I honestly don’t know why we signed up for this tour.  I have no memory of signing up.  We had never been to Timaru, New Zealand so attended the port lecture, making note of what we wanted to see.  We saw none of it because when I opened the Holland America app I found we had booked a tour called Harlou House, Southern Hospitality. 

It was a drive to a country homestead in the South Island’s Canterbury Country.  I suppose if I did book it, and as I said, I had no memory of it, it was because of the promise of storytelling by Maree Hynes.  I don’t think that the idea of strolling in an English Country Garden full of invasive species transplanted to the antipodes would really appeal to me.  The fall flowers would probably make me sneeze. (They did.)  Although an English Country Garden, which one garden expert described as “controlled chaos with roses” is preferable to a formal English garden. 

I suppose the promise of seeing a restored New Zealand homestead from the nineteenth century may have appealed to me, but in the end, if I did book it, and I must have because we had the etickets, it must have been the story telling.

The fine print says that if Maree could not attend someone would substitute.  Maree could not attend and the guide was a very competent and pleasant guide, but not a storyteller.  And the restored homestead was restored, but not to its original appearance.  Originally it had wide verandahs to sit on during warm summer days and evenings.  With the advent of air conditioning, the former owners had ripped off the verandahs and put in bigger windows to let in the sunshine.  I may have done the same thing but kept a partial verandah so I could sit out during rainstorms.

Maree restored some of the trim and balustrades but the home was not restored in the 19^th century homestead style.  And while we were not allowed into the home, we could look in the windows and the decorating style was not cozy homestead.  It was something quite different.  And while we could not get into the home, we did get into Maree’s studio, she is an interior designer by trade and Suzi’s comment best summed it up.  “I think we’ve stepped into an alternate universe.”  I don’t understand paying top dollar for uncomfortable chairs and some of the clothing she sold that is part of the style, well there was a sweater made from a mix of merino wool and possum hair that only went down to the mid ribcage allowing for a bare midriff.  Huh?

In the café attached to the property we got some tasty cheese puffs and a weird tea they called chocolate chai.  It tasted like hot water with a hint of flavor.  I did enjoy the walk through the English country garden but noted that Maree and her husband must be very short because I could not get under the trellises without a lot of ducking.  During the whole walk I couldn’t get an earworm by Percy Aldrich Granger out of my head. (Granger’s goal was to be the first noted composer from the Antipodes, but to become so he had to immigrate, first to England, and then to America.)  His “greatest hit” was English Country Gardens, best known to my generation, for the Allan Sherman Parody. “Here’s to the crabgrass.”

But this English country garden in New Zealand gave me an excellent opportunity to play with my macro lens.  My walks in Sitka have trained me to look for details and love the detail in the flowers.

The bus driver who took us to Harlou house, Barry, was a hoot.  When our guide suggested that she would get us back to the bus by noon Barry suggested an earlier time.  Even at that earlier time most of us were ready to go.  Barry took us on a ride through the botanical garden.  I think he is new at bus driving.  He is 73. This may be a retirement job.  He said he used to be in the motor trade but his Honda dealership was put out of business by cheap Chinese imports.

Barry’s bus (well it is not actually Barry’s but owned by Ritchie’s tours) is a kneeling bus to make it easier for old guys like me to get in.  He forgot to un-kneel it when we took off from Harlou.  The ride was bouncy and Barry (we were sitting right behind him) wondered why someone had adjusted his seat so he was looking downward.  The passenger in the other front seat suggested that perhaps he had forgotten to un-kneel the bus.  Barry said “righto” turned on the air compressor and up we went.  The pedometer on my I Phone registered hundreds of steps I didn’t take.

Barry took us to a lighthouse.  The lighthouse is a historic wooden building but it is not an active lighthouse.  Trees have grown up high enough to obscure the light.  It was decommissioned in 1970 and moved twice, until it reached its current location.

We had a little trouble leaving the lighthouse because Barry couldn’t turn the bus around.  It wasn’t his fault.  There was an international tennis match in the stadium next to the lighthouse sponsored by a car company.  The company had parked two of its cars in “no parking” spaces with flags touting their sponsorship.  Those two full spaces meant that Barry had to make a 23 point turn, including running over the curb, to get us out.  I made sure I had my seat belt on and suggested Suzi do the same.  I like Barry, he was, by far the best part of the tour, and a pretty good storyteller, so I got what, I think, I bargained for.

Back at the ship we walked over to the Little Blue Penguin viewing station.  No Little Blue Penguins.  They were out fishing.  But we did see some cormorants.