Leaving Christchurch and driving north through hills ablaze with yellow gorse, we stopped off in Blenheim for a few days on our way to take up a homesit in Appleby between Richmond and Mapua.

Robyn, her backyard and her cat Kassia all gave us the usual warm welcome. We were fortunate to catch the wild golden poppies in full bloom in the river beds near Blenheim, although we had to wait impatiently for them open each morning.

In some places the flowers were so dense there was hardly any room for other blooms. Note the tiny white-bearded one. And a single blue lupin.

The vineyards are waking up, everywhere are rows and rows of bright green leaves on delicate tendrils. Following the European custom many vineyards also grow roses at the end of the rows or on the boundaries.

We made a day trip to Picton to visit a jeweller who will remodel my wedding and engagement rings; the latter was getting very worn and one small diamond already lost. She has now designed a magnificent new ring, I can’t wait to see (and wear) it. Meantime I am wearing a $3 copper ‘wedding ring”! Standing outside a nearby cafe on the Picton waterfront deliberating whether to have coffee, out of the cafe burst Dave’s old workmate another Dave … we can’t seem to stop bumping into people we know!

We enjoyed another 2-for-1 pizza night with Robyn and her friends at Renwick’s Cork and Keg. Wonderful value, great surroundings. Their other food is very good too. Then it was off again heading for Nelson and up the Moutere Valley to our next homesit.

Two years ago we were in Te Aroha, a small town in the Waikato area of NZ’s north island. T5 was parked in the grounds of a private club which offered a secure site and the use of the club premises for a nominal fee. It was our wedding anniversary and I was determined to celebrate (hey, 9 years married to a feisty Kiwi…!). All dressed up, we (or rather I) decided the Club’s pub  grub style restaurant was not good enough for such an important event, but where to go? We drove into town ….  and there towards the end of the main street was an authentic Italian restaurant. Amazing!

We had the most wonderful meal in an eclectic atmosphere, topped off with an Affogatto served with style in the proper italian manner by the proprietress. A scoop of vanilla icecream, a demitasse of extra strong coffee, and a shot of liqueur. I have never forgotten it, it’s been my benchmark for affogatto ever since.

Fast forward two years, we are in Blenheim and again it is THAT DATE. Blenheim on a Friday is not very scintillating. Where to go? All the Vineyard cafes closed at about 5 pm. The one very good restaurant was booked out, as was No.2. on the ‘best restaurants in Blenheim’ guide. Pub grub did not appeal, no matter how good it is on other occasions. We drove round and round and were almost resigned to going back to T5 for left-over pasta when Dave spotted … an Italian restaurant! Rocco’s was not on the list of Blenheim restaurants which we had checked earlier. Once again we had a scrumptious meal, with a gorgeous Sicilian wine (in Marlborough wine country!), and for dessert I ordered – you guessed it – affogatto. Although very tasty it did not live up to the Te Aroha benchmark. Talking to the proprietor, he promised to make the coffee stronger next time!

It was a lovely anniversary.

(I am posting this immediately, but have two other posts still to do which really precede this one in time….)

Just before leaving Christchurch we spent an awesome day at the Hororata Highland Games. This was the fifth year of the Games which started after the Christchurch earthquakes as a project to lift the community’s morale. It has morphed into one of the biggest and best Highland Games in the country.

Last time we attended the Games, although a clear bright day there was a cold wind, so in expectation of the same I dressed fairly warmly. The caravan tends to be a little cool in the mornings and it is not until one has been outside for a while that the weather can be accurately gauged, at least as accurately as ANY New Zealand weather can be gauged, seeing it can go through four seasons in a single day. After picking up sister in law Alison we were just on our way when Dave realised he didn’t have any spare batteries for his cochlear implants, so we drove back to the caravan (only a short distance away) and I took the opportunity to change into something rather more summery and was very glad later on that I had. It was glorious, hot day.

It was impossible to cover everything. Two years ago the innovative event was scurry racing; this year it was a Highland Spin competition – “… a Fleece to Garment challenge where teams of six people race to shear a sheep, spin the wool and knit a child’s jersey in six hours.” By the time we arrived the sheep had already been shorn and three teams were hard at work carding, spinning and even knitting straight from the spindle. The Highland Spin tent was a hive of activity; as well as the three teams there were spinning and sheep shearing demonstrations. Some spectators were settled in for the long day … with their knitting!

I was disappointed not to catch the start and to see how long before the knitting actually started. When I returned to the tent some hours later, the knitting was well advanced but still the wheels spun. Concentration was absolute and the atmosphere electric. We also managed to catch the end, but I do know the victorious team completed a very reasonable-sized jersey well within the allotted time.

A beautiful new elevated stage made the Highland Dancing far more visible to everyone. I cannot comment on the quality of the dancing but I was very impressed by the younger children doing the sword dance. According to the programme there were 34 different dancing events over 13 different age groupings, as the Games also hosted three different Canterbury West Coast and one South Island Highland Dancing Championships.

I could not get into a really good position to take photos of the caber toss, or indeed most off the heavy athletics cpmpetitions, some of which involved women; but I did see some of the tug’o’wars.

Apart from the usual crafts etc stalls seen at all country fairs there were some with a particularly Scottish flavour:

There was a large sign near the entrance explaining the Heavy Athletic events, something I appreciated. Do any of my readers know, for example, that a perfect cable toss is called a twelve o’clock turn, where the caber falls straight away from where the athlete released it. In a 12 o’clock toss, the caber falls away rom the thrower and forms a straight line through the thrower. Sometimes the caber falls off slightly to the side – a 10 o’clock, 11.30 etc. I gather that if the caber falls back towards the thrower, the toss is void.

Bananas are essential fuel …

I also missed the Hororata Pie Eating Competition – not that I think there would be anything particularly interesting watching people scoffing pies as fast as possible – and they are very good pies, such a shame to treat them so!

There was plenty of food available though including scrumptious whitebait patties on the usual white bread (no other type of bread will do), Scottish pasties and haggis, waffles, and NZ ice-cream including an experimental whisky flavoured ice-cream. I cannot say I could really taste the artifical flavour but both of us enjoyed a taste of the special Hortorata Whisky and came away with two reasonably expensive bottles.

The Kilted Mile (which involved far more than just running – and yes there was some pie eating involved too!) drew quite a crowd. the winner was a very fit young man.

Being a Highland Games there were of course many piping and drumming events. It was good to see so many young people of both sexes taking part in these competitions.

There were a number of Have A Go activities for both adults and children – “Visitors love to get off the bleachers and get hands on with various activities such as tossing the caber or sheaf, farmers walk, archery or the Haggis toss.”  And indeed many people particularly young ones did indeed have a go. It was such a happy atmosphere.

For entertainment as well as the serious Game events, there were Scottish Country dancing demonstrations (which we nearly disrupted by greeting some of our old dancing group friends who we haven’t seen for two years, not long before the music started!) …..

….. and a game of Hurling – something like lacrosse and hockey combined.

We visited Clan Lane and the Johnston(e) Clan table of course – both of us are Johnstons, but unrelated. There was a lovely vase of Red Hawthorn – the Johnston Clan flower – which I have not seen before. I was interested to see a display by a Society of Orkney Islands descendants and will be following up with them later about one of my ancestors. I visited the Orkneys in the late 60s and remember them well, one of the highlights of my Big OE.

The Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) made their presence felt with a tent housing weaving, medieval manuscript illumination and sewing displays, and outside there was a woodworker clad in full armour and various other people in medieval dress. I once used to dance with a Renaissance Dancing group and although not part of the SCA we shared many dances in common.

Footsore, sunburnt, well fed and happy we were just about to leave when Dave was accosted by a rather desperate lady – could we possibly help start her car? We always carry jumper leads so Dave was able to help, but it was indeed lucky that after a good clean-out of the back of the ute, Dave had only placed the jumper leads back in the evening before. A happy ending to a memorable day.

I have finally managed to get the website looking more respectable; if you want to read some my family history stories they are under ‘Genealogy’.  There’s also a story about the “Cornelius” on which I spent a wonderful ten years.

We arrived back in the chestnut orchard a month ago when the trees were still bare  ….

…. and when we left last week the orchard was a field of dappled green grass covered with small white daisies, bright yellow dandelions and thistledown heads which look like a faintly bluish carpet when viewed in the late afternoon sun.

Birdlife had increased markedly; apart from the usual sparrows and blackbirds etc there were some quail and ducks. We had a daily visitor named Chookie who would be most insistent if I did not feed her NOW, came at my call and took bread from my hand. Penny was very good and ignored them all.

Not long after our arrival we joined a local Dog Walk event, but unlike the one in Blenheim people were not very friendly. The walk was supposed to be a 5 km round trip in the Groynes area through some nice semi-bushland, much of it reclaimed land, but 2/3 the way or so we came to a locked gate and had to return the way we came. Quite a walk!

I’ve spent some time recently knitting trauma teddies to send to a friend of a friend in Ireland who is collecting them to give to refugee children together with a special book. A great way to use up some spare wool. The Australian Red Cross are doing the same thing.

Driving around Christchurch we were both struck by the increasing number of changes. It is getting progressively more difficult to work out one’s location!  More new buildings have gone up since our last visit, including the impressive new bus exchange. There have been some mutterings because the buses have to back out of their pens, normally buses are forbidden to reverse. The temporary ReStart mall (made from shipping containers) has been moved to a new location.

Late one cold and windy afternoon we decided to go to the Ferrymead Historical Park as the vintage steam train and trams were running.

There was also an early electric tram. We had a number of rides but not time to explore much else.

We did however visit the smithy; in the cold afternoon wind we enjoyed some much-needed hot lebanese food and coffee.

As it was a special weekend many people were dressed in period costumes including these ladies (one with a spoiler!) and three children who I spotted from the top of the electric tram. When I tried to find them later they had all disappeared.

One old cottage had a walk-in pantry. They seem to be coming back into vogue as they are feature of several Show Homes we have seen recently.

That rather annoying American custom of Halloween rolled round again, and one of the caravan ‘ladies’  went round all the caravans in our little community to warn people that her grandchildren would be visiting that weekend. She gave us bags of sweets to give them as most people would not be expecting the peace of the orchard to be invaded. As dusk fell the visiting witch with her little ghostly helpers DID look rather good, although Penny wasn’t too sure what to make of them! Grandma obviously went all-out to give the grandchildren a wonderful experience, even decorating their caravan.

We went out to our house in Templeton (Christchurch) and removed all our remaining belongings which were stored out of sight in the attic, plus some bookshelves etc still in the garage. Grateful thanks to Nienke for arranging a trailer. We’d been expecting to need to do quite a bit of gardening but the tenants plus the regular lawn mowing guy have kept the place reasonably neat and little was required. It was a bit of a wrench to see all my roses, grape hyacinths, daffodils etc and the two ballerina apple trees all of which I had planted when we first arrived, just starting to look their best. Two of the rosebushes we had brought from our old home in Linwood Ave but they will have to stay now.

We are currently home-sitting in a lovely little country home between Richmond and Motueka, More in the next blog. Just before leaving we attended the wonderful Hororata Highland Games – also in the next blog.

As I prepare this for posting it is 3rd October, exactly two years since we left home to start on our caravan adventuring. TWO YEARS???

After leaving Blenheim we spent a few days around Nelson while Dave helped his niece with some home improvements. We stayed in the NZMCA camp which is part of the Richmond Racecourse/Showground.

The Racecourse is a very quiet place most of the time although it’s easy to imagine the bustle on race days. All the buildings are so old particularly the enclosed horse boxes, the doors worn down by generations of strong horse teeth. Nearby the open stalls were once shaded by an avenue of huge, really huge old trees, now reduced to stumps.

Near the grandstand is a memorial to the Wahine, surrounded by a garden full of flowers and herbs (which I was invited to use).

The grass everywhere was very green and identical brown horses covered with identical horse blankets grazed everywhere in the outlying paddocks – how do the owners tell them apart? Sheep grazed in the middle of the racetrack. A young police dog was being put through its paces in a back area.

On Sunday morning there was a little Farmers Market – two fruit and vegie stalls, a soap stall with some creative products, one selling the usual alternative health products, and two craft stalls, one covered with original crocheted hats mostly a la Minion style but with various twists. I should have taken photos; here’s one of my more conventional ones if that adjective can possibly be used!

We drove up to Mapua, Ruby Bay and Motueka for the day and explored the coastline. Motueka was once an important port but is now a pretty stretch of coastline deserted except for the wreck of the Janie Seddon which belonged to the big fishing company Talleys and was beached in the 50s. She was the company’s first fishing vessel built in Scotland in 1903 and was used as a Port Examination Vessel in Wellington during WW2. Talleys bought her as a coal-powered fishing trawler in 1947. Some people have expressed concern about safety hazards but as one local says, is the wreck any less safe now than it already has been for decades? It’s a landmark and a key part of Motueka’s history. http://www.stuff.co.nz/nelson-mail/news/63407740/Old-wrecks-days-may-be-numbered.

It looked like the locals take considerable pride in the shoreline. Colourful flowers were everywhere. I was intrigued by what I think is a giant Billbergia (“Queen’s Tears”), certainly the biggest I’ve ever seen. We will have to go back later to see the flowers to confirm this.

We’d had lunch at the Jester House and were due to meet Viv for coffee at Toad Hall  – popular local names! – but were late for the latter as we discovered a huge local ferry in a shipyard, being prepared for relaunching. This was the ferry on which a wedding party travelled from KeriKeri to Mapua the day before Penny went missing last year. It was awesome watching the huge monster being manoeuvred by a single tractor, with one other called in temporarily when everything got bogged! 

Also spotted; a sad little fishing boat which will not be putting out to sea again.

Grouch 1: While in Nelson one morning I spotted a Beads shop and thought they might be able to fix a bracelet of mine so we went in – or tried to. A sign said Open from 10 am and it was about 9.45 then, so we took ourselves off for a not-really-needed-coffee and returned at 10.20. Still closed. We then went to the nearby Tahunanui Beach and had a lovely walk with Penny on what is surely a doggie paradise populated by any number of well behaved dogs. One in particular intrigued us, a foxie very similar to Penny but tan and white only.. It took us about a year to find our tricolour Penny and we never saw any tan and white advertised in that time. The owner confirmed she had been “difficult to find”! did not have my camera with me but managed a shot or two when we got back to the ute.  Back to the Beads shop, Open but nobody in sight and after hanging around for ages we took off in disgust. Maybe the owner was having her hair done at the next door shop, but she would have seen us hanging around surely. So my bracelet will have to wait for Christchurch.

Grouch 2: Speaking of bracelets, both Dave and I have MedicAlerts. We got these because we both have cochlear implants and in the event of a serious accident not only should we NOT have MRIs but if the external parts were dislodged it might not be obvious that one or both of us were totally deaf. The idea is that anyone finding us can phone the number on the MedicAlert emblem and quote the membership number and have immediate access to our medical records. BUT 5 months after joining I still cannot access my so-called Manage My Health account where my medical details are supposed to be found, and this despite many emails to MedicAlert and repeatedly changing my password at their request even though it is more likely the membership number which is at fault. I am getting fed up with this!!

We had a look at a couple of Show Homes while in Richmond. We now have a huge showbag of brochures and booklets from nearly all the big home builders, all with similar offers and as far as we can make out similar prices. I still hanker for a totally eco home though. The main stumbling block is not so much cost (that will come!) but finding some suitable land. Like Blenheim, Richmond and Nelson are undergoing a building boom, new home sites are being snapped up at an alarming rate, and the higher up the hillside the better the view and of course the higher the cost.

We drove back to Christchurch via Murchison, Reefton (2 nights) and the Lewis Pass. The gorse is ablaze everywhere, I wonder what the early Scottish immigrants would think if they could see what has happened with their importation which was intended for stock feed only – but the cattle preferred the soft NZ grass which is why the gorse is now so rampant.

I’m not sure why I like Reefton, considering the first time I visited the town was in the depth of winter and I was fresh from Australia. But in spring it is a pretty place, the main road north is lined with blossom trees and there are so many quaint old buildings, particularly the court house (which we visited on an earlier trip).

There also seem to be a number of friendly goats, including one in a paddock opposite T5, standing in a ‘field’ of aged cabbage leaves – maybe he is hoping I’ll give him something a little different. This one was at the entrance to the town.

The air s full of the smell of burning coal – rather a comforting smell actually which takes me back to my childhood and steam train trips from Sydney to the Blue Mountains. We stayed at a POP site which caught the evening sun beautifully and gave a view over the town.

We hadn’t planned to stay there 2 nights but the second day was so pleasant that we did. In the afternoon we drove a short way south and discovered some land for sale, complete with a cottage of sorts … here it is. A very desirable position perhaps.

A little further on towards the town we stopped to investigate the swing bridge which takes one over the Inangahua river and to the site of an early power station. The area is just so rich not only in mining history but in the history of electricity in NZ – Reefton was the first town in the southern hemisphere to establish its own power station. Penny was not so keen on this swing bridge…)

Back in town we found an old steam engine, wedged between a skating rink and a heated swimming pool on ‘The Strand’ (!). Signs told us that this was R28, an articulated locomotive ‘designed to cope with tight curves”. It has a long and convoluted history and is one of only two genuine single engine Fairlie engines in the world. Sadly it does not seem to have been looked after very well.

Another Blenheim event we attended was a Dog’s Day Out organised by one of the local Vet practices. At least 40 dogs of all shapes, sizes and breeds gathered in a huge dog park which has a river flowing through it, surely the major attraction for at least half the dogs once they had finished their particular type of doggy meet and greet! 

The water may have been cold but when did that ever deter a determined dog?

I was struck by the number of small fluffy white dogs and medium sized boxer dogs (plus a few larger ones) but there were also 2 Great Danes, a German Pointer, a Boston Terrier, two elegant Italian Greyhounds, a number of Alsatians (one with the most beguiling blue eyes) and of course any number of Bitzers.

It was a lovely day for both the dogs and their humans, and especially good to see so many joyous dogs off lead and really enjoying themselves.

A third local event was a small Vintage Air show at the Omaka (Blenheim) airport. It was on a sunny but bitterly cold and windy day so of course many of the aircraft could not be flown or even brought out from their hangars. When we arrived the parking lot attendant seemed to be waving us straight into the hold of a huge Bristol Freighter – huge indeed at just over 68 ft long with wing span 108 ft. A sign showed that it had spent some 27,700 hours in the air and made over 33,330 landings.

Omaka Aero Club was a training ground for WW2 pilots, and was taken over by the NZ Air Force in 1939. Training was mainly in the Avro Anson Mark 1 maritime patrol and reconnaissance bomber. This plane is now very rare and only is one still flying anywhere in the world – right there at Omaka.

Restoration of other vintage planes is in progress ….. this one has a way to go.

Dave watched while the ground crew did an engine warmup of the Griffon engine in the Mk X!V Spitfire – 3 people were needed to hold down the tail in the strong wind.

Seeking coffee and a bit of warmth we went into the Museum foyer (we have been to the Museum before, definitely worth a prolonged visit) and this time I took photos of an intriguing display, a Russian WW1 plane with a grappling hook (!) The Museum describes it as “one of the most outrageous aerial combat experiments undertaken during the war” by Colonel Aleksandr Kozakov. At that time few aircraft carried any armament. Although the grappling hook method didn’t work, Kozakov did down a German aircraft when his anchor got caught in a German plane’s undercarriage and he decided to strike the upper surface of the enemy plane with his undercarriage, which folded up …. the German plane lost control and fell to earth like a sack but Kozakov’s plane miraculously disentangled and landed safely. 

Another foyer sign told of an Imperial Russian Air Force pilot named Vladimir Laskin, who “… flew many different aircraft types including one in which he was required to remove the carburettor in flight, clear the obstruction and then  refit it!”. What fun. The phrase “Those intrepid men in their flying machines” took on a new meaning.

The crafter in me was also attracted by another display, two shadow boxes full of mementoes carefully displayed in little pockets … the photos tell more than I can (unfortunately reflections in the glass made good photos difficult). I have a number of such mementoes belonging to my late father in law Squadron Leader Bill Hoffmann; now at last I have an idea as to what to do with them. But it will have to wait till our caravanning days are if not over at least not continuous and I can access my stored boxes of family history in Christchurch.

The first buds are finally appearing on the vines.It has been a rather cold Spring so far. This was taken beside the St. Clair restaurant where we had a farewell lunch with Robyn and her friend.

On one last drive before leaving Blenheim we visited the site of the Wairau Affray, just out of Blenheim on the way to Picton. Most people probably miss it. In 1843 there was a confrontation between early settlers and local maori, who objected to their land being surveyed without their permission. According to an official sign, 22 “Nelson men” were buried in a mass grave on the other side of the stream. Intriguingly there is also a small set of graves near the site of the confrontation, obviously tended by local people.

Time flashed by particularly quickly while we homesat in Blenheim. Apart from a couple of ‘events’ we enjoyed a very quiet, almost sluggish existence, ensconced in Robyn’s lovely warm house next to a vineyard and entertained by her garrulous little cat Kassia. Penny and Kassia have met on more than one previous occasion and had a guarded relationship, but this time Penny must have accidentally bowled over Kassia while chasing her ball and since then things have been more hostile but gradually thawing.

I’ve done lots of boring things like washing all the caravan curtains, doing some mending and having fun in the kitchen. In between visiting Robyn in hospital we did some not too serious house-and-land hunting, inspected various show homes and drove through endless kilometres of vineyards. Their geometrical precision never ceases to amaze me.

Intriguing too to see the number of workers tending the vines even though there are still barely any buds to be seen. Occasionally we spotted a cloudy UFO or two, the Blenheim skies seem particularly prone to producing them.

And we visited a chocolate factory, the smell so overpowering when you walk inside that it is ALMOST all you need to do to be in chocolate heaven – at least until they offer you a sample!

An eagerly awaited local event was the Marlborough Ploughing Championships. Here’s a shortened form of what I’ve written for the RV Lifestyle magazine:

Enormous placid horses with feathery fetlocks always attract me and I suspect many others who would not otherwise consider themselves ‘horsey’. Watching ploughing may not be many people’s idea of fun but there is something satisfying seeing those wonderful straight and occasionally not-so-straight lines of newly-turned sod appearing before one’s eyes. Also watching magnificent Clydesdale horses producing them, a task which they’ve done virtually unchanged for many hundreds of years.

So mine were not the only anxious eyes scanning the rainy Blenheim skies for the week preceding the annual Marlborough Ploughing Championships in early Spring. Thankfully the skies cleared, and while gum boots were the only sensible footwear and the wind blew chillingly straight off the northern mountain range, the sight of 4 teams of horses pulling vintage ploughs, about ten vintage tractors doing their thing in the next paddock, and steaming hotdogs with onion and tomato sauce from a food tent threatening to blow away at any moment were enough to keep me entranced for much of the day.

There were two 4-horse and two pair ploughing teams. Although the basic premise is simple, I was surprised at the range of different ploughs starting with a simple one-disc walk-behind to an elaborate two-disc contraption operated by a system of brakes and levers with the ploughman sitting in a special seat.

Add to that the need to control the horses, partly by long reins held by either the ploughman or a ‘walker’, and also by voice commands (“Forward one step”, “Whoa”, etc) and the complexity of harness – chains, collars, leading reins – and one begins to realise it’s not just a simple process. How long does it take to harness the horses and hitch up the ploughs I wonder, especially with larger teams of 6 or even more horses.

The object at the Championships of course is to plough the straightest furrows at just the right depth. The first furrow takes the longest time to do, with regular stops for adjustments. The patient gentle Clydesdales seemed unperturbed at the long waits although the leader of one team seemed to be saying “Hurry up, when do we start?”

And how do they ‘turn’ at each end of a furrow? Those huge Clydesdales do some fancy footwork, crossing their front legs in unison to turn effortlessly in what seemed an amazingly small space. The plough they were pulling needed far more work to be hauled around!

But it wasn’t all horses. There were about 10 vintage tractors, most gleaming with fresh paint. One in particular, a John Deere 40 driven by a woman, has been in the same Blenheim family since the 1950s. The drivers seemed to spend more time looking behind than looking ahead.  And just like with the horses, frequent stops for adjustments were being made in the quest for perfection.

There was also an exhibition of sheep herding by an amazing dog named Shane, and for children the obligatory pen of new-born sheep, a young friendly sheepdog and a rather fat pig named Carol who we ‘met’ last year when she was a tiny piglet; mostly she seemed intent on copying the tractors and ‘ploughing’ her own special furrows.

The event was hosted by the Marlborough Ploughing Association and Tua Marina Vintage Traction and Machinery Club. Up to 23 qualifying events are hosted by individual Associations throughout NZ. Winners are selected to represent the district in the annual NZ Ploughing Championships held in April or May each year. It goes further – the World Ploughing contest will be in Thisted, Denmark in early October this year with 30 countries competing. Serious stuff.

Tony from Christchurch came up for a few days; we plied him with food and drink and took him to Rarangi Beach and then Port Underwood, where the catches of various seafood is strictly limited.

Everywhere the gorse blazed bright yellow. Back to Picton for lunch and to watch one of the inter- island vehicular ferries arrive. All too short a visit, but it was lovely to see a familiar face.

Back in Bowen from Yellow Belly it was all systems go to prepare for the Airlie Beach weekend market where Patrick sells his justifiably famous Bowen Mango Sorbet.

The one-hour drive south from Bowen at dawn was frustrating as the most glorious sunrise could be seen through the trees but we could not stop to take photos.   

We reached the markets in good time and helped Patrick set up his stall, then for the next 7 hours he churned out sorbet after sorbet as Dave handled the cash…….

…… and I wandered around trying to resist the amazing array of goods at one of the best markets I have seen.

I did buy a lovely gypsy necklace in turquoises and blues, and a bracelet to try and make my newish medicare bracelet look a little less horrible (it broke 2 days later), admired the intricate shell ‘curtains’ at one stall….

…..  the amazing dance a young Japanese girl did with a shiny orb which seemingly never touched her fingertips, the sand sculpture of a fire-breathing dragon, and of course sampled the food including that same Hungarian friend bread which was such a hit at the WOMAD festival in NZ a few months back.

The air next to us was full of bird calls as the vendor played endlessly on his wares, and further away a band played an eclectic mix of didgeridoo plus guitar  …

Camel rides on the beach were obviously popular.

Our main objective on this Aussie trip was after all to search for a suitable caravan and tow vehicle, so reluctantly saying goodbye to Patrick and Sylvie and their incomparable French hospitality (and YES we did have a huge meal of king prawns on one occasion and plenty of mango sorbet!) we boarded a Greyhound bus for Townsville. The front seats being free, Dave had a good time sorting out the world’s problems with the driver while I was content to admire the scenery.

We had booked into a motel near the waterfront so did not have far to go to find some good food. Next morning we picked up a hired car, a very pretty little blue something, and for the next 2 days investigated caravan yards, finding several reasonable vehicles but not anything that really grabbed us. By this time I was feeling rather unwell and the heat was not helping, but we continued as planned, dropping off the hired car on the way to the airport and collecting another vehicle (a cute little red Kia) at the other end in Brisbane.

Our plan was to go straight down to Coffs Harbour and THAT caravan, but it seemed impossible to be in Brisbane and not do some visiting so visiting we did, and stayed overnight with some old friends and rewarded them with a dose of my developing cold. I feel so bad about that. Dave was also feeling a little unwell by this time.

But we accomplished the drive to Coffs Harbour, booked into the first motel we saw, had a lovely Indian dinner and next day finally saw THE caravan, a Jayco the same length but three year older than our NZ home. And very nice, too! I was immediately enamoured. The tow vehicle is a grunty black Jeep Cherokee in excellent condition. Some repairs to the caravan are currently being carried out and so it will not be available for about 2 months. Dave wants to wait till we have been to the Maryborough Motorhome and Caravan show next weekend before making a final decision.

Next day we made a quick trip to Port Macquarie to try and locate my errant brother Barry. We went to his last known address and were told he had left 6 years previously. But eventually we found him in a nursing home in nearby Wauchope. it was good to know he was being well cared for in pleasant surroundings.

Meantime I was developing a bad case of bronchitis coupled with a cold and not feeling very happy. Nor was Dave.

Dave writes …..

After spending an hour with Barry we returned to Coffs Harbour. A second night in the motel there and then on Saturday morning we left to head quietly back to Brisbane… but by the time we reached Brunswick Heads Nancy was coughing full time and I was feeling like I had been worked over by a heavyweight boxer so just before lunchtime we went in search of a motel to hole up in for a couple of nights, Nancy thinking she could shake off the coughing and me to overwhelm my bugs with a dose of alcohol. A very small “supermarket” just down the road from the motel provided essential sustenance so we turned the heater up high and settled in.

By Monday I was feeling fine but Nancy was definitely not so we headed off to the local medical centre for a consultation…  Bronchitis!!!  Not what we needed but because I was feeling good we drove on to Nic and Mick’s place as planned.

Then the lurgy struck again and I started coughing as almost as badly as Nancy, getting pretty frustrated with it all actually and the sooner I can shove it off the better.. Definitely wasn’t covered in our pre-winter flu shots. 

Nancy: so here we are still with Nic and Mick who are looking after us both well although they do follow us around with cans of antiseptic room freshener! After a few days of rest and sunshine in gorgeous bush surroundings I am feeling much better and have taken some photos of the magpies continually stalking the back lawn and a resident pair of parakeets, but Dave is still not 100% either so we have decided to forego to Caravan show at Maryborough and instead concentrate on getting better before catching the plane home on Wednesday. All plans for visiting Brisbane friends are off.

It was just over 32 years since I left Bowen. Arriving in mid-1977 on our boat “Cornelius”, pregnant and unused to the Queensland heat, it was a while before I started to feel part of the place. My first husband Geoff and I had bought a run-down slipway and were determined to make a successful venture of it. We lived on board “Cornelius” for the next six years and survived a near-cyclone while Geoff built it up to a thriving business, with a new and much stronger cradle capable of handling large fishing vessels and a concrete block winch-house designed for future expansion. Initially I was the winch operator – it was an old car engine I think! – and Geoff was the all-important cradle operator, responsible for correct placement of valuable yachts and fishing boats so that as they were hauled out, they remained upright and stable – not as easy as it sounds as the slipway rails were not level. So to start with Geoff had to place the boat just so and slightly heeled over to one side, then as it was hauled out I had to keep a critical eye on the angle and immediately put the boat back in the water – fast – if it started to heel over too far the other way! Fortunately that only happened once or twice. Most slipping was done at high tide which invariably meant at night, so communication was by torchlight and hand signals. We had plans for a secondary runway and cradle but they had not come to fruition before Geoff died in 1983.

On Geoff’s and my first evening in Bowen we wandered up the main street and decided to try out a little cafe which advertised pizza and garlic prawns. We were not expecting much in a small country town but those garlic prawns were so good Geoff had several helpings, and thus started a long friendship with Patrick and Sylvie which continues to this day.

Bowen the town was much changed, I only recognised a few of the older buildings, but Patrick and Sylvie’s lovely rustic French style home was still there and as welcoming as ever. The harbour was just as welcoming from a distance but unrecognisable close-up, with many new moorings and reclaimed areas.

Dave and I went down to the Slipway of course, now surrounded by a high corrugated iron fence. On asking permission for a wander around it was freely granted. It was good to see that the concrete block winch house is still being used, but the cradle rails have been straightened (!) and a new cradle is in place on the main slipway while what I was fairly certain was the cradle which Geoff designed and made in 1978 was still in use as the secondary cradle on the secondary runway which we had designed. I will need to check some old photos first to be certain.

During the 1978 near-cyclone the wind blew sand into every tiny crevice and joint; the moving parts of the cradle were seized up solid and Geoff had to melt the sand out later with a powerful blowtorch. It was impossible to face into that wind which of course reached its peak at night, coinciding with a high tide; we had left the spotlights on so the eerie scene was exhilarating and frightening at the same time –  howling wind, swirling sand, flickering lights, boats rocking madly (even with every possible bit of running rigging removed). We were triply fastened to two sturdy piles (those nearest the shore in the photo below, but there was no pontoon then) plus we had an anchor out into the harbour plus ropes to the mangroves ashore. There was concern that the high tide would lift the boat up and put it down on top of the piles. Some other boats forced their way as far up a mangrove creek as possible but others like us elected to stay in the harbour.

Over the years Patrick and Sylvie have developed a rustic retreat which they named Yellow Belly after a snake which they saw there the first time they discovered the area. Located about an hour’s drive through parched bushland and at a remote point on a cattle station…….

….. over the years it has become a focal point for the multitude of foreign visitors, mainly French, who seem drawn to Bowen and to P et S in particular, by magic.

I was there at the beginning, one of many willing hands conscripted on the promise of a feed afterwards. Memorable meals at a long rough-hewn table in the shape of the gum trees. Sylvie with a broken arm after one of the roof beams fell on her.

Some 10 of us would arrive in the morning with a motley collection of tools and materials, very rarely anything new. Slowly the outline of a hut took place. Over the years the plan was refined. There is now a workshop housing a generator, guest quarters, a cookhouse, an outdoor shower and of course a long drop complete with phone to the house if you run out of toilet paper.

There are lots of interesting quirky objects, like this ancient coffee pot brought out from France, which once belonged to Sylvie’s great great grandmother. What stories it could tell. Or the blue and orange enamelled dish.

A huge flood in 2008 almost reached the bottom steps. It can be seen from the second photo taken from the river bed just how far away the river is normally.

It was all new to Dave of course, but I think he enjoyed our stay there.