An impromptu visit to Cromwell, some terrible fish and chips, food poisoning, failed river crossings and 4 changes of plans. The birth (hopefully) of the OUTC Gorbachev award for most changes of plans.

Easter was fast approaching. I was keen to get out and about, just not keen to pay for all the fuel. I scrambled to get some companions to conspire with. I managed to convince Charlotte and Asia to enlist, even if it meant that Asia would have to miss something for her degree. Tramping takes priority right? We sat down one night to plan where we could go. After much googling and debate we settled on Gillespie Pass, it looked easy and not too far away. We couldn’t quite convince Ruby ‘I only do easy tramps’ Kent-Royds to come. With the clock ticking down we posted on the OUTC Facebook group, calling for comrades. Somehow we managed to scrounge the final two suckers, Josh and Max.

I awoke on the Wednesday morning at 5:30am. My intention was to pick up the others, drive to Makarora and walk to Siberia Hut before nightfall that day. If only it were that easy. We just managed to fit five bodies and packs into my little 4WD. The backseat looked about as comfortable as a first year trying to explain to their parents how they spent their course related costs. The car flew across central Otago. Bangers were played. The mood was good.

It was just as I turned into Cromwell that I felt something was wrong. I wrestled the steering wheel around the corner. We past the big fruit. Then out the other side of Cromwell. Something smelt a bit funny. I began to realize that that sound I could hear wasn’t just the bass of Josh’s dank beats. Hmmm. I indicated to pull off the road. Shit. A thick plume of smoke erupted from under the bonnet. Shit shit. I pop it up and we stare at the engine. I know about as much about engines as I do about fashion, hardly anything. I knew the smoke couldn’t be a good sign. I forged a plan in my ignorance. Not having the patience for a tow-truck I decided we should just drive the 500m back to Cromwell.

Everyone cautiously reentered the vehicle. I turned on the engine and as gently as I could I eased her off in the direction of the BP gas station. She limped onto the forecourt and I quickly turned off the engine. The attendant informed me that the closest mechanic was down the road. Shit. Everyone cautiously reentered the vehicle. I turned on the engine and as gently as I could I eased her off in the direction of the mechanic down the road. The mechanic informed me they were booked up for a week, but there was another mechanic just around the corner. Shit. Not surprisingly no one else was willing to get in the car with me by this point. I turned on the engine and as gently as I could I eased her off in the direction of the second mechanic. I turned the car off as quickly as I could. This time we were in luck and the mechanic was willing to take a look under the bonnet.

Praying to our patron saint for the trip, St Nicholas

He pulled out a shredded fan belt exclaiming this was the problem. Everyone then proceeded to confess they had seen this but had not wanted to say anything. Helpful. The mechanic said it wouldn’t be ready till that afternoon at the earliest. With time to kill we decided to go for a walk to see the sights of Cromwell. What better place to start than the big fruit that are Cromwell’s main attraction?

The fruit left me wondering how they had managed to grow trees big enough to cultivate such large monstrosities.

Squatting Slavs admire the big fruit

I kept reminding everyone how lucky we were that the weather was nice. I think I thought that this might distract them from the fact we were stuck in a town whose main attraction is an oversized pear (sorry ladies, of the fruit variety). We grew bored of the fruit so we walked down to the shopping mall. I had been looking for a Russian flag to accompany us to the wilds of the Siberia Valley before we left but had run out of time. What a great opportunity to have a look for one. I got slightly sidetracked by a toy horse in the Sallies. For whatever reason I asked them how much it was, prepared to tell ’em they were dreaming. It was half price, which I figured was a bargain. Don’t ask me why I needed a toy horse.

I embarrassed everyone by activating the horses audio in the craft shop. They left the store promptly, leaving me looking like an idiot holding a toy horse. I guess it was warranted. Someone had the great idea that we could sew old towels together to make a Russian flag. Genius. We found some towels in the Hospice store and sheepishly took them up to the counter. After communicating our intentions to the old lady behind the counter she disappeared out the back. To our surprise she came back with a needle and thread for us to complete our mission with. With our flag sorted it was time for a swim at the Cromwell Bridge. The walk there took forever and a day. It felt longer than a walk of shame in the rain.

Our attempts to fly to Makarora were as successful as our attempt to drive there.

We stripped down and subjected ourselves to the icy waters of Lake Dunstan. The sun baked our skin while the water froze our balls off. Time was passed by skipping stones and lamenting all the uni work we could be doing. Even after all this time killing there was still no word from the mechanics. Plan B was devised, I would see if my dad could use his contacts to find us a church hall to sleep in. We toddled back to the mechanics and started on our flag. I think the receptionist got a little worried that we had made ourselves a little too comfortable after we colonized their smoko room.

Dad eventually rang back saying that he had found us a flat to sleep in. With this update we grabbed our swags and trudged in the direction of our hosts. Walking down the suburban road we began to realize that this was a rather nice neighbourhood. Our hosts were out the front of their property in the garden. We greeted them and gave them a hearty thankyou for their hospitality. The woman led us through a side door into a garage. We accepted our fate, a garage was better than a tent fly. Josh dibs the biscuit to sleep in. Then she opened up a door to a bedroom, then another and another, before revealing a lounge and sunroom. None us had hoped for so much. We offered to do some gardening but the proposal of five scarfies trampling through their garden got a look of horror and a polite no.

As the time approached dinner we made plans to go into town to find dinner. A quick google brought up a takeaway shop called the Shark and tatties. The reviews were rubbish but we decided to risk it. This was a mistake. This shop is the suspected cause of future illness among our party. I think I got more salt than chips with my order, while Josh’s fish leaked a suspicious milky white liquid and his curry roll was frozen. Charlotte’s vegetarian spring roll had something which the shop assistant tried to convince us wasn’t meat. I could have cooked something better and that’s saying something.

This meal left us in serious need of a drink. We popped around the corner into the local wateringhole where Josh shouted two jugs. We could do with him at happy hour. Conversation around the pub table soon descended into the depths of intellectual discussion, sparked by a pair of bulging bossums on the pub wall. It was several hours of intense debate before we finally pulled ourselves away from the establishment.