Posted under New Zealand
After extending our stay in Queenstown from three to five nights and loving every minute of it, we reluctantly left the room with the million-dollar view and headed north toward Greymouth where we’d booked a one-night stopover on our way to Abel Tasman National Park. The scenic drive up the west coast combined all of the usual elements of the thrilling landscapes that we’ve come to expect on the South Island – mountains, lakes, rivers, rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep – and enter into the collage the rolling waves of the Tasman Sea and raw, white sand beaches; it’s enough to leave you breathless. As we began to happily lament that our repertoire of exquisite landscapes had been vastly expanded in just a couple of weeks, we came upon the sign announcing the exit to Fox Glacier. Yes, I said GLACIER! As in gigantic ice formation of the same sort that, over millions of years, cut the fiords out of solid rock.
As we pulled into the car park, we caught a glimpse of the glacier in the distance. It was dirty white with shaded contours and looked as if it were once a rushing torrent that solidified instantaneously, its velocity frozen in time. The trail led to the base of the glacier and we followed it nearly as far, carefully crossing a narrow river that kept the less adventurous onlookers behind. We had previously discussed joining one of the guided glacier hikes but I had vetoed the idea because it sounded cold. As we skipped around on the river rocks and set up photos from various angles, we were surprised by the warmth of the air. We looked enviously at a few groups of hikers heading toward the base in shorts and parkas, half-wishing that we were among them. As we walked back to the car park, we shed a couple of layers down to our t-shirts and wondered again how the glacier could stay frozen in such a warm climate. Back on the road, it was only a short distance to another glacier called Franz Josef. We pulled in and walked down to the first viewpoint. The glacier itself looked almost identical to the Fox Glacier in both size and shape and it was a much longer bushwhack over river rock and sediment to get to the base so we mentally checked the box and headed back to the car.
We arrived in Greymouth around dinnertime and checked into a quiet backpacker hostel in the center of town. The largest city on the west coast, Greymouth is still a sleepy little town, with a long gold history, nestled at the mouth of the Grey River. At six o’clock, it seemed almost deserted but we managed to find a restaurant open and sat down for dinner. The food was average but we shared a nice bottle of wine and enjoyed the homey feel of the place and our smiling Julia Roberts lookalike waitress. Toward the end of our meal, two guys from a large party took out their guitar and banjo and serenaded the dining room with a medley of popular songs. This impromptu concert called for more wine, of course, and I ordered a luscious liquid dessert. Little did I know that in the tiny town of Greymouth, I would strike gold of my own in the form of New Zealand aromatics. With a flowery bouquet and a touch of fruit, the aromatic New Zealand Rieslings lack the syrupy sweetness of the California and German Rieslings, making them decidedly drinkable. In the States, we get a great selection of New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs and, as previously mentioned, the Marlboroughs are divine but the aromatics are a newly discovered treasure in our repertoire and we cannot wait to taste more of them!
The serenade continued through two Heavenly glasses of Montana Riesling and, thankfully, ended while we were still able to walk out of there. Greymouth was a lovely town for a stopover. We could easily have spent one more day walking along the river and admiring the old European architecture but Abel Tasman was calling us from the north to come hike its trails and kayak through its calm waters. Who were we to argue?
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