Speed limits are enforced for safety reasons, right? They're supposed to prevent accidents, right?!? Then why, oh why, is the speed limit 80kph on one of the most snake-like roads I've ever driven upon, where one spasm of the forearm could send you and your car tumbling down a (admittedly beautiful) hill, taking out who knows how many sheep on its way. At 40kph, I can already feel the car struggling to grip the roads around turns. You may think, perhaps, that New Zealanders are better drivers than I, having grown up driving on the left side of the road. Well, sir or madam, I say to you: I almost got run off the road more than ten times by New Zealanders who also could not control their cars at speed on said road.
Now that I've cleared that bit of business, let's get down to it. I had a mostly lovely time today. For around six hours, I toured with two slightly beyond middle aged British couples, led by a guide with particularly deep knowledge of birds. We went to the beach, where the wind was so fierce I'm pretty sure I'd be blown over had I not been angled so obliquely. We went on a boat, where at least one gliding albatross took an interest in our boat…I suppose he must have been hungry.
Really, the trip would have been quite pleasant had one of the British ladies kept her mouth shut a bit more often. Frequently, she'd propose intricate scenarios for our brave guide to decipher, such as: "If one female albatross runs away, and then the male albatross moves on to another mate, but then the first female albatross comes back years later, would the male albatross abandon his second mate for the original love of his life?" Her bizarre and ill flavored inquiries delayed us from moving on many times. If I had the power to do so, I would have caused her to vomit as she opened her mouth every other question. I'll bet THAT would prevent her from getting too excited about albatross mating rituals.
After the tour (make sure to check out the album of pictures from today to see what I saw), I headed back to my bed and breakfast before taking a scenic drive to a lovely location in Dunedin where massive waves crashed incessantly onto the walkway and little children ran screaming through torrents of violent water.
After a quick dinner, I headed back once more to my cocoon for the night. I really must say, The Yellow House is quite nice, mostly thanks to its lovely host, Jan. Aside from the rough towels, which might be better suited to sand the rough edges off handmade furniture than dry my pale flesh, everything about the stay here has been just great. While my innate desire for anonymity is simply not possible in a two room B&B, I find myself (almost) half-enjoying the care Jan clearly has for her guests.
And on that note, it is time to once more pass out and hopefully wake up tomorrow.