Stewart Island

After a hard day's hitching I arrive in Invercargill at the southern tip of New Zealand, My objective: To drink a pint in the most southerly [English speaking] pub in the world. To do this I had to board a ferry to Stewart Island, the little known third island of New Zealand, although if you were to believe the Kiwis, they actually have 4 islands - The North Island, The South Island, Stewart Island and The West Island... The West Island being??? Yeah, Australia.

So it's 4pm, I'm in the ferry and the sun is setting away to the west. U2 - "The end of the world" is playing on my iPod and it is the perfect tune as the south island disappears in the wake of the boat and a rainy Stewart island looms up slowly in front of us. I could swear we were about to drop off the planet at any stage.

We arrive and Albatrosses glide down and waterski on our wake, hoping for a free fish supper. Their wingspan is truly amazing - more than two meters and these were of the smaller species. The pub / cafe / hotel / shop / restaurant is right in the middle of the only town on the island (Oban, Pop: 376). So in I pop to fulfil my mission. 3 beers later and I know everybody by name and have an offer to go fishing the next day. It was like something out of a fishy / farming wild west, instead of cowboy boots, everyone was wearing Wellington boots and it looked like most people's clothes had not seen a washing machine in a week or two. Faces were ruddy, the drinking heavy and the manners non existent. In fact there was a general competition to see who could burp the loudest. Jack the fisherman was well in the lead when suddenly a new barmaid started her shift. She was a rather beautiful young lass and I had the impression that all the lads there fancied her and were going to start behaving themselves. This impression was shattered seconds later when Innes (the barmaid) took a swig of coke and let out a belch that had the windows vibrating and the birds outside running for cover. Everyone clapped. Included myself.