Suds in Kiwi-land

I landed in Auckland, New Zealand, on February 25, 2004, for a three-week adventure that I will always remember. I had hoped to discover some good beers and wines there, although it wasn't the main reason for going. I did find some, too. But while I had many memorable adventures every day of my visit, I didn't really experience the country's good beer and wine offerings until over a week later, after taking a ferry to the south island.

Marlborough Country

In fact, my first stop on the south island was Blenheim, heart of En Zed wine country, for a taste of Marlborough's best. That's right, it's Marlborough country. The winery I selected, partly by reputation and partly by convenience, was Montana winery, primarily a Sauvignon Blanc house but recently a major player in the Down Under pinot world as well. The tasting at the end (yes, let's cut right to the good part, shall we?) included the very nice sauv blanc, an insipid and too-sweet chardonnay, a cab-merlot, and a dessert wine. One of the other tourists also asked for a pinot reserve sample, which we were blessed with shortly thereafter. I bought a bottle of the cab-sauv reserve (the label for this particular wine was called Corban, so I had to!) and their top-label pinot; I enjoyed the cab-sauv over the next 3 nights, but didn't waited several days on the pinot, for the right moment. That turned out to be in Kaikoura, after a day of whale-watching and swimming with dolphins. If you haven't done either of these things yet in your life, you really must.

As if making up for lost time on the north island, my very next stop was a Cork and Keg brewpub in Renwick, some 30 kilometers away. After sampling tasters of the pilsener, an “ale” (essentially an English Ordinary Bitter), and a “dark” (brown ale), I surprised myself by opting for a 12-oz of the pils. It was, unlike the others, malty and flavorful, with a bit of a hop kick, particularly in the nose and finish – nicely done. The other two were fairly bland replicas of each other, the darker one just a titch sharper due to the apparent small amount of extra roasted malts in the grist. I also learned here that “chilis” does not mean jalapeno or other hot peppers, but chili with meat. I'm vegetarian, so as a result, half of my nachos, purchased to soak up alcohol, were left behind.

Not to worry. Nelson, my destination, was not far, and on the way I gained some more company – Daniel from Saskatoon and Fedena from Cork, Ireland, hitchhikers who had been on the road nearly 4 months together and had another couple of months to go. Like many young folks who come here, they were working their way across this beautiful country, typically on farms or the like, earning enough money to move on to the next beautiful spot they'd heard good things about. They were on a mission to take all of the Great Walks in New Zealand, and like me had just come to the South Island. There are 4 or 5 Great Walks, including a longer version of my Tongariro trek, and the one they were heading to now – the Abel Tasman tramp, a four-day walk along a very gorgeous albeit bug-infested coastline. We traded stories of New Zealand and elsewhere, and the time passed very quickly before I dropped them off in Nelson central and checked into my hostel.

The South Island's Pacific Northwest

A few days later I was in Monteith's brewery on the northern part of the west coast for a fun tour and a taster. Monteith's is a fairly significant microbrewery, perhaps the largest micro in NZ, and they produce some very fine beers, including their “Black,” or stout, that I most frequently choose. The brewery's uniqueness is that all of their hot water is heated in a single coal-fired burner. The resulting hot water and steam is used for all boiling, cleaning, etc. in the entire operation. The beer samples themselves included a fairly nice pale ale ("Original"), although not hoppy by Portland standards; a decent "pilsener" (made with the same ale yeast and "aged" 3 weeks, just like their ales), a bland golden billed as a North German lager (?), a very interesting "Frank Zappa Summer Ale" made with a lot of ginger, closely resembling a ginger beer; a malty, nutty Celtic ale; and the Black. I could only take small sips as I needed to drive on. But Erin, a young Canadian sitting at the tasting table with me, reminded me that Punikaiki, or "Pancake Rocks", was just 40K away. A must-see.

So back north I went, this time up the spectacular rocky coast, with steep cliffs (45-60 degrees at times) and offshore rock formations diverting my attention from an already challenging task - driving, nearly sober, on the left side of the road. I made it in one piece, some 45 minutes and several frames of photos later, for the short stroll around the viewing walkway. The rocks themselves are thin jags of eroded limestone hundreds of feet high and perhaps a dozen or two feet wide at the base, sharp like razors at the top, and etched by wind and water with various crevices and patterns all the way up and down. Reds, yellows, tans, and black again graced nature's palette, framed in the greenery of seaside rainforest plants, the blue-green and white spray foam of the sea, and the pale blues, greys, and whites of a cloudy summer sky.

I was grateful to my pub-mate for this tip, to be sure.

Green Beer? Um, no.

One of my final nights in New Zealand was on St. Patrick's Day. I'd seen some incredible sights by now and experienced some amazing thrills. As evidence that I've been spoiled, I drove from Kaikoura to Christchurch through countryside that three weeks ago would have planted my awe-gaping chin on my chest, but on this day left me bored and focused on driving.

I was ready for a change of pace - more beer, to be precise - and I found it quickly enough. Barely an hour after arriving, I was touring the Canterbury Brewery and Heritage Centre with a Scottish couple on their last holiday before retiring to Spain, and twelve business school students with their proctor on a field trip: seven Chinese, four locals, and a Fijian. The tour was a St James Gate-style wax museum tour, and appropriately, this Guinness subsidiary was brewing the legendary stout on St Pat's day. The tour ended with the obligatory tasting of a light lager, a lighter lager, and a coppery pale ale, poured by the aspiring future executives of the hospitality industry.

Wandering Christchurch, I landed at Cathedral Square, munching hot chips while watching chess challenges on the giant game board built into the pavement, with 3-foot chess pieces lugged around by the competitors for easy viewing by spectators. Then it was time to begin the serious St Pat's beer drinking, at Bailie's, right next to the cathedral. Never mind that it's an Anglican church; everybody's Irish Catholic on the 17th. It was the most international St Pat's I've ever seen. I met people from NZ, US, Germany, Luxembourg, and Finland, among others.

There I met Miriam from Finland, who decided to join me on a pub crawl, so we went next door to the hostel where my old British pal of two weeks, Becky, had instructed me to meet her. But Becky decided to bag the crawl and just set out drinking on her own. In the spirit of spontaneity, Miriam and I talked each other into a spur of the moment 25-minute walk to Jade Stadium, the rugby field. Not for rugby, mind you; for the last-ever live performance of Meatloaf, in concert that night in all his 70's glory, accompanied no less by the Auckland Philharmonic.

How long had it been since Meatloaf performed? Miriam was born that year - 1978. But nobody can put on a rock anthem like Meatloaf, and he performed all the classics: "All Rev'd up and No Place to Go;" "You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth;" "Couldn't Have Said it Better;" "Two out of Three Ain't Bad;" a great cover of Warren Zevon's "Lawyers, Guns, and Money;" and the finale, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light," acted out on stage by Meatloaf and his duet partner, dressed in the obligatory 70's short skirt and bleach-blonde wig. For the encore, they played "Anything for Love" (if that's the right name) and their anthem, a 15-minute version of "Bat Out of Hell." They played their hearts out and it was exhilarating.

On exit, we met up with some folks we'd had beers with at Bailie's, so back we went for more stout. The group grew and shrank and grew again as the night went on, and eventually I was drinking with Nelly from Germany and Carl from Luxembourg, who had no connection whatsoever to the original group. Many pints of Guinness later, we walked Nelly to her hostel, and Carl and I headed back to the YHA where we both were staying.

Don't go just for beer

New Zealand is not a hop-head's haven. In fact it's not really known for its beer at all, and that is not an oversight. There is much to do and much good beer to be had, but the suds you find are merely an accompaniment to the many fabulous adventures this country has to offer. Go, by all means go - but for the scenery and adrenaline sports, not for the beer.