Hokitika Wild Food Festival

March 10-11

Hokitika is overrun with the young this time every year. This is their Mardi Gras. They take over the bars and fall down in the streets. Tents dot the local beaches and public parking lots. There is no holding them back as they swarm into the town, their arrival as noticeable and sudden as the departure. They leave flushed from too much sun but paled by long nights and rough mornings.

The merriment centers on a one-day food festival complete with beer, wine and entertainment ranging from buskers to tribute bands. Anything seemingly astronomically displeasing was available. We gorged our selves on possum tail and huhu grubs picked fresh from a woodpile and speared before our eyes. Crickets roasted and served up in vodka laced jell-o cups slipped down the gullet as easy as pickled fish eyes. Local wineries provided a bit of normality while continuing the buzz brought on by the liters of beer carried in over the ten-foot fence we so easily scaled; the festival sells out months in advance.

From ten to seven we ate, drank and danced at the Wild Food Festival. All in a jovial mood we made the trek to the bars and as the sun went down we again moved on to the beach and our campsite where, like the multitudes already there, we made a campfire of driftwood. Giant logs, once belonging to ancient trees having survived and followed the currents of the ocean to be washed upon the shores of the West Coast, met their fate in the fires of tourists from around the world. We came from all over, most from New Zealand and Christchurch in particular but all corners of the globe were represented: within our own expedition California, Scotland and England.

As the night moved into the wee hours of the morning one by one we deserted our smoking fire pit. Some went to bed, others in search of new fires. They could be seen for miles stretching down the seashore, a plethora of golden orbs dancing on the sand.

Our man from Scotland wandered for miles up then down the beach. On the outward travel he found a fire and passed out next it, a heavy night of drinking rum and lager providing the blanket to keep him warm. As morning approached and the alcohol wore off he awoke to a face full of sand. It coated his ears and itched his scalp. It ran down his back and into his pants. It covered the backs of his legs and filled his shoes. He could feel it grinding in his molars and tickling the hairs in his nose. Instinctively he reached for his knapsack, the one he had so painstakingly searched for the night before. There in his grasp was a knapsack, but the wrong one. The sun just peaked over the horizon as he slowly and with much effort made his way back to us.

Try as I might I do not think that I could make up a character such as Maury. Driving down in the car he told us of his life in Scotland. How he had never been on a plane before boarding one to fly half way around the world and land in New Zealand.

Back home he had a car, a small two door hatchback, with a passenger side door held closed by a rope looped around the driver’s elbow. When making turns he had to grip the wheel to prevent centrifugal forces from pulling it out of the crook of his arm. Passengers would pay their way by taking over the task.

His uncle has one eye, lost the other when a tractor flipped over crushing him underneath. He wears a patch over it and married a prostitute. Each with their own scars they share their life together.

Miles from home Maury continues to live his life like no change of scenery has occurred. Once again he became familiar with a jail cell after sailing a water balloon out the car window into a stationary patrol car and the officer standing outside it. Their chase was inevitable but still Maury urged us on, our sensible driver merely pulled to the side of road. Sheepishly he fessed up, but with head held high marched from our car to the officer’s; at the police station we cheered him on as he did the walk of shame into the station. The weekend was over an hour later when, together again, we got on the road and headed home.