Leaving Blenheim behind -- Beginning my journey south

Well, I’ve finally done it.  I’ve left Blenheim. 

My saccharine post of two weeks ago said it all – it was a hard place to leave. 

I’m happy to report that the exodus from Koanui was not as widespread or as sudden as I had feared, and many people hung around longer than I had expected.  But today marked the end of an era; the last six members of the gang left, myself included.

I took a piece of Koanui with me though.  No, I didn’t make off with the Barbie mug or Barbie bedspread, as tempting as that was. 




Nothing makes you feel young again like sleeping in a bunkbed with a Barbie bedspread.

 I got something much nicer than that – a temporary travel mate!

The lovely Hannah has joined me on my journey south.  My plan is to slowly make my way down to Wanaka and hope to find work there. If not, I may have to head back up north, cause my funds aren’t going to stretch very far at this rate.  Petrol is now $2.20 a litre, and I have yet to replace my timing belt (which is estimated to cost me upwards of $900!).

At the moment we’re in a speck on the map called Punakaiki.  It’s on the rugged West Coast of the South Island known solely for the pancake rocks that decorate the beach.

Where I was to where I am.

Or so I’ve heard anyway.  We had a late start given that we went to visit the new Blenheim homestead of fellow former Koanuiites Laura, Ben, Kim and Nathan.  Then we got a bit lost, then the rain started to fall in earnest, which made for slow, rather treacherous driving.  In any case we made it and for the first time in two months I'm sleeping somewhere other than Koanui.

So, I’m in a time of transition once again, which, as always, is scary yet exciting. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.  In the meantime, enjoy a few photos from my last two weeks in Blenheim:





The toque (or beanie, as the say here) that I made.




Planes at the surprisingly impressive Omaka airshow. 

 



Me and Daphne, the owner of Papa Col's (formerly Papa Mac's) baked potatoe stand at the Omaka airshow.  They were delicious potatoes.  If you have a chance, I recommend the Super Spud.



Ben, Hannah and I high above Picton on the Hilltop track (same one I did back in November).

Fording the river at the end of the track -- it was much colder than last time.



Ben gets Zen.





Kim, Hannh and Nathan (a.k.a. Waffles) outside of the Villa Maria winery.




Villa Maria vines.




Kim, Waffles and Hannah enjoy some Pintot Noir at Villa Maria.  They had spent many a day picking the grapes that will go into this year's crop, so this was a special tasting, I'm sure.



Gandalf gives (Laura's) Bruce a boost.

The final Koanui ping pong match.

Rainbow near Blenheim.



Jyne and I packed many boxes of truffles (and ate many too) over the past month and a half. 





Chanelle, Jyne and I hard at work at Makana.




I usually did not look this demented while rolling truffles.



Feeling nostalgic about Blenheim and Koanui though I'm still here

There are so many wonderful things about travelling – visiting beautiful places, having new and exciting experiences, learning about other cultures, discovering foods you didn’t know existed (what the heck is a feijoa?) – but one of the best things has got to be the great people you meet. The worst part of travelling though, is that inevitably, you end up having to say goodbye to these people.

When I first arrived in Blenheim six (SIX!) weeks ago, and walked into Koanui Backpackers, I was underwhelmed.  Though kept very clean, its amenities are somewhat lackluster – the kitchen is a bit cramped and rather lacking in cooking implements, the toilets in the main building don’t have sinks in them, so you have to walk all the way back to your room to wash your hands, the couches are frayed and stained. Nothing major, but it’s hardly the Shangri-La. 

I was also afraid that I’d get annoyed with living with so many people – the thought of sharing a small space with the same folks for so long was frankly terrifying.  I seriously considered renting a room in a house or a flat after my first week.

Imagine my surprise when about four weeks ago I realized that I was having the time of my life here.  It honestly snuck up on me; One day after work rather than feeling like I was returning to a hostel full of random strangers that I vaguely knew, I was coming home to my Koanui “family” (as cheesy as that sounds).

I don’t think I’m alone in that sentiment either. I’ve heard others here say how they feel like this place has become home, that they wish it were the middle of March again and that we all had weeks together ahead of us. There’s even one Canadian dude who was meant to leave twice, but couldn’t bring himself to.

Alas, it’s the end of the grape harvest and everyone is starting to move on.  Everyone but me, that is. 

My contract at Makana goes until the 30^th, so I’m going to be sticking around here until at least the 1^st of May.  I’m glad for the work, but it’s going to be so difficult watching everyone I’ve gotten to know and like leave over the coming days. Yesterday the exodus began, and as (bad) luck would have it, it was the three first people I met here who took off – two for the North Island, and one for Canada (third time’s a charm, eh Mike?). It was emotional. I won’t lie; I cried a little when each of them left.

It’s embarrassing how nostalgic I’ve been since yesterday.  I find it incredibly sad that the new crop of people who will be arriving shortly for the pruning season won’t know why there’s a rubber snake in the TV lounge, or why there’s all this neon orange paint dotting various surfaces around the joint, or who this “Kim” of the “Kim Style Says” scribble on the fridge is. I’ll miss the ribbing between team Canada and everyone else (especially the Irish and the Southern Canadian). I’ll miss our yoga sessions which started as a trio but ballooned into a group of seven last week.  I’ll miss the BBQs, the games of Ring of Fire, and the easy conversations we had.

I’m dreading having to make daily decisions – it’s been so nice to not have to decide where to go, where to stay, or what to do every day – and having my conversations with others reduced to the standard “backpacker small talk” (where are you from? How long are you here? Where have to been? Etc.).  Ugh.

Oh well. It’s all part of the traveller’s life, and I just have to keep telling myself that there are many more wonderful experiences ahead of me, and wonderful people out there to meet.  Right?



Andrea, Aline, Inki and I on our way back from Nelson.




Playing with light in Pollard Park.  Kim, Nathan, me, Laura, Mike, Marten, Leah, Inki




The Monkeys -- Kim, Mike and Leah.




Room six: Andrea, Robbie, Aline and me.



James, Iss, Leah, Andrea and me.



Leah and Mike make smores in the lounge as Julian, Sinead and Joe look on.



Team Canada (Me, Leah and Mike) take on the Southern Canadian (American) Ben on the Snout Track in Picton.



USA, Ireland and Canada Unite -- Ben, Joe and Mike.





The "Neon Party" at the Loft -- Ben, me and Iss




Me, Hiroshi, Ben, James, Joe, Iss and Andrea

 Miss you guys already :(

Living and working in Blenheim, of all places

The rather sleepy and unremarkable town of Blenheim sits on the north-eastern corner of the South Island.  It’s close to the sea, but not close enough that you can see it.  It’s close to some big hills or small mountains (not sure where one distinction ends and the other begins), but not close enough that they dominate the landscape.  The town has decent amenities – a good-sized, if shabby, library, a selection of stores and restaurants of both the chain and independent varieties, a pool, a theatre, and a field in which to play and watch rugby – but little in the ways of charm. 

Sadly, so far this is the nicest spot I've found in town.

All in all, the town would be nothing to write home about (though, here I am doing just that) if it weren’t for the delicious wine that the fertile land around these parts produces.  The vineyards here stretch on for kilometres in all directions. Not only do these vineyards provide some picturesque landscapes, they also provide mucho temporary employment for the cash-strapped traveler.

Most of the hundreds of backpackers that are loitering around Blenheim this time of year are here for the harvest.  They’re either picking the grapes, loading said grapes onto tractors, or processing them at factories.  They work every day of the week, unless it’s raining, and even then they’re up before the sun waiting to get picked up by the contractor who will later decide whether they’re working or not that day. The shifts are long and tedious, generally running for 12 hours at a time.  I even know one unfortunate soul who logged in a 26-hour shift the other day(s).  How inhumane is that?

I was fortunate enough to stumble upon some less strenuous, and more interesting, work at the Makana Boutique Chocolate Factory.  I get two days off a week, and my shifts are 8.5 hours long, which means I’m making less money than I would on the vineyards, but I’m OK with that. I’d much rather have time off to enjoy life than money sitting in the bank. 

And I am enjoying myself.  At work I spend my time rolling truffles, hand-packing the fancy little boxes of chocolates they sell at $30 a pop, dipping shortbread into chocolate, and, of course, ensuring quality control by tasting everything in sight. 

And Oh. My. Goodness. Is it ever good.

We’ve got truffles of the vanilla, orange, cherry, lemon, pinot noir, champagne, Irish cream, and boysenberry varieties, to name a few.  We’ve got butter toffee coated with chocolate and sprinkled with macadamias or cranberries.  We have macadamia brittle, orange brittle, shortbread, biscotti, chocolate-dipped ginger and citrus peel, and, one of these days, I think we’re going to be making caramel corn (be still my heart).

That’s not to say that there aren’t some tasks that are less than fun – when you spend eight hours straight rolling truffles, it does do your head in a bit.  But I have a great group of co-workers who make the days go by quickly and enjoyably.  There are only four full-time employees in the kitchen, plus me and another backpacker, and two women who take turns manning the shop out front. 

One of the quirks about my job is that the kitchen is surrounded by glass that looks into the shop, so when customers come in (often by the busload as part of wine tours), they stand at the windows and watch us at work.  It’s unsettlingly like being in a zoo.  For the most part I ignore people, though when I do accidently make eye contact it’s a matter of smiling politely and trying to look like I know what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of myself at work, but dozens of people touring NZ sure do.

Here are a few pictures I found on Flickr that show my place of work or some of the things we produce

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/yannconz/4372302378/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/followourfootsteps/4259718359/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/yannconz/4372302904/in/photostream/

I’ve been here in Blenheim three weeks and counting. Other than my visit home over Christmas, this is the most stable I’ve been since September.  It’s rather nice.

I drive by this pretty, dead tree every day on my way back from work.  I like it.

Acronyms are a funny thing...

At my old job (IDRC), the acronym ICTs meant "information and communication technologies."

At my current job (Makana Confections) ICTs means "Irish cream truffles."

Hokitika Wild Food Festival : Where the wild foods are

I love a good festival, and so far in New Zealand I’ve only had the opportunity to attend one (WanakaFest all the way back in October). Well, this past weekend I was able to go to another, and not only did I attend – I was paid to be there (yay!).

For one weekend every March some 10,000 people descend on the sleepy, West-Coast town of Hokitika where they put on ridiculous costumes and drink themselves silly. They’re drawn there not for the stunning sunsets or the greenstone that is expertly carved there.  Nope, they come for the grub – or, more accurately, I should say grubs.

Hokitika’s  Wild Foods Festival is a showcase for all that’s “edible.”  The quotation marks are important here, cause “edible” is an objective thing at this festival.

Among the wares on offer were such edible delicious and normal things as Indian food, cheesecake, lamb kebabs, and bacon sandwiches (which is what I was selling).  But then there was the weird stuff --the “edible” stuff – that people were sampling:  mountain oysters (sheep testicles), whitebait fritters (patties made from tiny, white fish), seagull eggs (self-explanatory) , and – this is most disturbing – protein shots (horse semen).  Ew ew ew ew ew.

A few takers a the mountain oyster stall.  Next door, gulls eggs were being hawked.

Various ostrich offerings and moonshine was also available.



This is the crowd gathered at the protein shots stall.  They helpfully provided posters identifying the steers whose...uh, protein was on offer.

 (I just know my vegetarian mother is cringing and making her “Blahhhhrggghhh” face right now.)

Compared to all that, the aforementioned grubs seemed positively tame.

This stall was literally just a pile of logs.  The guys working there would just hack off bits of wood to extract fat, white, wriggling grubs and people were paying good money to eat them. 

I was happy to be selling (and eating) focaccia rolls filled with lettuce, honey-smoked bacon, and avocado.  Evidently, the costumed and drunken hoard of revellers was happy we were there too, since we were overrun with customers.  The four of us working the stall had barely a moment’s rest between 11:00 and 3:15 when we ran out of rolls (we then sold cups of bacon until we ran out of that too).  By the end we were shaking we were so tired, hungry and thirsty.  It’s safe to say we earned our pay. 

Unfortunately, I didn't get a photo of our stall in action.

Once we had closed up shop, I was free to roam around and take a few photos.  I didn’t eat anything bizarre.  Instead I enjoyed a lamb-dog (which was actually more of a tasty Pogo), some Indian venison curry, some sparkling rhubarb  wine, and a piece of passionfruit cheesecake.

Mmmmmmmm.

If I’m still here next March I may try and make it back as a punter.

Uncertainty abounds in Blenheim

So here I am on the South Island.  After a very chilly night camping outside of Wellington last Monday (I think the mercury dipped down to about three degrees), I motored down to the ferry and did the always-stunning ferry crossing to Picton.

Rather than heading straight to Blenheim, I opted to spend the night in Picton at my favourite backpacker hostel, Tombstone.  It was a good decision (hot tub!).

When I rolled into Blenheim on Wednesday, I was under the impression that I was to begin grape picking the next morning.  Imagine my surprise when I was told that the cold weather that had kept me awake while camping had also had the undesired effect of retarding the harvest.  In other words, there was no work to be had just yet, and I was expected to just wait around in the uninspiring city of Blenheim (where I’d already forked out for a week’s accommodation) until summoned.  Balls. 

Understandably pissed off, I was rather curt with the poor girl at the reception (the hostel acts as a middle-man between the vineyard contractors and the seasonal workers they employ), but soon mellowed out and decided not to shoot the messenger – it’s hardly her fault, after all.  She turned out to be really nice and ended up hooking me up with a gig working at a festival in Hokitika over the weekend (I’ll write about that separately).

In any case, I did end up working on Thursday – I had the glamorous job of cutting off bunches of grapes that had been attacked by mites!  Then stomping on them!  I wish I could tell you which winery it was for, but it wasn’t obvious, and the people who supervise the seasonal workers were the most unhelpful, charmless, and unfriendly folk I’ve dealt with in NZ.  One woman in particular seemed more intent on sucking in as much nicotine as possible than actually interacting with the human race, so I didn’t bother asking. 

So it’s a good thing that I may not have to deal with such people anymore; Instead, if all goes well, I’ll be working at Makana Confections for the next six weeks. There, I’ll be making truffles and other delicious chocolates.  I’m stoked.

Shilling for some "famous" people I know

I don't mean this to be a name-dropping post.  I just want to give a little leg up to a few talented people I have the good fortune of knowing and who are promoting things online.

• Phil Villeneuve, a fellow graduate of École secondaire Le Caron in Penetanguishene and one of my brother's best friends (more on him later) is making a name for himself by unselfconsciously dacing his way through such Toronto landmarks as the ROM, the Eaton Centre, and the subway.  He even got a shout out from the Scissor Sisters onstage after he danced to their song "Any Which Way" in 2010. Phil's latest performance caught the attention of the Toronto Star this week.See all his videos on his YouTube channel 
• I met Anna Södergård a few months ago in Picton, New Zealand.  Aside from being incredibly easy to talk to, friendly and interesting, Anna is a great artist. Now, I don't speak or read Swedish, so I'm not sure what her blog says, but I can tell you that her artwork there is great.  Check it out
• I had the opportunity to meet Ben Mandelker a few years ago when he was in Toronto for a wedding and I was visiting my then-boyfriend who lived there at the time.  Ben is a Los Angeles-based writer who is best known for his blogging about TV and food under the monicre B-Side. He's been known to rub elbows with some of reality TV's heavy hitters  and even co-created the nickname "Chenbot" that Big Brother host Julie Chen has adopted with pride.  I've been reading Ben's hilarious TV recaps and other fine writing for years. You should too!
• Last but not least in my list of shills is Damien Robitaille. As most of the handful of people who read my humble blog know, he's my wee brother and he's a francophone musician.  He's doing quite well and hardly needs any of my meagre help promoting himself, but I try nonetheless.  I've been talking him up to all the French and franco-Canadian people I've been meeting during my travels, so maybe I'll convince at least one or two people to check him out. If you haven't yet, go see Damien's slick site.

OK.  Shilling over.