Any morning is a good morning for a train ride

We were the first to arrive for the TranzAlpine train to Greymouth. So early in fact, that the Christchurch railway staff kindly offered to share their office coffee as no cafes were open nearby. It was going to be a five-hour trip up and over the spine of New Zealand’s South Island. I sat in the lobby that morning, watching the shade and the sun jockey for position on the platform, and picking at the side of my coffee cup—anxious to move. This is the land of the Southern Alps and blue-gray “braided” rivers, and the scenic train was expected to be full.

And full it was. Everybody was in the viewing car when the train passed into a landscape of dramatic green gorges, with the turquoise Waimakariri River pouring along at the bottom. I’d been standing on the “wrong” side of the viewing car, daydreaming and sniffing at the wind like a dog when I heard the exclamations and gasps. People stood 4 deep on the other side of the open-air viewing car. No one was going to cede a railing spot with that view. I held my camera high over their heads and snapped a few photos—not one lucky. A cloud soon vignetted the view and a soft, sweet rain sparkled down in the full-on sun, over a jade-green gorge and the sky-blue water. I moved away from the crowd, and stepped out into the “between”. There, between the cars, was an open railing, the green gorge, the blue water, and those magical raindrops twinkling down. Thank you gods of New Zealand!

Going through the Otira Tunnel

After a while, the train stopped at Arthur’s Pass National Park and almost everyone exited. The train was quiet, the viewing car now empty except for the lucky few of us going on to Greymouth. We were about to enter the Otira Tunnel, a 100-year old, long (5.25 miles) tunnel that takes the train down 820 feet, under the Southern Alps from Arthur’s Pass to Otira. Because of exhaust fumes in the tunnel, the viewing car is closed, the cafe car is closed, and riders are asked to stay seated. We entered the darkness. The mountain walls on either side were very, very close. The train was going slow. Sometimes so slow that it felt as if we had stopped moving, betrayed only by a few bumps, the occasional sounds of metal groaning and screeching, and a sound like a squeegee on a wet windshield. This went on, and on, and on. Having just left Christchurch, thoughts of earthquakes, land shifting up 6 feet, and rockslides began to nibble on the edges of my consciousness.

When we passed out of the tunnel into brightness–an eternity (or 20 minutes) later, it’s as if life came back into the train. Smiles, laughter, we breathed again. I suddenly wanted a glass of wine, and maybe ice cream. I was not the only one. The cafe car had brisk business just after the tunnel.

New Zealand’s West Coast

We were on the West Coast of New Zealand now. The tunnel had taken us to another realm. I sat with my Sauvignon Blanc, and listened to the GPS-triggered history recordings onboard, making notes in my journal. This lush “sub-tropical valley” was “too wet for sheep”, so it was now used for “dairying”. Some seeds were blown here from Australia. And I got chill-bumps when they told the story of the white heron, whose flight one is lucky to see once in a lifetime, or in death (as in, “He flies with the white heron now.”)

How lucky I felt that day, on the TranzAlpine train, in beautiful New Zealand. To read more about taking the train in New Zealand, please see this post.

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