Christian Perez's Travel Journal

The real Kiwi experience, Sun Jul 16, 2006

If you are considering travel to New Zealand, you have no doubt heard of the Kiwi Experience bus service (even if this is the first time.) Buses travel organized routes and you can get off and on whenever you want. Bus drivers help suggest activities and buses drop you off at "approved" backpackers. It all sounds really great. All the hard work is done for you. You just ride around the country with a bunch of other backpackers and enjoy the scenery wherever the bus stops.

It's a total crock. Almost everyone on these buses is 18-19 year old British kid who is probably more interested in getting pissed at the pub than really experiencing the country. We (regular backpackers) call them bratpackers. Buses drop you off at YHA hostels that are sterile, rigid, and lack character; people there aren't really interested in meeting people outside of their clique.

Why am I ranting? Because someone has to, and so I can compare my experience to some other standard, even if that standard is lacking. For example, this weekend I went camping in the freezing cold next to a river in the middle of nowhere and stayed up all night trying to catch eels with a spear. The week before I went to the eastern coast of the South Island (White's Bay) and went diving for paua (that's Maori for abalone.) Which sounds better?

Paua diving is a popular Maori hobby, though pakeha kiwis enjoy it also. (Pakeha is the Maori term for the Europeans who settled in NZ.) I took Grant to White's Bay when he thought conditions would be good. They were perfect: very low tide, almost no swells, and clear water.

After he put on a few wetsuit layers and jumped in, he followed the coastline south. You come to a point where you can no longer follow a diver on land...unless you are a rock climber. Seeing as I was wearing Chuck Taylors and had fallen on my left wrist the night before, it probably wasn't the best idea. Clinging to the smooth wall with the sea swirling and crashing up into the corner underneath me was unnerving. I imagine for someone else who doesn't climb its simply to frightening to attempt.

I kept an eye on him and hauled out his catch when it got too heavy. The first paua I saw was a real fighter. They have large shells on one side and a big tongue-like foot on the other. I put the paua upside down on the rock, and its black tongue twisted and searched for purchase on the rock. A few times it got hold and righted itself so its shell was upright. I felt a little bad about catching such a determined creature.

Then I ate some paua steak and no longer regretted it. It's probably the best seafood you can ever eat, especially when prepared in the special way Grant taught me. I feel like I'm keeping a great secret of the world, one that only a handful of people know: how to make the best paua you've ever had.