All Aboard the Aratere

With two car ferries operating across the Cook Strait, you would expect the prices of each to be comparable.  Not so – we found the difference in costs between the two companies to be in the region of $40.  It wasn’t hard to make the decision to travel with the cheaper shipping company.  We arrived at the Picton port bright and early and lined up where directed amongst a whole lot of cars, motor-homes, vans and large trucks.  Surprisingly, we didn’t spot another caravan at all.

Waiting for the ferry to arrive

Muffy was locked in the caravan to cope with the trip by herself, as best she could.  No doubt once the crossing was underway and all those strange noises had quieted down, she would be able to curl up and have a snooze in the caravan.  Robin makes no bones about being a poor sailor, but with a couple of “Sea Legs” under his belt, he felt he would be OK.  The first part of the trip was quite calm, as we guided slowly through the Sounds.

Travelling through the Sounds

Things got a little more turbulent as we crossed the open waters while we were eating lunch in the cafe.  My advice to myself is not to look out the windows and see the horizon moving up and down, but to concentrate on reading a book.  Works for me, and after lunch we went back to our air craft style seating  to relax.  Robin had the morning newspaper to read, and I was rather involved in “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”, so we didn’t have to think about the moderate swell. 

Inside the Aratere

Looking back over the stern

The crossing takes round about three hours, and before we knew it, we were approaching Wellington and glided into the harbour past the expensive properties at Oriental Bay.  We were requested to gather our belongings, make our way back down to the car deck, and get ready for when the ship docked.

Oriental Bay

Off we went, joining the queue of all the other traffic as we disembarked, and quickly stopped at a parking space on the wharf.  Muffy was rescued from the caravan, a little wide eyed and agitated after three hours down in that noisy hold all by herself.  After a few kind words and a cuddle, she calmed down and we drove the final leg of our journey, homewards bound.  It certainly didn’t seem that we had been away for three months, we commented.  That’s till we saw the big pile of mail waiting for us to deal with.  Our house sitter had been clearing the letter box and stacked it up neatly – that’s a whole lot of mail to open!  Luckily she had already discarded the three months worth of junk mail that came with it.

  Three months mail to open