Day the worst, second only to Saturday
Monday, 29 November 2004 (written 30 November 2004)
I woke up feeling pretty ill, still. Coughing a lot and just generally not improving in any way except I had a bit more of a voice. Found my socks and underwear had not dried overnight, so I moved them closer to the heater. When my underwear were sufficiently warm, I put them on and dressed, same tee shirt, same jeans, leaving my socks for later. I went up to breakfast – yogurt with strawberries, fresh squeezed orange juice, and a pot of tea. When I finished the yogurt, Mary brought out the “pancakes”. So many things are called “pancakes” here!! These were crepes with fresh blueberries and some sort of thick creamy stuff in them. Not cheese like blintzes, but it tasted good. All sort of melted in my mouth which was fine because my throat was hurting still and I was coughing up a lung every five seconds. I met Neil, Mary’s husband, and granddaughter Hannah. Mary was going to be doing something at a school all day, so I was pretty much going to be on my own dealing with baggage, ferries, etc.
After breakfast, I went downstairs and called Air New Zealand. They had my luggage; it was being “processed”. I explained my situation with the ferry and how I needed my bag ASAP to take with me to Nelson. They said to call back in a few hours for a better assessment of the situation. By the way, I said, I was told to ask about allocation and authorization of funds to me because of my not having my bag for more than 24 hours… She checked and yes, I got NZ$100; just present receipts an hour ahead of flight time at an airport. I got online and chatted with a few of you, got Michael’s medical advice on my illness, and e-mailed. Two hours later, I called Air New Zealand again. Wellington has your bag, they said. When would it be delivered? They didn’t know because they were in Auckland. I explained the problem again, and the woman gave me the Wellington baggage services number. I called it. It rang and rang and rang. I hung up and called again. It went to voicemail. I called again. A woman picked up, very annoyed. I launched through the story again, stopping to have a coughing fit. “You sound like you have a really bad cold or flu. You really should try to get better before you travel,” she said, not helpfully. At first she wouldn’t tell me whether or not my bag would be to me in time. It was 10:45 and the plane carrying it wasn’t due to arrive until 11:30, so she wouldn’t even give me confirmation that they HAD the bag. I explained the situation again, and she said yes, I’d have it by 2 PM; they’d put a rush on it. I told Neil what was going on, and he said he’d keep an eye out for it, and leave a note on the door for them to leave it, if he was out for a few minutes dropping off Isabelle (the younger granddaughter) at school. I was going into town to spend NZ$100, not to mention I had a list of supplies to get at a pharmacy after talking to Michael. He had made it sound like I was in a really bad way. When I relayed that to Glen, Glen said, “That’s because he’s taking into account that you’re not a wimp” [so wouldn’t let on the extent and severity of how I was feeling].
I walked to the bus stop; it was drizzling. I estimated I’d have about 90 minutes in town before I had to catch a bus back to grab my stuff and… catch a taxi?... back to the ferry. However, by the time the bus got into town, I had only an hour, and I wasn’t moving very fast feeling the way I was, and then I got a little lost, and it was all over. I reconciled myself to missing the bus, and just got done what I needed to get done. Bought a thermal shirt, managed to get acceptable substitutions for what Michael had suggested I take, and, even though I wasn’t hungry, I bought a sandwich, “caramel slice” – shortbread but not crumbly bottom, with a layer of caramel and topped with a layer of chocolate, and ginger beer as take-away, so I could have it later on the ferry. By the way, it is so strange to me that here (and in Australia), the equivalent of Tylenol is kept behind the pharmacy counter, even though it’s OTC, yet whenever you buy Sudafed, you have to show picture ID. Yes really. I had to show picture ID (and there are huge signs posted at the cash register saying this) to buy Sudafed. They took down my name (after scrutinizing my driver’s license for quite sometime), and then asked for my local address.
Then, I hailed a cab. I told the driver I wanted to go to Lowry Bay. We had some minor communication issues. But five minutes later, when he turned and started heading in the wrong direction, I said, “You know that’s in EASTBOURNE, right?” And it turns out he thought I’d said some other bay. He didn’t know where Lowry Bay was, but I said if he would just stay along the water, I would be able to get us there. And I did. But right before the driveway, I had another coughing attack, and he just randomly pulled into a driveway, not the right one. When I had recovered, I paid him, thanked him, and walked to the B&B.
It was 2:15, and my ferry was at 3:30, and I was supposed to be checked in (or risk losing my ticket) by 3. My bag had arrived! Thank goodness. There were all sorts of tags and labels on it, with things like “RUSH” and “URGENT” written on them. And sure enough, the bag had been to LA. I asked Neil if he recommended a particular taxi company. He said no, but offered to call me a cab. I raced around downstairs throwing all my stuff back into my bags. Since I hadn’t had my main bag, there was less stuff than usual exploded around the room, and shoving it back into bags was easy. Still, I was hardly done when the cab arrived. Neil helped me bring my bags out, and load the taxi, and, thanking him, I was off. The cabbie wanted to talk to me the whole time, but whenever I started talking, I started coughing so mostly I just let him talk at me. I popped my first dose of Sudafed in the taxi. We got to the Lynx (ferry) platform just shy of 3, and I checked in. Then I had to check my baggage. I pulled my Denali jacket out first. No way was I going to be jacketless again. It’s not all that warm here. As I handed the bag to the guy, I said, “Please don’t lose this one. I just got it back.” Then, I boarded the ferry.
I found a seat by the window, and devoured my sandwich, then more slowly the caramel slice, and ginger beer. It was a beautiful day, bright blue, sunny. As we pulled out of port, people streamed outside to take pictures. But I didn’t feel like moving. I dozed for the majority of the trip with my head against the window. Disturbingly, I was noticing that I had to cough every time I took a breath. I must have driven the guy in front of me nuts with a single cough per exhalation for an hour. I was driving me nuts but I was too tired to care. I shook myself awake for the last half hour of the ride and went outside to take a picture. The water was an amazing shade of turquoise and the south island hills were so green. As we pulled into port, I collected my things and went outside again. There was some poor planning with where they had initially let people stand and where they wanted them to stand, so we ended up all crushed together. “Could have just not let us over there to start,” I muttered to the woman next to me. “Are you Canadian?” she asked. I didn’t know how to answer that. Sometimes it’s smarter to say yes. “States,” I whispered. She nodded. She was from Canada.
We got off the ferry, and I collected my bag at the baggage claim. Then I started to look for a way to get to Nelson. I knew Nelson was two hours’ drive from Picton, so it was important I find an established way there. A cab was going to be too expensive. I stood at the InterCity bus window for a while but no one came. So I went and asked the InterIsland ferry people how I could get a ticket for the InterCity bus. They didn’t know – go ask the InterCity people. I went back to that window and saw a sign saying they were only open until 1:15 on Mondays. Fantastic. It was nearly 6 PM. At a loss, I wandered outside, then back inside. Come on Jen, I was thinking, you’ve got to do something here and quickly before your potential bus leaves! I asked a janitor walking by about the InterCity bus. The last one had already left for the day, much earlier. So that did me no good. How am I supposed to get to Nelson, I asked him. There’s a little bus outside, he pointed, has a little K on it. I ran out the door, and saw the bus – a rundown van. The driver was talking with a guy and a girl when I got there. Apparently there was only one seat left and they were two people. “I’m a single!” I said. I looked apologetically at the couple. The driver loaded my bags in separate towing unit, and I climbed on the van, wondering what I was getting myself into. After some recalculating, the driver realized there would be enough seats (because some people were not going the whole way, whereas others were getting on part of the way there) so invited the couple to get on, too. That made me feel better. We drove out of the ferry parking lot and were instantly engulfed in gorgeous country vistas. About ten minutes later, we were in Blenheim (pronounced quickly, blen-em) where a few people got off and more tried to get on. But there was one too many of us. I got a little panicky. Everyone else had booked ahead. I was the extra person… I thought maybe they’d leave me there. Instead, a larger van materialized and we transferred all the baggage and then climbed on board. Then we drove for two hours through absolutely amazing scenery – rolling hills and mountains, so very green, covered with evergreens that seem to grow in absolutely straight lines, past farms and thousands upon thousands of sheep, dotting every hill, cows, horses, deer(?!). Being that it’s late spring, there were tons of little baby lambs and foals to be seen, some still tottering around unsteadily. We went up and down over and around mountains, my ears popped a few times (not as painfully as Saturday, thankfully), and edged carefully around hairpin turns on the side of cliffs. Those of you who recall La Palma would have been having flashbacks. Except this time, double tractor trailers came barreling along the other way. And, being that they drive on the left here, we were on the outside! We passed acres of vineyards. We also occasionally passed huge flat areas that seemed to be covered with an inch or less of water. I think this must be where they farm mussels. At one point, as far as I could see in one direction was this mud flat. And hardly a trace of civilization aside from farmhouses. We would go twenty or thirty minutes without seeing any intersecting road. Even now I have the impression that there is only one road and it leads directly from Picton to Nelson.
Then, we rounded a corner, just like any other corner, and a city suddenly stretched out before us along the water. Tons of houses all crowded together. We drove into the city and stopped at the information kiosk. Welcome to Nelson. Everyone piled out, collected their bags, and started off in their own directions. I asked the driver if she could point me in the direction of Kawai Street. “Kawai Street? That’s miles away!” she said. I tried to be cheery. “That’s okay! Which way is it please?” She shook her head, “I’ll take you.” I didn’t ask if she was sure that was okay. I put my stuff back on the bus and climbed in. We drove another five minutes and she turned onto Kawai Street. I started checking numbers. We were going the wrong way. She realized this too, stopped, and said, “Well, you can get to it from here.” I looked behind us. It was a sharp hill. But what could I do? I thanked her, grabbed my stuff, and started to hike slowly up the hill. There was a beautiful sunset, but I couldn’t get to my camera easily.
I found the B&B and, panting, rang the doorbell. Debbie, the innkeeper, answered it and took me to my room. I must have looked horrible because she said, “I bet you just want to take a shower and fall asleep watching a movie or something tonight. I’ll leave you to it.” She also offered me crackers and cheese, but I declined. I should have been more hungry, but I wasn’t. I took a shower, opened my suitcase and pulled out my nightclothes for the first time in three days, and looked gratefully at the rest of my clothes lying there. I brushed my teeth, used the nasal spray Michael had recommended (yuck to that – I’d never used nasal spray before and it’s just as unpleasant as I thought it was), took half a nighttime Sudafed dose (I hate overmedicating. Hate it.), and set my alarm for the next morning. Then, I booted up my computer and started to catch up on writing about my days.
I woke up feeling pretty ill, still. Coughing a lot and just generally not improving in any way except I had a bit more of a voice. Found my socks and underwear had not dried overnight, so I moved them closer to the heater. When my underwear were sufficiently warm, I put them on and dressed, same tee shirt, same jeans, leaving my socks for later. I went up to breakfast – yogurt with strawberries, fresh squeezed orange juice, and a pot of tea. When I finished the yogurt, Mary brought out the “pancakes”. So many things are called “pancakes” here!! These were crepes with fresh blueberries and some sort of thick creamy stuff in them. Not cheese like blintzes, but it tasted good. All sort of melted in my mouth which was fine because my throat was hurting still and I was coughing up a lung every five seconds. I met Neil, Mary’s husband, and granddaughter Hannah. Mary was going to be doing something at a school all day, so I was pretty much going to be on my own dealing with baggage, ferries, etc.
After breakfast, I went downstairs and called Air New Zealand. They had my luggage; it was being “processed”. I explained my situation with the ferry and how I needed my bag ASAP to take with me to Nelson. They said to call back in a few hours for a better assessment of the situation. By the way, I said, I was told to ask about allocation and authorization of funds to me because of my not having my bag for more than 24 hours… She checked and yes, I got NZ$100; just present receipts an hour ahead of flight time at an airport. I got online and chatted with a few of you, got Michael’s medical advice on my illness, and e-mailed. Two hours later, I called Air New Zealand again. Wellington has your bag, they said. When would it be delivered? They didn’t know because they were in Auckland. I explained the problem again, and the woman gave me the Wellington baggage services number. I called it. It rang and rang and rang. I hung up and called again. It went to voicemail. I called again. A woman picked up, very annoyed. I launched through the story again, stopping to have a coughing fit. “You sound like you have a really bad cold or flu. You really should try to get better before you travel,” she said, not helpfully. At first she wouldn’t tell me whether or not my bag would be to me in time. It was 10:45 and the plane carrying it wasn’t due to arrive until 11:30, so she wouldn’t even give me confirmation that they HAD the bag. I explained the situation again, and she said yes, I’d have it by 2 PM; they’d put a rush on it. I told Neil what was going on, and he said he’d keep an eye out for it, and leave a note on the door for them to leave it, if he was out for a few minutes dropping off Isabelle (the younger granddaughter) at school. I was going into town to spend NZ$100, not to mention I had a list of supplies to get at a pharmacy after talking to Michael. He had made it sound like I was in a really bad way. When I relayed that to Glen, Glen said, “That’s because he’s taking into account that you’re not a wimp” [so wouldn’t let on the extent and severity of how I was feeling].
I walked to the bus stop; it was drizzling. I estimated I’d have about 90 minutes in town before I had to catch a bus back to grab my stuff and… catch a taxi?... back to the ferry. However, by the time the bus got into town, I had only an hour, and I wasn’t moving very fast feeling the way I was, and then I got a little lost, and it was all over. I reconciled myself to missing the bus, and just got done what I needed to get done. Bought a thermal shirt, managed to get acceptable substitutions for what Michael had suggested I take, and, even though I wasn’t hungry, I bought a sandwich, “caramel slice” – shortbread but not crumbly bottom, with a layer of caramel and topped with a layer of chocolate, and ginger beer as take-away, so I could have it later on the ferry. By the way, it is so strange to me that here (and in Australia), the equivalent of Tylenol is kept behind the pharmacy counter, even though it’s OTC, yet whenever you buy Sudafed, you have to show picture ID. Yes really. I had to show picture ID (and there are huge signs posted at the cash register saying this) to buy Sudafed. They took down my name (after scrutinizing my driver’s license for quite sometime), and then asked for my local address.
Then, I hailed a cab. I told the driver I wanted to go to Lowry Bay. We had some minor communication issues. But five minutes later, when he turned and started heading in the wrong direction, I said, “You know that’s in EASTBOURNE, right?” And it turns out he thought I’d said some other bay. He didn’t know where Lowry Bay was, but I said if he would just stay along the water, I would be able to get us there. And I did. But right before the driveway, I had another coughing attack, and he just randomly pulled into a driveway, not the right one. When I had recovered, I paid him, thanked him, and walked to the B&B.
It was 2:15, and my ferry was at 3:30, and I was supposed to be checked in (or risk losing my ticket) by 3. My bag had arrived! Thank goodness. There were all sorts of tags and labels on it, with things like “RUSH” and “URGENT” written on them. And sure enough, the bag had been to LA. I asked Neil if he recommended a particular taxi company. He said no, but offered to call me a cab. I raced around downstairs throwing all my stuff back into my bags. Since I hadn’t had my main bag, there was less stuff than usual exploded around the room, and shoving it back into bags was easy. Still, I was hardly done when the cab arrived. Neil helped me bring my bags out, and load the taxi, and, thanking him, I was off. The cabbie wanted to talk to me the whole time, but whenever I started talking, I started coughing so mostly I just let him talk at me. I popped my first dose of Sudafed in the taxi. We got to the Lynx (ferry) platform just shy of 3, and I checked in. Then I had to check my baggage. I pulled my Denali jacket out first. No way was I going to be jacketless again. It’s not all that warm here. As I handed the bag to the guy, I said, “Please don’t lose this one. I just got it back.” Then, I boarded the ferry.
I found a seat by the window, and devoured my sandwich, then more slowly the caramel slice, and ginger beer. It was a beautiful day, bright blue, sunny. As we pulled out of port, people streamed outside to take pictures. But I didn’t feel like moving. I dozed for the majority of the trip with my head against the window. Disturbingly, I was noticing that I had to cough every time I took a breath. I must have driven the guy in front of me nuts with a single cough per exhalation for an hour. I was driving me nuts but I was too tired to care. I shook myself awake for the last half hour of the ride and went outside to take a picture. The water was an amazing shade of turquoise and the south island hills were so green. As we pulled into port, I collected my things and went outside again. There was some poor planning with where they had initially let people stand and where they wanted them to stand, so we ended up all crushed together. “Could have just not let us over there to start,” I muttered to the woman next to me. “Are you Canadian?” she asked. I didn’t know how to answer that. Sometimes it’s smarter to say yes. “States,” I whispered. She nodded. She was from Canada.
We got off the ferry, and I collected my bag at the baggage claim. Then I started to look for a way to get to Nelson. I knew Nelson was two hours’ drive from Picton, so it was important I find an established way there. A cab was going to be too expensive. I stood at the InterCity bus window for a while but no one came. So I went and asked the InterIsland ferry people how I could get a ticket for the InterCity bus. They didn’t know – go ask the InterCity people. I went back to that window and saw a sign saying they were only open until 1:15 on Mondays. Fantastic. It was nearly 6 PM. At a loss, I wandered outside, then back inside. Come on Jen, I was thinking, you’ve got to do something here and quickly before your potential bus leaves! I asked a janitor walking by about the InterCity bus. The last one had already left for the day, much earlier. So that did me no good. How am I supposed to get to Nelson, I asked him. There’s a little bus outside, he pointed, has a little K on it. I ran out the door, and saw the bus – a rundown van. The driver was talking with a guy and a girl when I got there. Apparently there was only one seat left and they were two people. “I’m a single!” I said. I looked apologetically at the couple. The driver loaded my bags in separate towing unit, and I climbed on the van, wondering what I was getting myself into. After some recalculating, the driver realized there would be enough seats (because some people were not going the whole way, whereas others were getting on part of the way there) so invited the couple to get on, too. That made me feel better. We drove out of the ferry parking lot and were instantly engulfed in gorgeous country vistas. About ten minutes later, we were in Blenheim (pronounced quickly, blen-em) where a few people got off and more tried to get on. But there was one too many of us. I got a little panicky. Everyone else had booked ahead. I was the extra person… I thought maybe they’d leave me there. Instead, a larger van materialized and we transferred all the baggage and then climbed on board. Then we drove for two hours through absolutely amazing scenery – rolling hills and mountains, so very green, covered with evergreens that seem to grow in absolutely straight lines, past farms and thousands upon thousands of sheep, dotting every hill, cows, horses, deer(?!). Being that it’s late spring, there were tons of little baby lambs and foals to be seen, some still tottering around unsteadily. We went up and down over and around mountains, my ears popped a few times (not as painfully as Saturday, thankfully), and edged carefully around hairpin turns on the side of cliffs. Those of you who recall La Palma would have been having flashbacks. Except this time, double tractor trailers came barreling along the other way. And, being that they drive on the left here, we were on the outside! We passed acres of vineyards. We also occasionally passed huge flat areas that seemed to be covered with an inch or less of water. I think this must be where they farm mussels. At one point, as far as I could see in one direction was this mud flat. And hardly a trace of civilization aside from farmhouses. We would go twenty or thirty minutes without seeing any intersecting road. Even now I have the impression that there is only one road and it leads directly from Picton to Nelson.
Then, we rounded a corner, just like any other corner, and a city suddenly stretched out before us along the water. Tons of houses all crowded together. We drove into the city and stopped at the information kiosk. Welcome to Nelson. Everyone piled out, collected their bags, and started off in their own directions. I asked the driver if she could point me in the direction of Kawai Street. “Kawai Street? That’s miles away!” she said. I tried to be cheery. “That’s okay! Which way is it please?” She shook her head, “I’ll take you.” I didn’t ask if she was sure that was okay. I put my stuff back on the bus and climbed in. We drove another five minutes and she turned onto Kawai Street. I started checking numbers. We were going the wrong way. She realized this too, stopped, and said, “Well, you can get to it from here.” I looked behind us. It was a sharp hill. But what could I do? I thanked her, grabbed my stuff, and started to hike slowly up the hill. There was a beautiful sunset, but I couldn’t get to my camera easily.
I found the B&B and, panting, rang the doorbell. Debbie, the innkeeper, answered it and took me to my room. I must have looked horrible because she said, “I bet you just want to take a shower and fall asleep watching a movie or something tonight. I’ll leave you to it.” She also offered me crackers and cheese, but I declined. I should have been more hungry, but I wasn’t. I took a shower, opened my suitcase and pulled out my nightclothes for the first time in three days, and looked gratefully at the rest of my clothes lying there. I brushed my teeth, used the nasal spray Michael had recommended (yuck to that – I’d never used nasal spray before and it’s just as unpleasant as I thought it was), took half a nighttime Sudafed dose (I hate overmedicating. Hate it.), and set my alarm for the next morning. Then, I booted up my computer and started to catch up on writing about my days.
posted by Jen at 8:54 PM
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