leahlarkin

New Zealand’s Extraordinary Fiordland

It’s all about scenery: dramatic, magnificent, mystical. We awoke on board a ship in Doubtful Sound, the largest of the area’s 14 fiords, to watch the sun creep over the towering cliffs which surrounded us, casting mirror images of the mountains on the sparkling water. The only sound was a raging waterfall plunging from high above into the deep inlet. Waterfowl flew above.

We were in awe, mesmerized by the splendor of nature, the beauty all around in this desolate paradise. Every day during our five-day visit to the region last November was filled with more overwhelming, spectacular sights.

On New Zealand’s South Island, Fiordland National Park is a World Heritage area and the country’s largest national park. The fiords, narrow inlets with steep sides carved by glacial activity, indent Fiordland’s West Coast. In addition to exploring the fiords by boat, you can hike legendary trails in the mountains, trek through primeval forests and enjoy thrilling views from a seaplane.

Husband Bob and I did a bit of all. We also enjoyed an exciting boat adventure in a Glowworm Cave through eerie darkness to a grotto where thousands of tiny glowworms glimmered on the walls. It was hard to believe this was a natural phenomenon and not an amusement park attraction.

Our Fiordland base was the town of Te Anau from where we set off for our first fiord excursion to Milford Sound. Early European settlers who were not familiar with fiords called them “sounds” which are actually river valleys flooded due to land sinking below sea level.

A bus trip on the Milford Road through the National Park leads to the Sound. There’s grandiose mountain scenery en route, with stops for photos. And, once on board the ship sailing through the fiord’s National Geographic scenery, it’s hard to put the camera down.

On the way back to Te Anau, we stopped for a hike led by a guide to a summit. We crawled under fallen logs en route, jumped over streams, through woods to open spaces above the tree line with superb views in every direction. By the time we reached the top it was raining. Our guide pulled out a thermos from his backpack and served us tea and cookies in the drizzle.

More hiking, but at a lower elevation, was on the next day’s agenda, a nature walk along Lake Te Anu through a dense beech forest. The guide provided fascinating commentary on the flora and fauna, including the illusive kiwi, the country’s flightless nocturnal bird and national symbol.

Moss thrives in this dark green paradise and can be a meter deep. Step off trail and onto the lush carpet which is like a sponge, squishy strange to sink into. Along the trail all sizes and varieties of forest ferns grow in abundance. Kiwis (the people) are passionate about the environment and especially their bird population. Our guide pointed out many species, including ducks which nest in tree tops.

Fiordland, we learned, has 200 rain days per year, dumping between six to eight meters of water each year. During our Doubtful Sound cruise, we experienced some of that rain. But it not dampen the spirits of those on board who wanted to try sea kayaking. After our miserable failure with this sport which plunged us into the icy sea (see previous post: Misadventures in New Zealand), we stayed safe and dry on board.

During our cruise through this remote and romantic fiord, we saw penguins, seals and dolphins. We marveled at haunting dark skies and fantastic cloud formations.

A different but exciting boat ride ended our Fiordland visit. We boarded a speedy jet boat on the Upper Waiau River to Lake Manapouri. From our craft we boarded a float plane – tricky to get on this plane which was bobbing in the water – for a thrilling aerial view of the stunning countryside.

Rudyard Kipling called Milford Sound “the eighth wonder of the world” I think the same could be said for all of Fiordland.

For more on Fiordland, see http://www.fiordland.org.nz

Watch the slide show below for more outstanding scenery. For summer grilling, try my old standby: Grilled Pork Tenderloin with Mustard Cream Sauce. See the Recipe list on the right.

If you’d like to read more of my tales and adventures, click on “Email Subscription” at top right of post. Comments are welcome. Click “Leave a Reply”

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Down Under Delights – and Disappointments

“Be sure to climb the Sydney Bridge. It’s amazing,” friends advised. So, on our visit Down Under last November, we did —and are $524 Australian dollars poorer. (The Australian dollar is about at par with the U.S. dollar.)

Yes, $212 per person for this “once in a lifetime” experience. Who could afford to do it twice?

Our conclusion: A rip off. Not that the experience was without thrilling moments. And, the views are dynamite. But, think of the gourmet meals that $524 could have purchased.

We joined a group of 12 others for the 3 ½ hour adventure. The first hour was spent getting attired: a loose fitting protective body suit with a belt from which a carabiner dangled, a head set, a baseball cap. Then, practice. We had to climb and descend a ladder, attaching and releasing the carabiner to a cable. For security, climbers are attached to a cable throughout the climb. We listened to safety briefings, warnings etc. The adrenalin was in high gear.

At last we were off – a single file behind the guide who kept up a commentary heard on the head set. The first part in the guts of the mammoth steel structure was not too exciting, just lots of steps and long stretches across cat walks. Once we started climbing outdoors, precariously on the edge of the bridge, a strong wind whipped around us. We were so high, it seemed as if we could touch the sky, and the water below appeared to be miles and miles away. It was all exhilarating with spectacular views in every direction.

We stopped for photos. But, not with our cameras. Personal cameras are not permitted – too dangerous. An official bridge photographer was on the scene. Each couple or individual was photographed with the appropriate spectacular background. This took time, too much time. There were five of these stops, each with a slightly different background. And, we usually had to wait for the group ahead to finish before our group moved up to the perfect photo slot.

Plenty of time to ponder the scenery, and to look down. The Sydney Harbour Bridge, at 440 feet from top to water, is the world’s tallest steel arch bridge. That’s a huge drop, and scary to view. The guide added to the fright factor with tales of those who plunged to their deaths. Sixteen workers died during construction which was completed in 1932. The sight that amazed me during the climb was a lonely bird in his nest built on steel beams that had to be higher than any tree.

The finale of the “climb of your life” was aggravating. After we had changed back into our street clothes, we proceeded to a room with pretty young girls sitting behind computer monitors. Here’s where we could get those photos, we thought. We were right. Give your name and your individual photos pop up on the screen. For a mere extra $25.95 per photo, you could purchase a picture souvenir. We passed, content with the one complimentary group shot.

Others in the group (the elderly gentleman from Chicago, the honeymoon couple, the couple celebrating a birthday…) eagerly parted with the extra cash for the pricey souvenirs. They all seemed happy with their costly climb. Perhaps we’re jaded?

After the experience, we headed to a nearby pub for a much needed beer. We related our disappointment to the bartender. “I wouldn’t do it. You can walk across the bridge for free. It’s not worth it,” he said. We agree.

While the bridge climb left us somewhat underwhelmed, we were overwhelmed with the Sydney Opera House. During a guided tour, we learned the fascinating background to this iconic structure. Both inside and out, it seems so ultra modern. Yet, it was constructed between 1959 and 1973. Glass for the gigantic windows came from France. The ceramic tiles on the exterior are from Sweden. Its exotic shape of undulating sails permits self-cleaning by the rain. The acoustics in the large auditoriums are such that no microphones are needed….

Danish architect Jorn Utson designed the incredible structure. Building costs far exceeded original projections. In 1966 due to a conflict over finances with a new minister of public works, Utson resigned, vowing never to return to Australia. He died in 2008 without seeing his completed masterpiece, which was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007.

Other delights of the Sydney visit included the city’s bustling fish market, a ferry excursion to Manly where we watched surfers – and our reasonable room ($135 per night) with an exceptional harbor view at the Macleay Apartment Hotel (www.themacleay.com).

We found Sydney – actually all of Australia – expensive. Here we had a mini kitchen so we could save on meal costs. The hotel location in Potts Point was ideal with both delis and a super market nearby for purchase of take-home, ready-to-eat meals.

Well-traveled friends also advised that we visit the Great Barrier Reef during our sojourn in Australia. Many, many year ago, I took the required course and earned scuba diver certification. I’ve only been on a few dives, but as the Great Barrier is said to be one of the world’s best diving sites, I had to experience it.

We flew from Sydney to Cairns where we rented a car for a 1 ½ hour drive north to Port Douglas, an inviting seaside town of restaurants, quaint shops – and excursion boats to the Great Barrier Reef. Husband Bob is not a diver, but he joined the party, 80 tourists, on the dive/snorkel boat.

I was nervous since I had not been diving in so long. I joined a “beginners” group and once in the water, my confidence returned. The coral formations were intriguing, even mystifying. But, they were dull — beige and bland in color. A far cry from the vivid colors of the postcards. And, the fish were not as plentiful as the postcards depict. I did see a gigantic clam, a ray glued to the bottom, some bright yellow fish. I submerged three different times, but each time returned to the surface a bit disillusioned.

I was not the only one. Several on board expressed the same feelings. One diver said there were too many of us. We scared the fish away. Later someone said the coral had been killed by El Nino. (According to an article on the web, El Nino bleaches the coral.) Jakob, the friendly proprietor of our Port Douglas hotel, said you need to get accustomed to the underwater surroundings, to adjust your eyes, and then you will see color. “All those postcard photos are made with strobe lights,” he explained.

I am still happy I had the chance to dive again, but what really made me happy was a swim in an idyllic pool at the Mossman Gorge in the Daintree National Park not far from Port Douglas. For me, swimming is right up there after skiing. This body of clear, cool water with huge granite boulders along the sides, as well as in the middle, surrounded by lush jungle, was a bit of paradise. The pool is in a section of the Mossman River, touted as “without crocodiles.” But, there were lots of birds, including a wild turkey poking among the picnickers along the shore.

We saw more feathered friends at Habitat, a fun place where you can dine in a large enclosed area among birds, small and large and brightly colored, who fly above, prance around on the ground, squeak, chirp, sing, and screech. A caretaker walks by and gladly perches a bird on your shoulder. Habitat also has more wildlife: kangaroos, koalas, wallabies, crocodiles.

We rented bikes for the trip to Habitat, just outside of Port Douglas, and rode back along the beach, which, except for a jogger or two, was deserted, even though it was a hot, sunny day. Jelly fish, we learned.

The Palm Villas, our home in Port Douglas, was ideal – reasonable, excellent location, lovely pool, helpful proprietor. We paid about $95 per night for a spacious studio apartment with kitchen and balcony on a quiet street. www.palmvillas.com.au

In case you’re tempted, more on Sydney Bridge climb at www.bridgeclimb.com More on diving excursions in the Great Barrier Reef: www.poseidonpcruises.com.au

Have you been to Australia, climbed the bridge, been diving at the Great Barrier Reef? Share your views. Click on “Leave a Reply” after the slideshow below.

If you’d like to read more of my tales and adventures, click on “Email Subscription” at top right of post. New Zealand’s magnificent Fiordland coming soon. And, a new recipe appears with each new post.

Learn about the famous melons of Provence. Try a tasty melon salad. See “Melon Salad with Feta and Pine Nuts” under recipes at right.

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My new French knee

“Ah, quelle belle cicatrice!” (Oh, what a beautiful scar/incision!). Every time a nurse came to change the bandage, it was the same remark, both at the hospital in Marseille (2 ½ hours away) where I had total knee replacement surgery on May 14, then later at the rehabilitation hospital where I spent 2 ½ weeks.

Are they crazy, I wondered? Nothing beautiful about this long (8 inches) red and puffy line on my hugely swollen knee. When it was first uncovered, I was horrified. It seemed enormous. Then they showed me an x-ray of my new knee – more panic. It, too, seemed gargantuan. How would I ever walk with those chunks of metal (titanium) inserted in my leg? A plastic substance (the knee cap) is between the two pieces of titanium.

It did not take long to realize I could walk. The day after surgery, a therapist had me on my feet walking (limping) up and down the hall on crutches. He, too, admired the “beautiful” incision.

It was the work of Dr. Jean-Pierre Franceschi, Marseille’s famous orthopedic surgeon who is the team doctor for the city’s soccer team. One nurse referred to him as “a star.” Tall, dark and handsome, he looks as if he belongs in Hollywood, not bent over an operating table inserting new knees and hips in France’s second city.

When I finally made the decision to proceed with this drastic operation, I wanted the best doctor, a surgeon whose proficiency would get me back on the ski slopes. It had to be the celebrated Franceschi. The surgery report I received after the operation stated that the duration of the procedure was a mere 35 minutes. Amazing, but I hope the renowned doctor did not rush.

Franceschi’s skills are in demand, so it takes months to get on his surgery schedule. I made the May appointment in early January, and fretted off and on from then until the operation. What if I ended up worse instead of better?

It’s been a month since surgery, and, according to medical personnel, I am doing very well. I can bend the new knee leg to an angle of 120 degrees. A therapist at the rehab hospital told me 130 degrees is what they aim for. I am almost there.

I’ve also been fortunate as I have had very little serious knee pain. Discomfort, yes, but that’s to be expected. The dreadful part for me has been headaches and insomnia, said to be nasty effects from the anesthesia, but that’s another story.

Fabulous French health insurance

I feel very fortunate to live in France and be covered by the French national health insurance. My husband and I also have a supplemental insurance since the national insurance does not cover everything 100%. For both, we pay €4,520 (about $5,650) per year.

The benefits may make some Americans cry. My 11-day stay in the Marseille orthopedic hospital, the surgeon’s and anesthetist’s basic fees, a transfer by ambulance to the rehabilitation hospital in Forcalquier (about 1 ½ hours from Marseille), 2 ½ weeks at the live-in rehabilitation hospital, all medications, plus 20 follow up sessions of physical therapy now that I am home – all completely covered.

Not covered: Dr. Franceschi’s additional fee (you pay for his fame) €500 (about $625), and the extra charge for a private room at the hospital in Marseille, €75 per day or $94. Some of this may be reimbursed by the supplemental insurance.

In France, the standard fee paid by the national insurance to the surgeon for knee replacement is between €400 and €500 ($500 – $625). According to the July 2012 issue of Consumer Reports, a knee replacement in the U.S. costs between $17,800 and $42,750. These figures also include the anesthetist’s fee and hospitalization, nonetheless they indicate that medical costs in the states are clearly over the top. An American friend who lives in Aix en Provence recently paid €140 (about $175) for an MRI of his back. Consumer Reports states than an MRI in the U.S. costs between $504 and $2,520. Yet many Americans still vehemently oppose mandatory national health insurance?

Hospital Stay

Care at the Marseille hospital was fine. The food was not great, but perhaps a bit better than standard hospital fare. Lots of healthy fish and spinach. One fish dish with a tomato/caper sauce was excellent , and I plan to try and duplicate it.

The French are fanatics about pre-surgery disinfection. Both the night before the surgery, and again the morning of the operation, you have to take a shower washing with a special red disinfectant. There are even instructions in the shower as to how to proceed to disinfect the entire body – including hair. Husband Bob (dubbed Mr. Clean by one of his daughter’s previous boyfriends as he is obsessed with order and cleanliness) was horrified when he saw that the tiles on the lower part of the shower were black with mold. How sanitary can that be?

Shower mold aside, the room was spacious with an extra bed for a family member to spend the night with the patient if desired. Mr. Clean is a dedicated husband, but I dared not ask to him to spend nights in the hospital with me. However, my days were long and lonely as Marseille was too far for most friends to visit.

Every morning therapist Philippe, a jovial type who liked to kid, came to put my new knee leg on a contraption which bends the leg. Each day he increased the bend angle. I also walked the hall several times a day –and in the middle of the night when sleep escaped me.

I had a favorite nurse: Monika Kiss, an angel from Hungary who was extra kind and caring. She and her husband, a builder, are out to see the world. They have lived and worked in Russia, Austria, the Netherlands, England and now France. Monika speaks at least five languages, and is now studying Spanish as she hopes for a job in Spain next. Her favorite job was at the Cambridge University Hospital in England where she termed working conditions “the best.”

Vanessa, a perky nurse’s aide in training, loved to talk about the U.S. She’s never been, but dreams of visiting ”California, New York, Brooklyn.” She says most everyone in France thinks Americans are crazy, but her father reminds her, “If it weren’t for the Americans, we’d be Germany today.”

The ambulance ride (my first) to the rehab hospital was an amusing experience. A bossy, chatty, 51-year-old woman sat next to me (I was on a stretcher). Between shouting orders to the driver and talking on her cell phone, she told me her life story: born in Portugal, six children, divorced, lives with boyfriend. I heard about the problems with the ex, some of the children, her philosophy of life… I had mentioned that I was a journalist. “I’ve been looking for a journalist to write the story of my life. It’s very interesting.” I did not volunteer.

Rehabilitation

When I arrived at the Saint Michel rehabilitation hospital in Forcalquier, I thought I had entered paradise. The hospital is surrounded by green, with spectacular views of the chapel, Notre Dame de Provence (1875), atop a hill above the town. Spotlessly clean (no mold in bathroom), a large room which I shared with another patient, a huge window next to my bed offering a lovely view, and an adjoining balcony. Friend Lynne who visited several times called it “your hotel.”

There I had lunch and dinner in a dining room with other patients, an entertaining group with whom it was interesting to trade stories about surgeries, doctors, hospitals, etc. Gilles, a retired chef, brought his own jars of sauces and condiments to season the food. Jacques, a retired baker, was used to getting up in the wee hours and also had trouble sleeping. Fanny, a rail thin woman with a tan that would put Coppertone to shame, sported cute mini dresses and claimed she was born with skin this amazing color. Suzanne, who often dominated the table conversation, told us this surgery, hip replacement, was her 17^th operation. Michelle, an artist, spent her days painting the surrounding scenery.

The food was much better than that in Marseille, including an excellent seafood paella and a tasty lamb tagine. In French fashion, each meal was several courses: entrée, main course, cheese and dessert. I had heard that wine was also served with dinner at this hospital, but unfortunately that practice had been discontinued. The nurse who admitted me explained that “too many patients were getting drunk.”

Therapy, both morning and afternoon sessions, was excellent. My first therapist, Carlos from Spain, liked to chat and joke with those in the therapy room. The lively conversation took my mind off the pain of bending the knee back and forth. Carlos went off to another job and was replaced by Sara, a gorgeous young woman, also from Spain. By my last week at the hospital, the “beautiful “ incision had healed and the stitches had dissolved. I could join others in the therapy pool for water exercise. Sara taught me numerous pool exercises which I am continuing in our pool.

There I was closer to home, so I did enjoy visits from friends, as well as their gifts of magnificent flowers .

The rehabilitation facility was better than I ever expected, but, after almost four weeks of hospitalization, it’s wonderful to be home.

My discharge papers from Forcalquier described the “beautiful” incision as “perfect.” I hope the new knee will be perfect, too.

Comments welcome. Please share your thoughts. Click on “Leave a Comment” at beginning of article.

For a taste of Provence, try the recipe just added in column at right, Chevre Au Gratin (Baked Goat Cheese), a delicious and easy spread for bread or crackers.

More photos follow in the slide show.

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Bicycling with Battery Power

Press a button on the bicycle handlebar. Whee…, you soar full speed ahead. It’s like magic, a thrilling sensation.

The power of electric bicycles. I was excited. Husband Bicycle Bob (BB), a hardcore macho cyclist, less so. Yet, we enjoyed our recent all-day excursion on these fun bicycles in the Luberon hills of France’s Provence.

Electric bicycling seems to be surging in popularity. Baby boomers getting too old and out-of-shape for demanding pedaling? More folks wanting a bicycle excursion without stress and sweat? Serious cyclists who want to cover many miles, including some steep ascents where a power boost would be welcome?

Whatever the reasons, electric bicycles offer an enjoyable and easy alternative to conventional pedaling. We rented these sturdy monsters for a day in the Provence town of Gordes with the company Sun-E-Bike which just started renting the bikes, valued at 1,300 euros each, at Easter.

Florian Machayekhi, who spoke English, gave us a briefing. You must pedal for the motor to be in operation, he explained. There are three settings for different levels of motor power. For steep hills, for example, you may wish to select the highest. When going downhill, or in the flats, you can press a button to switch off the motor and pedal as with a regular bike. Sun-E-Bikes have seven speeds.

We have done a lot of bicycling and did not intend to pedal with auxiliary power all the time. However, these bikes are heavy, 25 kilos, therefore not quite like your bike back home. I always shut the power off for downhills, and, lest being a real wimp, tried to keep it off in the flats. But, as this is Provence where the winds often blow, I was happy to press the power button to offset those nasty gusts produced by the Mistral. And, I was no martyr in the hills, loving the easy and effortless climbs. BB, of course, had to do it the hard way most of the time. For the first time on cycle trips, I beat him to the top. So, I cheated…it was still fun being first.

Florian had given us a map with a 40-kilometer itinerary through some Provence highlights: Fontaine de Vaucluse, Saumane de Vaucluse, Isle sur la Sorgue… He suggested we have lunch at the latter where we could exchange the batteries. The bike battery will last for 35 kilometers. When we arrived at Les Terrasses du Bassin, the restaurant/battery exchange point, our batteries still registered full – all four battery lights still glowing.

We enjoyed lunch on the restaurant terrace where the river forms a large pool of crystal water popular with hungry ducks, but did not bother to get a new battery. Almost a mistake. Several hours later when we neared Gordes, the quintessential perched village and our destination, my bike was down to one battery light. And, the last part was five kilometers all up hill. I kept the motor setting on the lowest, thus using less power, and said a prayer that it would get me all the way back to the rental station. I did not want to pedal that weighty bike up this killer ascent. Luck was with me. I made it back under battery power.

We cycled on May 8, a holiday in France, so the walkway through the forest to the scenic source of the Sorgue River at Fontaine de Vaucluse was crowded with strollers. Riding became too risky, so we pushed the bikes up the path along the raging river. Not easy, but the sounds and sights of the water below charging over rocks and boulders detracted from the effort.

Isle sur la Sorgue, known as the Venice of Provence, is a pleasant spot for a lunch break. The Sorgue River splits into numerous streams flowing through the town not unlike Venetian canals. Pedestrian bridges decorated with flower boxes and mossy waterwheels add to the picturesque ambience.

Between the towns on our itinerary we cycled past acres of vineyards, orchards, fields ablaze with wildflowers and weathered stone farm houses, all with the Luberon hills as a backdrop.

Pascal Hernoult welcomed us and the bikes back in Gordes. The new electric bike venture is “encouraging,” he said. “People return with big smiles. They say it’s ‘formidable.’ They are not tired.”

Count me among those happy electric bicyclists. Even BB admitted he was glad for the battery power to get back up that last long hill.

Watch the slideshow below for more photos. Enjoy a tasty treat of the season: Hsin’s Strawberry Cake. See recipe in column at right. Next blog post to focus on French health care — a first person account based on my upcoming knee replacement surgery. Don’t miss it. Click on “Email Subscription” at top of right column.

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Sun-E-Bike has 200 electric bicycles for rent at three different sites in Provence: Gordes, Bonnieux and Lauris. Cost for rental per day is 35 euros which includes a helmet and yellow safety vest. Half-day rental (9 a.m. to 1 p.m. or 2:30 p.m. to 7 p.m): 22 euros. Insurance: 2 euros per day. A deposit of 200 euros or an ID card such as passport or driver’s license is required. Maps with suggested itineraries and battery exchange points are provided. Baby seats, baby trailers and panniers can be rented for an extra charge.

SuneE-Bike also offers bike rental for longer periods with hotel overnights and luggage transfer provided. See the web site for details: www.sun-e-bike.com

Misadventures in New Zealand

Swimming with dolphins, kayaking on the open sea, hiking along the shore, plus visits to wineries and fabulous meals. My kind of trip.

It was the Marlborough Nelson pre-trip on our voyage to New Zealand last November to attend the convention of the Society of American Travel Writers.

The food and wine were over the top. Dolphins and kayaks – another story.

“These are very sturdy kayaks. No one has ever capsized on one of my trips,” our perky kayak guide assured us as we prepared to put the boats in the frigid Pacific. Maladroit Bob and Leah had obviously not been on one of her trips.

We were the retards in the group of six or so kayaks – always way behind the others. He (Bob) kept yelling at me to switch the paddle to the other side, to dig the oar deeper into the water. I must admit, I was not adept with the blasted paddles. And, I was always a bit nervous as I feared we were holding the others back, so I constantly tried to paddle faster and faster which was exhausting and left my arms throbbing. The scenery, however, was stupendous.

We held our own until we had to round a point to get back to shore. The winds were strong, so strong we weren’t moving, even though we were paddling hard. The guide explained how we could use the paddle as a sail – just hold it up and the wind would blow us forward. Bob was screaming at me, “Paddle left, Paddle left.” As I switched to the left, a gust caught the paddle and over we went.

A rude shock. 12 degrees C. ( 54 degrees F.) water is none too pleasant, but I popped right up and out of the kayak. Where was Bob? I was concerned as he does not know how to swim. Fortunately he popped up instantly too. Nonetheless I panicked. My camera, my precious new Canon Rebel? It was in one of those waterproof bags strapped to the boat, but I was devastated, convinced it had drowned.

How to get back in the kayak which had righted itself? The guide, no doubt eating her words, arrived at the scene of disaster and told us to turn the kayak upside down to empty it of water. I refused, certain this would spell death for my camera if in fact it had survived. I told her to help Bob, and that I could swim to shore which did not seem that far off. She was adamant – no way should I swim. So, she gave us instructions and somehow, but with great effort and none too gracefully, we managed to manipulate our soaked and freezing bodies into the boat. Then, she instructed us to pump the water out. We pumped and paddled, but we were trembling with cold and making little progress. Finally another guide came and towed us to shore (farther away than I thought – good I did not swim).

I could not stop shivering, but once on shore I ripped open the bag with the camera. Unbelievable. It was OK. Bob’s expensive sunglasses did vanish to the bottom of the sea. My prescription sunglasses, which I had been wearing, managed to stay on my head. Another miracle.

We had been toId to bring an extra set of clothing. Certain that it would not be required, I only brought a pair of jeans — better than nothing, but more was needed. Others in the group lent us T-shirts and sweaters. Nonetheless, we quivered from the cold for what seemed like ages… (This kayak catastrophe brought back memories of our failed attempt at dancing lessons. There, too, we were the duds in the group. We best stick to bicycling.)

Then there was the boat excursion to swim with dolphins. The lovely creatures were sure to appear, we were told. Those in the group who planned to plunge into the freezing water, this time about 14 degrees C ( 57 degrees F.) , were given wet suits. Bob, not a swimmer, passed on this adventure.

The boat trip was scenic, and eventually we spotted dolphins. The playful creatures followed right alongside the boat, jumping and soaring out of the water at times. Watching them was thrilling. Swimming with them would be even better.

The boat captain maneuvered the craft to get ahead of the dolphins, then we were told to jump in. As dolphins are said to be curious and like humans, they were supposed to come and join us in the water. We were told to make noise, to sing, through the snorkel mouth piece. This would surely attract the dolphins.

Nine bodies swimming around in frigid waters emitting bizarre sounds. It was comical. The wet suit did help, but after awhile, the cold penetrated. We swam and sang, but the dolphins did not show up, so one by one we’d get back on board. This ritual was repeated four different times as the captain tried yet again and again to position the boat where he thought the dolphins would be. And, time after time, we plunged into the icy water for naught.

The dolphins were nearby. Why didn’t they join us? According to one of the guides, they were probably mating, and sex was more exciting than a bunch of crazy humans. Can’t say I blame them.

Not all was amiss on our excursion in the Marlborough and Nelson regions which are at the top of New Zealand’s South Island. Marlborough is the country’s largest wine-growing region, especially known for sauvignon blanc. We visited several beautiful wineries where we tasted and savored some excellent vintages.

We also enjoyed a delicious boat excursion to mussel beds Lunch was on board – a feast of succulent greenshelled mussels, the best I’d ever tasted.

And, we had a delightful overnight stay at the Lochmara Lodge Wildlife Recovery Center. The lodge is accessible only by boat. Hiking trails lead up in the hills above the cluster of buildings, offering super views, as well as interesting outdoor art and sculptures en route. www.lochmaralodge.co.nz

Watch the slide show below for more photos of New Zealand. And, try the recipe for “Two Cheese Spinach and Mushroom Casserole” listed in the column at right. It’s a winner – and easy to prepare.

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