle of the upstairs with the drawings and paintings of ladies of the night. The monkeys looking in at you as you sit on the loo.”

In 1992, the Hilton Corp.’s lawyers demanded that the hotel drop the trademarked Hilton name, and the rebellious innkeepers responded by changing the official name to “Formerly The Blackball Hilton,” which it  has been ever since.

Hmmm, I pondered, more curious than appalled — maybe it was meant to be that we stayed there. Perhaps part of the adventure of running the remote race would be staying in a historic hole in the wall. I contacted the owners, Chris and Viv, about our babysitting quandary (initially I erroneously assumed “the Hilton” would have a kids’ club or childcare to supervise Colly and Kyle while we ran the race), and they told me no worries, they’d keep an eye on the kids and let them have the run of the pub. I took a deep breath and had faith it’d all work out.

One of the dilapidated buildings on Blackball's main street, with the mountain range in the background that our January 16 trail race traversed.

Driving to Blackball is like driving back in time to the early 1900s, to the kind of one-store mining towns you can still find on back roads of Colorado. There is no cell phone coverage, no Wi-Fi. The Blackball Hilton looks as though it was lifted straight from an old Western flick. When I first looked up at the second-story balcony, I half expected to see a floozy lady of ill repute looking busty in an off-the-shoulder pioneer dress.

Instead, I saw a mix of fit-looking runners and working-class barflies milling about. Newspaper clippings and old photos hung on the walls, detailing Blackball’s colorful history as the proud birthplace of New Zealand’s Labour Party. Coal miners went on a three-month strike here in 1908 for a half-hour lunch break and ultimately prevailed.

Morgan on the balconey of the Blackball Hilton.

Kyle takes notes on the Blackball Hilton's role in the mining town's history as the cradle of the country's Labour Movement.

The Blackball Hilton today is a cross between a museum and vintage boarding house, each room sporting a different color theme and wall paintings that look inspired by Romper Room. When I crawled into the creaky, collapsed bed and stepped on the spongy floorboards near the communtal shower and toilet down the hall, I tried not to think about all the people over all all the decades who had used them before me.

I checked out our room (lucky number 13) and tried to make sense of the sponge-painting art, which resembled mold. "We're sleeping here?"

One of the fanciful dorm-style rooms at The Blackball Hilton. Notice how some are old hospital beds.

Overall, though, it wasn’t so bad. We had a great meal (veggie lentil burger for me, chicken curry for Morgan, burgers for the kids — yum) with friendly service, and we got to chat with some of the other visitors from throughout New Zealand who were there for the trail run. The kids thought it was cool and made themselves at home. The following morning, while we gutted out the trail run, they played in the pub and garden with other kids hanging out at the finish line.

The Blackball Hilton's pub is rarely empty like this. Each piece of memorabilia on the walls has a story behind it.

As for the race? Well, we survived and my time was a PW, which is short for “personal worst.” I wrote a race report for my running blog with details. (Here’s an excerpt: “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, no question about it,” Morgan said matter-of-factly as we shuffled along. His eyes looked sunken, and dried sweat and sunscreen gave his face a ghostly pallor. Did my husband really age 20 years in about four hours?)

Most people reading this will never find themselves near Blackball, off of Highway 7 on the South Island, and I wouldn’t recommend an overnight there — though it is worth a stop for lunch or dinner. What I do recommend, though, is seizing opportunities to stay in unexpected, unfamiliar and even uncomfortable surroundings. Our overnight at The Blackball Hilton, coupled with the strenuous trail race, goes down as one of the strangest and most challenging days of this trip. Getting to know this weirdly wonderful and gritty corner of New Zealand definitely deepened our understanding of the region and its people, and it made us more seasoned as travelers.

I’ll never stay in a real Hilton without remembering the one in Blackball and reminding myself that creature comforts are luxuries, not essentials, and sometimes the most memorable learning and living takes place when stripped of them.

Related posts:

1. The Wild, Wild West Coast
2. A Typical Atypical Travel Day
3. Cheerio, New Zealand

Trails like this (which is part of the Oparara Valley Track) crisscross the wet and wild West Coast.

I knew very little about the West Coast region of the South Island before we spent a week here, except for its reputation as rainy, buggy and rural. The average rainfall is 2575 mm (8.4 feet), and a sign at Abel Tasman National Park said, “You think the sand flies are bad here? Wait ’til you get to the West Coast!”

“At least you’ll miss the crowds over there,” a tour-guide type mentioned in a look-on-the-bright-side tone.

We detoured to the West Coast to participate in a low-profile trail running event (which I’ll write about next time), and we’re so glad we did. We have been blown away by the West Coast’s landscape — and not just ’cause it’s windy. This swath of New Zealand is gorgeous, authentic, unspoiled … and, yes, wet. Perhaps nowhere is New Zealand’s remarkable commitment to preserve open space and make it accessible with well-maintained trails more concentrated than in this region, which has five national parks and more “tracks” (what Kiwis call trails) than I could keep track of. For trail runners like us, it’s paradise.

The West Coast region covers some 375 miles of coastline, and its biggest district, Greymouth, has a population of less than 14,000. Almost half the West Coast residents live in and around Greymouth, while the others live in a sprinkling of sneeze-and-you’ll-miss-it towns populated mainly by coal miners, pub owners and shopkeepers. Imagine if you drove from Los Angeles to Santa Cruz and the biggest town were about the size of my hometown of Piedmont, and you begin to sense how sparsely populated the region is. Here are highlights from our far-flung tour:

Karamea

Oparara Arch, a 200m-long limestone tunnel carved over eons by the river, is one reason to visit Karamea.

Way, way out there, at the north end of the West Coast’s main road, is the funky farming community of Karamea, famous for caves in the Oparara Basin and gateway to the Kahurangi National Park and its 78K Heaphy Track (the longest of New Zealand’s amazing Great Walks). We drove up on a rainy day that obscured the views, wondering where the hell we were and what we were doing, and checked into The Last Resort motel, where the decor is dorm-room-circa-1985. (The lounge and restaurant are quite nice though, with a woodsy Big Sur kind of vibe.) The next day we put on our windbreakers and drove up a 10-mile dirt road with not another car in sight. The slick mud made the car fishtail, and again we wondered where the hell we were and nervously joked that it looked like we found ourselves in the place where Jurassic Park was filmed.

Finally we reached a trailhead with a brand-new picnic area surrounded by museum-quality informational boards describing the colorful history of logging and mining here. It also explained the science behind the cave and arch formation, and answered perplexing questions such as, Why is the river here the color of an amber ale? (Answer: tannins from the foliage stain the water, as though all the water were passing through a giant teabag.)

The river runs reddish-brown near Karamea, stained by tannins in the forest.

The kids took it all in and enthusiastically set off on a hike among fuzzy-green trees that Colly said looked Seussical. We all marveled at the porous mountain that drips like a sponge and the natural arches that sprout stalactites and stalagmites. (Roadschooling doesn’t get much better than this.)

One of the "Seussical" trees along the trail.

We had to crane our necks all the way back and look straight up to get this view of a natural limestone bridge over the trail.

Morgan and I didn’t make it onto the Heaphy Track, but we took turns running through rain forests and over bouncy suspension bridges along the 8-mile Oparara Valley Track, which opened in late 2008 after years of work and fundraising by local volunteers. I actually got teary eyed when I reached a hut in the woods midway on the trail, which the volunteers built as shelter for hikers and adorned with informational boards showing pictures of the crew building the track and camping in the woods. Someone had taken the time to carve a chair and matching ottoman out of a giant stump. The hut was so special and so secluded, so lovingly constructed, that it struck me as an unintended monument to Thoreau in that it invited anyone who had the spirit to delve into the woods to sit back and spend as long as possible contemplating Nature.

Charming Creek and Granity

Colly and Kyle learned about coal mining history along the 10K Charming Creek Track, which follows an old railroad bed through tunnels and past waterfalls. Rusted mining equipment is left along the way.

We stopped for a few nights in a place about an hour south of Karamea that’s a speck on the map, Ngakawau, which is next to Granity (which isn’t saying much). Our little inn, the Charming Creek B&B, was a great spot to stay — right across the street from a blustery beach — but only if you don’t mind being in an isolated area (we didn’t). We spent the days homeschooling and hiking along the beach and the Charming Creek Track, which follows the roaring Ngakawau River.

A piece of old iron along the Charming Creek trail by Mangatini Falls.

The West Coast tracks feature numerous suspension bridges like this one over the Ngakawau River. I found them scary, but Kyle and Colly loved bouncing across them.

The Charming Creek railroad tracks, which transported coal and logs for decades, now make a path for hikers and runners.

Westport

Cape Foulwind next to Westport (click to enlarge), as seen from The Bay House restaurant.

Westport is the only “big town” (pop. approx. 3000) in the north half of the West Coast. It’s a working-class community with the basics we needed (market, laundromat) but not much to offer in town itself. Outside of town, however, are more natural playgrounds.

We checked into a forgettable motel and then drove toward Cape Foulwind (which doesn’t actually smell bad) and stumbled upon the surprisingly sophisticated, Thai-influenced Bay House restaurant with an incredible view of waves crashing against the rocks at sunset. Anyone who’s anywhere near Westport should have a meal and walk around here.

The Bay House restaurant behind the big rock the kids climbed.

Westport sits at the base of the Buller Gorge, a spectacular river valley. (I know I’m overusing superlatives in this post, but I can’t help it!) We got up close to the river on horseback during a two-hour ride with Buller Adventure Tours. Having suffered through numerous nose-to-tail guided rides on bomb-proof horses, I was pleasantly surprised to find rental horses in good condition with high-quality tack and a guide who let us trot and canter. At one point, we forged a sizable creek (not Buller River itself, which is much bigger than the stream in these photos).

Kyle manage to ride English by himself and guide his reluctant pony through the creek.

Colly took her horse through the deepest part and got her jeans soaked!

Now we’re headed to the southern half of the West Coast — between Westport and Greymouth — to explore places like Pancake Rocks and the Croesus Crossing before heading over Arthur’s Pass to Queenstown. Today marks the five-month day of our journey, approximately the halfway mark of our trip if we return in June as planned, and I can’t believe how far we’ve come.

Thanks to Morgan for taking these great photos ...

... and thanks to the kids for being great hikers!

Related posts:

1. In the Backwoods of Blackball, Not Your Typical Hilton
2. Cheerio, New Zealand
3. Playing Around Rotorua

Click here to view the embedded video.

Abel Tasman National Park seems so vast and alluring, with its craggy coves and dense vegetation, that it’s hard to believe it’s the country’s smallest national park (about 57,000 acres). For anyone planning a visit there, I offer these tips and recommendations:

Where to Stay and Eat:

The rustic village of Marahau is the starting point for most visitors to the park. Fill up on gas and groceries at one of the larger towns along Highway 60, because Marahau has just one small general store with mostly non-perishable food.

When we weren’t camping, we slept at The Barn and Abel Tasman Marahau Lodge. The Barn is a campground and hostel with guests who looked half our age and probably attend Burning Man when they’re not backpacking around the world. We stayed in one of the cabins, which are like storage sheds containing beds and nothing else. It was a kick to stay there and plenty comfortable, but we didn’t really enjoy sharing just two toilets and two sinks with about 40 others.

By contrast, Abel Tasman Marahau Lodge really rises above the level of a typical country motel and has good value even at peak season prices. We loved our room, which had a kitchenette and patio overlooking gardens and a pasture. (Keep in mind that both The Barn and A.T. Marahau Lodge were fully booked months in advance, as are most placed during this peak holiday season.)

The Paradise Cafe right next to the A.T. Coast Track trailhead is the most popular spot to eat and one of only a couple of restaurants in Marahau. We had a good breakfast and dinner there and enjoyed the casual vibe and outdoor seating. Go there with patience, because as the owner of the lodge said about the servers, “If they were any more laid back, they’d fall over.”

Where to go:

I highly recommend Abel Tasman Kayaks for a kayaking trip, but truthfully, my favorite, most fulfilling times at the park were running and hiking on the Coast Track.

All signs point to the Coast Track for good reason: It’s an awe-inspiring, well-maintained trail approximately 30 miles long that hugs the coast and cuts through the dense, jungle-like forest. I ran different stretches of it at different times and discovered that, not surprisingly, it’s less difficult and more crowded near the Marahau trailhead. To experience the more remote parts, catch a ride from Abel Tasman AquaTaxi and go part or all the way up the coast, and then return on your own feet.

Here are a few more of Morgan’s pics from the park to supplement the ones from last week and the stills in the video:

Boats at low tide.

The water as seen from the Coast Track.

The green and damp Coast Track.

Morgan snapped this shot of me while we were camping at Abel Tasman's Bark Bay.

Related posts:

1. Our 3-Day Kayak Adventure Around NZ’s Abel Tasman Park
2. Happy Campers Touring North NZ by RV
3. The Wild, Wild West Coast

A slice of beach and blue around Abel Tasman National Park.

New Zealanders use the term “adventure” loosely to market pretty much any activity under the sun. I was skeptical we’d experience a true  adventure here, especially if it were safe enough to involve the kids, but then my lifelong friend Carolyn, who moved to the South Island two years ago, booked a three-day kayak trip for our two families along the coast of Abel Tasman National Park. I had never kayaked before (unless you count an hour in a hotel lagoon in Hawaii), but how hard could it be? I had visions of paddling on glassy blue water and sipping wine with old friends while our kids played on a beach. Besides, we’re all old pros at camping. We were game.

Three days at sea and camping in the forest together seemed like a reunion too perfect to be true. We arranged to meet them on the Sunday after New Year’s.

Day One: “I’ve made a bit of a boo-boo …”

We drive from Nelson an hour and a half north to the tiny town of Marahau, at the gateway to the national park, and arrive at Abel Tasman Kayaks before 9 a.m. The sky is gray and the forecast calls for wind and rain, but we’re optimistic. It’s like Hawaii, right? The weather always changes and never gets too cold.

Carolyn and her husband Doug drive up shortly after, and Kyle, Colin, Liam and even Colly start goofing around (Colly’s wariness of playing with boys quickly evaporates). I’ve known Carolyn since preschool and Doug since high school, so seeing them feels like reuniting with extended family. We meet our guide and busy ourselves with gear.

Our friends the Kirkpatricks -- Liam (11), Carolyn, Colin (9) and Doug -- meet us at Abel Tasman Kayaks and start getting gear ready.

The kids immediately find ways to have fun.

Our 25-year-old guide is named Chee and strikes us right away as friendly and competent, but a tad quiet. “Have you heard the forecast?” he asks. We shrug and look hopeful, as if to say, how bad could it be? He says something about “25 to 30 knots” which translates to about 30 mph.  I also notice he looks a bit surprised but keeps his cool when he realizes that four of his eight clients appear under 5 feet tall and younger than 12.

Pretty soon a supervisor — a bronzed woman with muscled arms, an over-sized straw visor and a squawking walkie-talkie — comes to us with a big smile but a serious message. “So here’s the thing,” she says, “your children are much, much littler than we expected.” Carolyn reminds her that she informed the kayak company that the youngest are 8 and 9, and we got the go-ahead. “Yes, but …” the woman says, “ordinarily we would not take children this size out on the kayaks.”

Clearly there has been some confusion, but it’s not clear why or what we should do. Chee tells us later that they book family groups with teenagers but have never had kids this young go out, especially not for a multi-day trip. The woman just wants us to be clear about the risks and aware that Chee may determine that it’s not safe enough for us to be on the water, which we’d have to respect. Of course, we say. We figure that if worse comes to worst with the ocean conditions, then we’d stick to hiking and get a ride back with a water taxi.

With that sobering message and clouds gathering overhead, we proceed to pack all the gear we’ll need into dry bags and load the kayaks to go to the water taxi station. As I try to budge one of these kayaks, which I guess are 15 feet long and take four strong adults to lift when loaded with gear, I get an inkling of why it may be a problem to have a novice adult and child navigating it. Imagine a beginner cyclist and child on a tandem bike fully loaded with panniers, then put them on a rough coastal route with headwinds and tell them to bike for several hours straight for three days. The child realizes he or she doesn’t need to pedal if Mom or Dad is doing most of the work. Mom and Dad realize they’re in for quite a ride.

Morgan, Colly, Kyle and I are packed and ready to head up the coast to start the three-day trip.

Chee makes his first call: No way we’re going on the water in these conditions. We’ll set up camp, hike and attempt to kayak tomorrow. Sounds good to us.

A slice of the Abel Tasman coast as seen from the Coast Track.

We squeeze into a water taxi with our kayaks stacked high and piles of gear at our feet. “First day on the job!” announces the skipper, and I’m not sure if he’s boasting or warning us. He zooms northward into the ocean and brings the coastline into view.

The Abel Tasman park (named after the mid-17th-century explorer who was the first European to site New Zealand) crowns the top of the South Island with lush green mountainsides that sprout tree ferns everywhere. Its coastline curves out and in around points and bays, protruding like gnarled knuckles on a fist, and several islands with seal colonies rise up in tree- and rock-covered humps.

I only catch glimpses, however, because I’m gripping the speedboat’s side as it cuts through waves, rising up and slamming down with a force that sprays water over the sides and compresses every disc in my spine. About a half hour later, the boat finally slows and pulls into Onetahuti Beach, where the kids hop out and begin exploring caves and tidal pools. We set up camp quickly to pitch the four two-person tents before rain hits, and Chee makes a roof over the picnic table by suspending a large tarp with ropes and two upright paddles.

Then it’s time for a hike along a couple of miles of the Abel Tasman Coast Track, and Chee, who’s of Maori descent, describes natural history and Maori legends along the way. The kids tramp along, genuinely impressed by the aquamarine color of the water and rope-like black vines that hang and tangle around the shafts of giant ferns called mamaku.

We hike through intense green ...

... and meet a seal too.

We stop at a beach along the way where a fat seal scratches himself, indifferent to his visitors, and the kids explore more caves carved by waves. No one minds that we’re on the land rather than kayaking at sea.

The kids keep going butts-up to dig whenever we hit sand.

The wind is gusting and rain starts to sprinkle by the time we get back to camp. We’re all hungry and eager to help Chee cook dinner, but first he asks us to gather around for an announcement.

“I’ve made a bit of a boo-boo,” he says. It seems he didn’t notice that the cooking gas was not packed, so we’ll be having dinner a bit late. But he has a plan: radio the water taxi to catch a ride to another camp about 15K (9 to 10 miles) down the coast, where a canister of gas is stored in case of such emergency. The water taxi, done for the day, will not return him to our camp, but no worries, he says — he’ll run back on the trail (in Keen sandals, his only shoes).

Morgan, who hasn’t run in a couple of days, eagerly volunteers to go with him. It’s about 5:30 when they depart, and we estimate they should be back before 7:30. We huddle over the picnic table with little to do but play cards and eat snacks. Carolyn and I, ever so slightly tense about the weather and the unexpected turn of events, decide it’s time for wine.  Doug sticks to beer, and soon “remember when” stories from the mid-1980s start to flow too.

Two hours, one bottle of wine, one bag of corn chips and a couple of cans of beer later, we’re looking at our watches and speculating about where Morgan and Chee might be. The rain goes from steady drizzle to sideways-blown downpour, and we grip the upright paddles that hold up the tarp each time a gust hits. Damp clothing and towels we hung on a tree branch to dry are fully soaked, as are most of the supplies piled on the ground.

The kids manage to entertain themselves no matter what the weather.

I’m amazed that the four kids, fully bundled, don’t seem to mind the circumstances much — they’re happy enough sitting around, talking and eating — so I take inspiration from them and act like everything’s fine. Carolyn and I let off nervous laughter as we swap stories about the crazy things our parents did when we were growing up together. I try not to dwell on the distinct possibility that Morgan and Chee discovered the gas isn’t there and are stuck struggling to come up with a Plan B (or would that be Plan C?), or that one of them fell while running back on the slick trail. And what if they fell while clutching gas canisters? Ka-boom!

Chee and Morgan make it back from their epic rainy run.

Finally, around 7:45, Chee and Morgan burst out of the forest panting and drenched, as wild-eyed and triumphant as hunters returning with fresh kill. I guessed right: There was no gas canister waiting for them; they somehow borrowed a couple of small ones from somewhere else, but those lacked the attachment valves they needed, so they had to borrow the other parts from who-knows-where. (None of this ever made any sense to me.) Late hitting the trail, they ran the hilly 15K as fast as they could.

Morgan is high on adrenaline and endorphins, and Chee casually admits it’s the farthest he has ever run. This calls for a drink! We open another while the rain starts coming down in sheets. Chee fires up the stove burners and whips up some chicken and vegetables over rice. We don’t have much appetite after all the snacking and drinking, but the hot food tastes good and we eat quickly so we can get the kids and ourselves into sleeping bags and pass out as soon as possible.

The photos get increasingly blury as the crazy rainy night wears on ...

Day Two: “Turn back!”

Our campsite dries out in the early morning of Day Two.

I wake to the sound of birds, not rain, and peak out at sunshine. Everything around me is damp and fresh, but I’m dehydrated and heavy headed. I grope around for clothes to run in, force my feet into wet shoes and sneak out of the tent around 6, before Morgan and the kids wake up. I run for over an hour along the Coast Track while the sun rises. I’m dazzled by the water’s color, the varied shades of green in the forest and the waterfall that gushes over moss-covered rocks at the turn-around point.

Another bend in a remote stretch of the Abel Tasman Coast Track.

It’s all business back at camp as we pack everything up and load the boats. Chee gives us a quick lesson in kayaking essentials: how to paddle, how to put the rudder down and use the foot pedals to work it, how to attach the spray skirt to form a tight lid between our waists and the boat’s opening, and — most important — how to detach the skirt if we capsize so we can swim free. We should remember to face waves head on, not sideways, and if a wave hits the kayak parallel instead of perpendicular, then lean into it.

I hop in a kayak with Kyle, and Morgan sets off with Colly. All the grownups sit in the back of the two-person boats so we can work the pedals that control the rudder. (Chee is in a one-person kayak, darting between us and showing us the way.)

Kyle and I launch our kayak for the first time.

Morgan and Colly make a good team.

We all get the hang of it pretty quickly. Kyle looks so cute sitting in front of me, his body dwarfed by a big floppy hat and life vest, his little hands clutching a big paddle that barely skims the water. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the kayak will keep going whether he paddles or not.

Twenty minutes into it, I realize that this is a workout — I’m putting muscle into every stroke — but we keep at it and get into a rhythm until arriving at a beach about an hour and a half later called Bark Bay. We’re all relieved to have that first leg behind us, so we enjoy a feast of a picnic and try not to worry as the wind picks up.

Colin and Doug cruise through the calm waters of a lagoon near the lunch break.

Chee gathers us around for another announcement, map in hand. We’ll need to get around a couple of windy points to reach our campsite at a beach called Anchorage. The wind itself isn’t a problem as much as its direction. A pressure system has cooked up an atypical swath of south-westerlies, which means wind will hit us head on and blow us away from the coast. Stay near the coast, he warns us — but watch out for rocky reefs. Suddenly the lunch in my stomach doesn’t feel so good.

We say goodbye to Bark Bay and paddle through a lagoon that in just a couple of hours will be completely empty because of the dramatic ebb and flow of the tides. Morgan and I switch kids, so now I have Colly seated in front of me.

Colly paddling up front (seen here on the glassy waters of a lagoon. The sea was never this smooth).

Having her as a partner makes my job easier, since she paddles more than Kyle and her heavier weight balances the boat better. (Later — belatedly — we realize we need to store heavy gear at Kyle’s feet so his boat is properly balanced.) Out we go, heading south to get around the next point, when slam! the wind hits our face with a blast that makes us feel as though we’re paddling upriver.

“Colly, I’m gonna need you,” I tell her, and she gamely starts paddling as hard as she can. The waves pick up, too, so we’re bouncing up and down as much as gliding forward. The swerving up-down rocking motion reminds me of the time I rode a mechanical bucking bull at the county fair. I focus on a point in the distance and muscle forward as best I can, trying to use the rudder to keep our nose pointed into waves, which are looking big enough to body surf. I don’t want to lose my concentration by looking around, but I’m concerned that our group has spread out. I shout at Colly so she can hear me over the wind, “Honey, please look back and tell me where your dad is.”

“He’s way far back!”

I look over my shoulder and catch site of both Morgan and Kyle paddling rapidly while their kayak’s nose points upward and starts to spin like a weather vane. A wave hits them on the side and tilts them to a 45-degree angle. But I can’t keep watching because I’m feeling our kayak turn beneath us, too. I step on the rudder’s right pedal and paddle only with my left to get it back around clockwise, facing the direction we need to go in. “Colly, paddle right!” I yell, meaning left, but my right foot is on the pedal so I have my directions mixed up. She starts to paddle on the right side and I scream, “No, other side!” She doesn’t know what to do and pretty soon I’m yelling at her to lean right, lean into the waves, and just when I wonder what else could go wrong, my hat blows off and the strap strangles my neck.

“Turn back!” I hear someone call over the wind. Morgan can’t turn his boat around and neither can I; we’re pointed back toward the bay where we had lunch. “Morgan, paddle!” Chee suddenly calls out, raising his voice to a commanding tone we haven’t heard yet, and we realize that a good-sized wave is cresting over the back of Morgan’s boat. He paddles ahead just enough so the wave doesn’t break over his body.

A classic line from Scooby-Doo comes to me and I shout it out loud: “Yikes, let’s get out of here!”

We all paddle away from the point and back toward Bark Bay, our job now easier with the wind on our backs but the ride still rollicking from all the waves. I finally catch up to Morgan and Kyle, who have caught their breath and are reassuring each other that everything’s fine, everything’s fine, good job, good job. I don’t know what to say to them or Carolyn and Doug, except for, “I think Bark Bay sounds like a great place to camp tonight!”

Liam and Carolyn take a breather near Bark Bay. We're relieved to spend the second night there even though it's a fairly long way away from the intended destination.

Chee agrees, “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” We’re not getting around that point in these conditions.

Bark Bay is a beautiful, peaceful place to spend the afternoon and evening, even with the wind. It feels luxurious to set up camp in dry weather, to play by the beach and to eat burritos. The kids hole up in a tent and play Uno for two hours. We go to bed early, warned by Chee that we have to wake early to beat the wind and paddle extra long to make up for today’s shorter leg.

Plus, to make it home tomorrow, we have to get through the roughest stretch of coastline: the Mad Mile.

Day Three: “We’re making great time”

A British twentysomething camper near our group feels the need to chop wood at 5:30 a.m. and in so doing wakes us all up. My back, shoulders and arms ache, and my hands look puffy and sport blisters at the base of each thumb. Thankfully, Chee is up already and has coffee made for us. The kids get moving and help break down tents and pack dry bags, their experience and helpfulness seemingly doubled in a day.

We’re all spooked by the wind and eager to paddle past the point that got the better of us yesterday. But our departure is slightly delayed by low tide; we have to heave all the really heavy kayaks at least a hundred meters to where the water starts. Then we’re in and begin paddling at 8:50 a.m.

The sea has a sunnier personality today and welcomes us to and through the windy point, but I keep my guard up because the Mad Mile — the stretch we heard other campers comment on being so rough — looms ahead. Chee directs us toward an island on the way so we can admire the seals, but while the others ooh and ahh, I’m thinking seals, schmeals — I just want to keep moving forward.

The Mad Mile gets its reputation for risk from wind patterns, ocean currents and a lack of beaches at which to seek safe haven. But there’s nothing mad about it this morning. I keep expecting waves and wind, but I begin to feel cautiously optimistic that this mile is downright mild. It seems we got lucky for once and paddled through during an hour of optimal conditions. I let myself look around and absorb details of the sculpted rock formations protruding from the coast. The landscape’s beauty has so much depth and mystery, with so many crevices carved by the elements and colors that change with the light.

Carolyn, Doug and I linger over our break, not wanting the trip to end too soon.

“We’re making great time,” Chee calls out — so much so that we need to pace ourselves or else we’ll get back too early. We stop for a snack and time to play on the beach, followed by lunch not long after. The home base of Marahau comes into view and we linger at lunch across the bay, surprised to be done sooner and easier than expected and not wanting the trip to end. The kids play an impromptu game of cricket with some other kids on the beach, and pretty soon the guys join in.

A couple of hours later at the kayak company’s base, after we’re finally done unloading and saying good-bye to Chee — our superb guide who now feels like a friend — we all head to a funky backpackers’ campground and hostel called The Barn for one last night together.

Our box of a cabin at The Barn.

I feel more beat up and worn out than after any long-distance running race or camping trip I can recall. My hands ache if I try to form a fist, my calves and ankles feel on fire from the itch of some twenty sand fly bites, and my entire upper body feels stiff and out of whack. I watch the four kids amble along together and feel the comfortable, tired silence that Morgan, Doug, Carolyn and I share, and I look at the tip of the Abel Tasman coastline and marvel at how far we came.

Was it worth it? Definitely.

We did it! And we'd gladly do it again.

p.s. Morgan has additional landscape photos of Abel Tasman and I shot footage for a mini movie. We’ll try to post them in a few days when we have better online access. We’re headed to the West Coast for the coming week.

Related posts:

1. Tips for Touring Abel Tasman National Park
2. Playing Around Rotorua
3. Christmas in a Manger at Nelson, New Zealand

The garden setting of The Jester House Cafe near Nelson, where the great food isn't the main attraction.

A man I met in Auckland gave me this tip when he learned we’re visiting his home town, Nelson: “You really must go to The Jester, about 40 minutes away, because it’s the best cafe. Worth the drive. Terrific breakfast, heaping portions. And eels — the children will love them!”

He made it sound as though eels were on the children’s menu — a kind of kiddie sushi, perhaps — but a check of The Jester House website revealed live freshwater “tame eels” as a main attraction. It seemed as odd as a B&B advertising pet snakes along with delicious scones.

We put it on our must-do list and found ourselves driving up the Coastal Highway a few days after Christmas to find out if tame eels were an oxymoron or some kind of joke at this place called The Jester.

It definitely was worth the drive — a tour that revealed why some compare the Nelson area to a mix of Napa, Santa Barbara and Santa Cruz. The brilliant blue of Tasman Bay, visible along the waterfront of the Tahunanui District, gives way to green vineyards along a stretch known as the Appleby Highway. Just when you think you may be delightfully lost on a country road bordered by white painted fences, a sign for The Jester House comes into view: “Cafe and Tame Eels!”

We crossed a narrow footbridge and got a glimpse of the slithering, sleek things in the stream below — dozens of them intertwined and flopping about — while several little kids stood on the bank reaching out to them. It was clear the children were more enchanted than grossed out. Colly and Kyle ran to buy a cup of eel food and joined the others while we got a table.

Kyle and Colly meet the eels -- and make some squeals.

The cafe is set in a garden that looks lifted from a children’s story book, with playthings such as an over-sized chessboard and teeter-totters. One table was inlaid with a hand-carved Chutes and Ladders game, but it pictured miniature eels instead of chutes.

Kyle ran up to me, out of breath and eyes big, saying “Mom, you have to come, you have to see the eels. They come out of the water!” I dutifully followed him down a path to the stream and stood mesmerized as he and Colly lured the eels like snake charmers by using food on the end of a stick. Sure enough, these amphibians squirmed out of the water, opening and shutting their silent mouths in a chomping motion. They looked like evil sock puppets dipped in slime.

“Mom, come here — you’ve gotta pet them!” Kyle demanded. As soon as I forced myself to reach down, one suddenly lunged with its mouth open and aimed at my fingers. I made a scaredy-cat shriek of “Ewww!” and ran several steps back to watch from a safe distance. “It’s just like petting a wet bar of soap,” chided Colly.

When it comes to eels, the kids are braver than I!

I was relieved to shift my focus to lunch, which was one of the best — and most reasonably priced — meals we’ve had since coming to Nelson. My veggie burger came on a fresh-baked ciabatta role nearly as big as the plate, layered with greens and marinated red onion.

After lunch, we headed to Rabbit Island, which locals say is the area’s best beach. It’s located between The Jester House and Nelson, from Redwood Road off the Coastal Highway. The entire island (accessible by a causeway) is forested with pine planted decades ago, and the beach stretches unbroken for about eight miles, with relatively warm and safe surf that the kids dove right in.

Colly and Kyle take a break from the surf to dig for treasure.

Morgan's favorite view of the beach on Rabbit Island.

Seifried Estates Winery and Restaurant is close by Rabbit Island, on Redwood Road, and also worth a stop. We went there a few days prior to the eel outing, and the kids, who were dreading a fancy meal and boring tour, were relieved to discover that we could eat outside — next to a play structure! I love how the concept of play structures at restaurants has spread beyond McDonald’s in New Zealand.

At Seifried Winery, I enjoyed the wine while the kids monkeyed around on the play structure.

I’m grateful the guy in Auckland gave me The Jester tip and in doing so gave us more reasons to explore the Tasman Bay coastline; otherwise, we might not have felt motivated to go beyond Nelson, because it’s such an intoxicatingly comfortable town. Along Nelson’s main street, Trafalgar, flower baskets overflow with impatiens and lobelia, and walking paths branch out toward the beach and hills. Part of me wants to stay right here forever.

But the other part of me looks forward to leaving in a few days because we’re heading north to explore the Nelson area’s biggest attraction: Abel Tasman National Park. We’ll unplug from the laptops, stick our stuff in storage and hook up with another family (Kiwi transplants and friends from our Ojai high school days, The Kirkpatricks) for a three-day kayak trip.

Old friends, new adventures — I’m looking forward to the new year!

The sun sets over Tasman Bay and the town of Nelson, a place that epitomizes beauty and tranquility.

Related posts:

1. Christmas in a Manger at Nelson, New Zealand
2. Tips for Touring Abel Tasman National Park
3. Our 3-Day Kayak Adventure Around NZ’s Abel Tasman Park

The view of Nelson from Harris Hill (click to enlarge).

Sarah writes: We just wrapped up our most unusual and special Christmas ever, which we celebrated at a rental cottage in Nelson, New Zealand. Ending the year here and being on this journey together is the ultimate “gift that keeps on giving.” Since my 8-year-old son Kyle spent part of his homeschooling week writing about this place, and Morgan took terrific photos, I decided to hand this blog post over to them. I hope you enjoy Kyle’s very own blog post and movie!

Mom and me homeschooling on our deck.

Right now I’m at Harris Hill. It is in Nelson, N.Z., which is at the top part of the South Island. It is at a farm with animals like a hairy pig, goats, sheep, calves/cows/bulls, dogs, ponies, horses, llamas and chickens. It has a view of the blue bay, and since we’re near the ocean, it’s windy! The wind makes the grass look like waves.

When we’re inside we hear the sheep and listen to the birds cheep. We’re staying in a cozy cabin. The best part of it is we get our own rooms! We’ve had to share our rooms the last four months.

The farm is like a petting zoo to me. I love the animals. The one I love the most is the hairy pig. We call him Hairy Porker. We feed him food like fruit, vegetables and leftover meals.

Hairy Porker begging for food.

Me with the pesky goats.

We're at a giant hill overlooking the sea.

The weird thing is, we have fruit like strawberries and cherries in December because we’re near the summer solstice. Christmas is weird because it’s cold where we usually live and warm in New Zealand. It’s also different because we made decorations, and I made a popcorn string for the tree. My grandparents also sent me a lot of yarn to make decorations with.

We decorated a small pine tree that is still growing.

Today we had Christmas with our small pine tree. We woke up with our shoes as stockings and found candy in them. (That’s what they do in Holland, and Santa puts candy in there. We didn’t have stockings so we put our shoes by the front door.) I woke up my family to see the presents. My favorite was my IPod Touch! I also got three books that I’m excited to read, and I got two decks of cards from my grandparents. They also gave me instructions on how to play poker because they think it’s time for me to learn how. Then Colly opened her box. It was a computer (laptop)! It was a special Christmas for our family because we’ve never had a Christmas like this.

My dad made this card for our family and friends.

Harris Hill makes me feel like I’m at home. It will feel great to end the year here.

Here is my video of Harris Hill.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Related posts:

1. Cheerio, New Zealand
2. Meals with Eels and Other Nelson Must-Do’s
3. Playing Around Rotorua

Click here to view the embedded video.

The Rotorua Tourism Board will probably be upset to hear me say these activities generally seem overrated and overpriced. Our best times around Rotorua involved spending free time for free. We rented a low-cost cabin outside of town at one of the best “holiday parks” we’ve come across yet (a glorified RV park and campground), on the edge of Blue Lake by a vast forest preserve, and passed the time reading, homeschooling, running, researching, cooking and playing with the kids. Morgan and I took turns doing long solo runs through the Whakarewarewa forest, aka The Redwoods, which seemed like a fairy-tale hybrid of Hawaii and California because it had the ferns, dampness and fragrance of an island rain forest amidst groves of century-old redwoods.

Then we experienced Kiwi hospitality firsthand when a mutual friend of some Northern California runners, Paul Charteris, invited us to his hometown of Kawerau near Rotorua and took us on a hike to Tarawera falls.

Tarawera Falls near Rotorua, where we hiked and picnicked.

The double-barreled waterfall shoots out of the middle of the volcanic mountain, from a fissure created by lava, rather than cascading over a cliff. The kids didn’t mind hiking uphill for an hour because the reward was so great: first the falls, then a sky-blue swimming hole with rope swings.

Colly and Kyle couldn't get enough of this rope swing at the Tarawera swimming hole.

Paul then hooked us up with his friends, Mike and Sarah van der Boom and their two school-age girls, in the beautiful Bay of Plenty beach town of Whakatane. Their family hosted us for a couple of nights, gave us a barbecue and took us trail running. Believe what you hear: New Zealanders really are that nice!

At our hosts' house, the kids just played and played.

Morgan and me on a run above Whakatane in the Bay of Plenty with Sarah van der Boom, who took this picture.

All of this — not just our time in New Zealand, but the ways in which our lives have changed through travel –  has made me think more about the subject of play and the choices we make about how to spend time and money, particularly as a parent. Forgive me as I digress and risk sounding simplistic or superficial as I try to condense a big topic into a blog post.

We’ve been away from home for four months now, and I’ve noticed that Colly and Kyle are playing more than they have since preschool, which has been a profound and unforeseen benefit of this long-term travel. By “play” I mean filling their time imaginatively and physically, making use of whatever is around them. After we’re done schooling or sightseeing, they still have hours of unscheduled free time to fill up, and TV or the Internet are limited because of our circumstances (few TV channels, shared computers and limited WiFi). So they wander outside, often to a play structure or trampoline, but they don’t just swing or bounce. They make up a game or start playing characters. They get in arguments, work it out or forget about it, and then start something new on their own, or they might meet other kids from other countries and start talking to them. And they constantly are together, so much so that they joked they’re developing twin telepathy.

The kids keep exploring and trying new things together.

I really didn’t appreciate how much our family life has changed until the other day when I opened my calendar from seven months ago and literally shuddered when I saw the lines and lines of daily scheduled activities and obligations, much of which involved the kids. Well-intentioned parents (like me) sign children up for sports and recreational programs because we don’t want them to “miss out.” We want them to have fun and develop their hobbies (and to be honest, we want them to stand out as stars on the stage or on the field), and we want someone to watch them and keep them safe while we go about our lives during the day. We also are susceptible to the marketing of many extracurricular “enrichment programs,” believing our kids need the help of tutors and other professionals so they can reach their potential. Ironically, all this scheduling and transporting kids to programs often makes families more stressed, more financially stretched and less available to spend time together.

Kids become so accustomed to being told what to do, and when and how to do it, that they complain about being bored if they suddenly find themselves with free time. Parents admit to looking forward to summer or winter holidays ending so they can get their kids back on a schedule and in those programs.

That was how our family was before this year away — and it may be us again when we get back. I hope not, because we were not a terribly happy bunch back then, but those real-world dynamics of our community and demographic are incredibly hard to resist. Of course we’ll plug back in to it all on some level, but I’m already trying to envision a middle ground that will preserve the kind of play and togetherness we’re rediscovering.

Before this trip, I was familiar with  studies touting the importance of play and warning about the downside of kids’ over-scheduled, over-hurried lifestyles — but it took a genuine change of circumstances and simplifying of our lives (what travel blogger Christine Gilbert has called a lifestyle redesign) to make me fully appreciate the importance of free time and family time.

This is us on an impromptu roadside hike.

I watch Colly in particular as she revels in being a kid. Yesterday she spent most of the afternoon with Kyle doing nothing more important than digging in beach sand to build castles, and when we went inside she became absorbed in a book. Her sixth-grade friends back home, meanwhile, are managing a mountain of homework and other responsibilities while preoccupied about their appearance, friendships and who’s dating whom.

What a gift, I realize with gratitude, that this year away has extended her childhood by a year, and given us more time to enjoy her — and really get to know her — as a goofy girl who’s content to play with her little brother. It may be we’re just delaying the inevitable and that she’ll turn into a teen overnight as soon as she’s sucked into the vortex of seventh grade. I hope, however, she’ll be better equipped to navigate the pressure of adolescence fortified by this year — a year of living more simply and becoming more self-reliant while seeing how people in other parts of the world make do with less; a year of  just being herself and being incredibly close to her family.

The same could be said for all four of us: I sincerely hope we will re-enter life back home permanently changed and fortified by this year.

Sometimes you just gotta let go and go for it.

Related posts:

1. When It Rains…
2. Happy Campers Touring North NZ by RV
3. Our 3-Day Kayak Adventure Around NZ’s Abel Tasman Park

Now I feel like someone should pinch me, because I can’t believe the four of us are driving, cooking, eating and sleeping in a magnificent four-berth camper that seems perfect in every way. I probably should be writing about the scenery — the lush vegetation and sweeping beaches of this swath of Northern New Zealand called the Bay of Islands — but I can’t get over the fact that the RV’s pots and dishes fit so neatly and securely in cabinets under a real working gas stove, and the table and benches fold and fit like puzzle pieces to make a comfy queen-size bed, and the bathroom sink flips up over the toilet. While the kids run along the beach and Morgan reads at a picnic table, I’m content to sit in this parked RV for hours and enjoy the view out the back window.

Morgan watches the tides roll out behind our RV spot in Waiwera, north of Auckland. Meanwhile ...

... I'm happy to stay inside the RV and cook!

Morgan begrudgingly agreed to rent an RV for six days in New Zealand. He wasn’t crazy about the cost (it’s definitely not a bargain), and he didn’t relish the thought of driving a 20-foot vehicle with a manual transmission and mastering the mechanics of a dump station. But it was 3 against 1, because the kids wanted it as much as I did.

He got on board with the idea when he realized that New Zealand is uniquely set up for camping in recreational vehicles or tents. There are hundreds of clean, well-equipped campgrounds called “holiday parks” along the countryside. We rearranged our itinerary and got the RV from Kea Campers as soon as we left Auckland in order to rent it before the rest of the country goes on holiday and the rates shoot up and campsites get crowded. New Zealand’s summer holiday runs from about Dec. 18 through January, and during that time the rate for our camper jumps from $212 per day (NZ$) to $350 per day.

The kids enjoy playing cards on the loft in the RV ...

... or playing on the picture-perfect beach.

We hit the road and started discovering the fun of no-frills holiday parks, where the vibe is like one big front porch and the back yard is endless. Conversations start around a shared outdoor kitchen facility called the “ablution block,” where campers gather to wash dishes or clean fish. Kids roam about (they tend to be from families of foreign tourists like us, since New Zealand schools are still in session), and Colly and Kyle wander off to explore the tides. Warbling birds and someone’s acoustic guitar add to the ambient noise.

Apart from the campgrounds, we’re experiencing the joy and liberty of exploring any side road that beckons, as happened when we approached the town of Kawakawa, “famous throughout New Zealand for its public toilets, which were designed by Austrian artist/sculptor Friedensreich Hundertwasser,” according to the breathlessly overwritten prose of our Explore New Zealand Holiday Park Guide. “The Hundertwasser Toilets are Number 95 of the 101 Must-Dos for Kiwis.” Well, if it ranks 95 out of 101, it must be worthwhile! Besides, we needed a bathroom break.

Hence, we found ourselves on the main street of an old coal town called Kawakawa looking at a public toilet stall decorated with fanciful mosaic tiles and learning more about this “internationally regarded architect” and misunderstood artist, Freidrich Hundertwasser, who came to New Zealand in the early 1970s and was commissioned in 1997 to build a public bathroom for the town.

“He was no stranger to the rejection of his offers to design flags, buildings and stamps and must have been delighted by the invitation, so much so that he emerged from his reclusive lifestyle to oversee the project,” reads the short history. “Kawakawa today (pop. 1300) is still a service and supply center; however, in recent years, urban drift and the restructuring of industry has affected the local economy. The Hundertwasser toilets and Hundertwasser’s overall philosophy have contributed new life in the town and inspired the local community to work together toward a vibrant future.”

To think, a public commode can do all that!

The history concludes wistfully, “Freidrich Hundertwasser died in February 2000 at the age of 71. The Kawakawa toilets were thus his final creation and are seen as an important memorial to him.”

Kyle was not very impressed by the famous Hundertwasser Toilets.

Part of the memorial to Freidrich Hundertwasser.

Fascinated by this tale of derring-loo and by the list of 101 Kiwi Must-Dos, Morgan took it upon himself to find out which attractions rank 96 through 101, below the Hundertwasser toilets. Among his findings: #96: “Wellington Writers’ Walk: See 11 poems by some of New Zealand’s well-known writers” (imagine how you’d feel being one of those writers who came in behind the public toilets); #98: “Stonehenge Aotearoa: A full-scale, modern adaptation of the famous Stonehenge on Salisbury Plains”; and our favorite, #100: “Beehive and Parliament Buildings.” No description, just an address to visit the seat of government in Wellington, which perhaps resembles a beehive. It’s wonderful to be in a country that believes it’s more worthwhile to visit a public toilet than to visit the government’s headquarters.

Kidding aside, we’ve seen some truly worthwhile sights, which we’ll try to detail later. Suffice to say that exploring New Zealand by RV should rank near the top of the Kiwi 101 Must-Do list.

It's not an obscene gesture, it's Morgan and Kyle doing a Maori cultural dance during our visit to the Waitangi Treaty Grounds.

Related posts:

1. Playing Around Rotorua
2. Tips for Touring Abel Tasman National Park
3. Happy New Year and New Blog

Our first tour of Auckland after an all-night flight.

We woke up in Auckland and watched Auckland wake itself up at around 5:30 a.m. Wednesday after an all-night flight from Santiago. Killing time until we could check into an apartment, we walked all around a virtually empty harbor and central business district.

Looking over the water, the sunrise in a gray sky revealed a historic sailing ship and massive cruise line that were docked near a beautifully preserved Edwardian-era ferry building. Looking back at the city, the cluster of high rises showcased a neon-lit space needle that stood out like a spiky Christmas tree topper.

I felt disoriented not just by the time change but also by a bit of déjà vu, as though I had spent time in this area or somewhere just like it before. Then I got it: Auckland didn’t feel like the hub of a foreign country as much as it felt like a hybrid of San Francisco and Seattle.

The Auckland Ferry Building, seen while strolling on a walkway not unlike San Francisco's Embarcadero.

Auckland's version of the Space Needle is called the Sky Tower.

We said a bittersweet adios to Latin America last Monday, excited to head Down Under but truly sad to leave the landscape and culture of Patagonia. The plane left at close to midnight and we lost Tuesday by crossing the date line, so we all felt a bit out of sorts when we landed in New Zealand before the crack of dawn on Wednesday. It didn’t help that every time a voice in the airport announced “Auckland,” it sounded exactly like “Oakland”! I managed to thoroughly confuse the kids by telling them that their friends in California were “three hours ahead but yesterday,” but they finally understood the time change when I clarified that New Zealand is 21 hours ahead of California.

Kyle and Colly with their luggage at the Santiago airport. (I'm so glad they can carry all their own luggage!)

When we reached the lobby of the apartment high rise where we’re spending four nights, we suddenly felt assaulted by Christmas as we confronted a gaudy display of seasonal decor and piped-in carols. We all felt taken aback by the in-your-face signs Christmas and consumerism, since we hadn’t seen much evidence of the approaching holiday in Argentina and Chile, and we certainly didn’t feel it, given the early-summer weather and the long distance from our church.

Goodbye empanadas, hello meat pies!

Then it was time to hit the streets and get to know the city. We ducked into a cafe as soon as we found one open and let Kyle sample the country’s quintessential dish: meat pie. Then we found a mini mart to buy a jar of peanut butter (which was impossible to find in Latin America) and other groceries. As high-end shops and coffee bars began to open, I couldn’t ignore the similarities to the Bay Area. Cafés served precious salads with ingredients like roasted beets and goat cheese, and trendy Thai, sushi and even Mexican eateries were everywhere. Shoppers could take their pick of designer labels and aromatherapy products.

Later, when we found ourselves sipping Starbucks and waiting to see a movie in the ultramodern Sky Tower Center, which has a rocket-shaped elevator that makes it feel like Tomorrowland, I reflected on how we had come half a world away to feel like we were in San Francisco’s Metreon. It wasn’t really what I expected — or wanted.

But once we discovered the city’s gorgeous park, called the Auckland Domain, and its treasure chest, the Auckland Museum, we started to feel more connected to — and interested in — our new destination. The museum provides a fantastic introduction to the country’s natural history and Maori culture. The next day we were impressed by the handcrafted Maori and British sailing vessels in the Maritime Museum.

Where the Wild Things Are: A closeup of a Maori carving at the Auckland Museum. (Notice the resemblance to Sendak's creatures?)

A closeup from the Maritime Museum. We were all impressed by the craftsmanship.

For the most part, however, we haven’t found Auckland terribly inspiring, and we’re eager to get in our rental RV tomorrow morning and hit the road for a week. We’re heading up north to the Bay of Islands area to explore beaches, small towns and a place we’ve heard is New Zealand’s most fascinating historical and cultural site: the  Waitangi Treaty Ground, where in 1840 the Maori and British agreed to give the British Crown control.

Don’t get me wrong — after we got over the jet lag, we enjoyed these days in Auckland. There’s no denying this city is thoroughly pleasant, clean and livable, and quite a nice gateway to all that New Zealand has to offer.

I just can’t imagine Auckland would rank high as a destination in its own right.  Some might even say it’s a nice place to live but you wouldn’t want to visit there.

The kids are getting to know the kiwi!

Auckland at night, as seen from our balconey.

Related posts:

1. Happy Campers Touring North NZ by RV
2. Playing Around Rotorua
3. Christmas in a Manger at Nelson, New Zealand

Morgan and I spent a lot of time last week doing travel research and making reservations while the stormy weather kept us mostly inside.

Before Morgan and I left in mid-August, we talked a lot about how there will be times when traveling gets tough, when we feel fatigued and worried about the myriad consequences of uprooting for a year, and when we second-guess our choices. We knew we’d feel homesick not just for home per se, but for friends and familiar routines, and we might feel pangs of regret. That’s why we added the “no regrets” phrase to our tagline — not because we’re blithely traipsing off in the world with nothing weighing us down but our backpacks, but rather because we knew from the start that doubt might haunt us, just as first-time home buyers flirt with buyers’ remorse when the repairs pile up and bills come due. “No regrets” is shorthand for “no turning back, so let’s make this work, and in the long run we’ll look back and be so glad we did it.” Or in Spanish, vale la pena. It’s what we say to each other and to ourselves to bolster confidence and commitment, because what we’re doing takes an occasional pep talk.

Last week was one of those weeks.

This may come as a surprise, since the previous post about arriving in Patagonia was so effusive. As my brother noted, we seemed besotted with the landscape. We still are, but we had, for lack of a better word, a moody week, exacerbated by a steady rain and cold that limited our ability to get outside and explore. Cabin fever and my head cold infected the cabana’s coziness.

A tour of Bariloche's chocolate museum lifted our spirits one afternoon and also gave us all an interesting history lesson.

Nothing terrible happened — no accidents or thefts — just minor disappointments, annoyances and parenting/sibling flareups. For example, a close call on a run (described on my running blog) made us dwell on worst-case scenarios and the extra steps we need to take to avoid them. Then there was a fiasco involving the Kindle, in which something that should be simple — shipping a defective Kindle back to Amazon.com and receiving a replacement — turned into a weeks-long abject lesson in navigating international customs, taxes and language barriers, which took more money, phone calls and cab rides than I care to relate. Morgan, with the help of his dad back home, eventually sorted it all out.

We experienced a higher-than-average number of travel planning snafus, such as when I screwed up and booked some wrong dates for New Zealand and couldn’t simply change them back. Then, more hours spent speaking and emailing in broken Spanish to make a reservation for lodging we really need next week, and finally getting to the bank to make a deposit to secure it (because a lot of these places require cash deposits, not credit cards called in) — and then discovering, as the rain fell and cab drove away, that the bank closed an hour earlier. Now we know that banks close at 1:00 on Thursdays.

And then there was the case of the bored, clever 8-year-old gremlin named Kyle who kept changing passwords and other settings on IPhones, IPods, laptops, in-room safes and any other device with a button and a silicon chip, in spite of repeated reminders and warnings, which led to technical difficulties and parental reprimands. And a laughably bad daytrip, which Colly described on her blog better than I ever could.

Kyle has grown very attached to this dog, which belongs to the groundskeeper. He loves playing with her, but then gets sad when he remembers our dog back home and realizes he'll have to say goodbye to this dog, too.

Meanwhile, I struggled to put more than two sentences together on this blog, briefly contemplated a pitch for a freelance writing assignment and then abandoned all efforts for several days, convinced that no one would ever care to find and read my long-winded prose since I’m apparently the only one in the over-saturated travel-writing universe who has decided not to Twitter.

All four of us, at various times, argued over how best to spend our days and how best to homeschool. We tossed and turned at night over long-term plans and got teary about missed friends and holiday traditions.

I’ve probably lost a lot of readers at this point who have no patience or sympathy for this sad sack. I hope you understand my main motive: to document some of the down days along with the good times, so that we don’t forget them when we wax nostalgic a year from now, and so anyone contemplating a similar journey gets a more complete picture.

Colly, bless her heart and mind, channeled our collective mood into her blog post linked above and created a pro/con list about long-term travel. Thinking about what I might list, I realized almost everything would be a “pro” but could also be a “con.” For example, “more family time” — definitely a positive, until you grow tired of finishing each others’ sentences all day long and yearn to socialize with others. “Flexible schedule and more free time” — wonderful, except on days when you struggle to prioritize and feel adrift. “Homeschooling” — so far so good, but when for whatever reason the process backfires, it’s a painful double-whammy: you’re a bad parent AND a bad teacher. “Experience new cultures and simpler ways of life” — always good, and I’m so grateful to see the world from outside of the Piedmont bubble, but feeling like a fish-out-of-water occasionally wears thin.

Halloween 2009: The kids were blue because they knew from friends' emails that they were missing parties, school costume parades and trick-or-treating. Argentina doesn't celebrate Halloween, but Morgan and I surprised the kids with some candy and we all had fun taste-testing the Latin American brands.

A couple of days ago, for example, I grew frustrated at the grocery store by my inability to decipher the strange brands and felt helpless to cook anything decent for dinner since I don’t have any spices or proper cookware. As I fruitlessly looked for frozen pie crust, canned pumpkin and condensed milk, I thought, Can it really be this hard to make a pumpkin pie? Yes, when you’re the only one in the country who craves pumpkin pie in October, it is!

But these lows don’t last. I knew this one wouldn’t, and it didn’t. Like in a marathon, as a favorite piece of advice I once heard goes, “There will be highs and there will be lows, and neither will last very long.” The same is true with long-term travel. Appreciate the highs and ride out the lows. Look up and around and think, We’re really doing this, we’re really seeing all these parts of the world together. Hallelujah!

Several factors pushed us out of last week’s funk: Morgan’s good advice and dark humor, a momentary lifting of the clouds for a fantastic day trip (details and photos in a post to come), the hatching of bird eggs outside our window, and — as is so often the case — running. If I have one piece of round-the-world travel advice to share this week, it’s this: Nurture a hobby as you go. It can be hiking, art history — anything that adds more meat to the skeleton of an itinerary, motivates you to explore more of the landscape, and makes you feel better when you get stalled in one point. Thanks to running we toured Buenos Aires on foot, and now we’re altering our itinerary to fit in some more races (such as the Nov. 14 Salomon K42 trail marathon in Villa La Angostura).

Cause for celebration: The eggs outside our window hatched! All week long we watched the mother guard her eggs and squawk at anything threatening. Yesterday, Morgan rescued a chick that fell down a drainpipe.

Running takes us places not found in any guidebooks. For example, I experienced a sense of accomplishment last week when I booked a room in the middle of Nowhere, New Zealand, following a string of travel-planning setbacks. We’re going there so Morgan and I can both run a trail race the weekend of January 16 — the first race we’ve ever registered for that requires runners to carry a whistle and safety blanket — and I think I even managed to find a babysitter (broadly defined) to watch the kids during the event.

The race ends on the West Coast of the South Island in a tiny hamlet called Blackball, at a roadhouse called the Blackball Hilton (the use of “Hilton” appears to be a long-running joke). We wanted to stay there since it’s the only place around, even though the most recent review on tripadvisor.com warns, “The rooms were tiny, dated and not to mention dirty. The room had layers of dust in it, dead flies and dirty carpets. The bathrooms were at the end of a corridor, and were also very dated and had flimsy locks.”

I placed an international call through Skype to the proprietor and had a lovely chat with a lady who seemed to come from Kiwi central casting, who punctuated each sentence with “right-oh!” and “no worries!” She told me she would be delighted to keep an eye on my kiddos during the morning of the race, and Colly and Kyle could have the run of the pub and help her manage the festivities as runners crossed the finish line. This was all oddly reassuring, not alarming, to me. Sometimes you just have to go with a gut feeling. I reserved the night before the race in the Blackball Hilton’s “family room” (who knows what that room classification means exactly), and I hung up very happy and grateful to know that we have a date in New Zealand two-and-a-half months from now in a backroad tavern with 100 other trail runners to keep us company.

Related posts:

1. Playing Around Rotorua
2. Essential Gear For Long-Term Travel
3. Welcome to Patagonia, Where Paradise Packs a Punch