Bleak windswept coastlines, trees deformed into curved-over shapes that leaned away from the almost constant Antarctic blow. So totally different from the West coast and Fiordlands, the rounded hills blown clear and grassy. Although spectacular in its own right, it held less fascination than the stunning mossy forests and steep rocky mountains that we had previously been engaging with.
We did stop briefly at a limestone cave at Clifden that Rod scurried through for a short bit, and took quite a few recommended side diversions along the way to view rocky coast lines. Plus we also selflessly fed the poor starving and voracious swarms of sandflies a number of times. After donating blood to those small and persistent insects we would leap back into the car and zoom off with the windows down to try and flush out any stow-aways, braving the freezing wind and frantically rubbing antihistamine cream onto any fresh lumps.
In Invercargill we stayed in a magnificent Tudor-styled manor with some lovely folk before heading off in the morning to investigate the very famous antique motorcycle museum, and to ogle the ‘World’s Fastest Indian’ (Oh my goodness gracious me!)
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