Today we came little more than fifty kilometres across from Motueka to Nelson,
although we have back tracked to Richmond, thirteen kilometres south to Nelson,
to this camp. I am never averse to staying on power, although I admit it seems
an unnecessary luxury when we are so self-contained. We called in here, this
camp adjacent to the Racecourse we came to some years ago for a frivolous
outing, not having noticed it advertised in our NZMCA bible, and yet today
welcoming only members of the same association. I suspect that the racecourse
and the NZMCA have come to an understanding in the time since we last picked up
our association magazine, to make available this camping spot, well-appointed
with power, toilets and laundry, just as the one at Marchwood Park yesterday.
Tonight’s camp fee is $5 less than yesterday’s for the same services, but still
too much for those like us who prefer to avoid all pay-camp spots.
We detoured to Rabbit Island today for morning tea, to enjoy our
decadent spicy bun with cups of instant coffee, all far too much for a couple
minimising their physical activity given the so-called illness of one. The
bakery wares were so delightful, we had to have seconds, and then thirds, and
then vowed to go without lunch, until at least 1 pm.
As we crossed the causeway to the Island, we passed at least half a
dozen police cars and even more police clad in dark navy uniforms, perhaps
gathering to sort out their attack plan for an event. By the time we had gorged
ourselves on the forbidden food, and wandered the few metres up to the seashore
to admire the very calm Tasman Bay, they had moved on, obviously not weighed
down by empty calories as we were.
Arriving in Richmond, we called at the Information Centre in an effort
to simplify the complexities of our tasks for the day. More often than not
these centres are manned by volunteers of senior years, who if not very
knowledgeable, at least very chatty and a source of gossip. Today this
gentlemen, who was obviously an immigrant from Scotland at some time in the
early part of his life, and more intent on getting back into his magazine, was
unable to offer any light on our problems.
It is perfectly reasonable to expect that these volunteers may need to
refer to either the internet or the Yellow Pages for the locality, but to be
told in response to our questions:
1)
Where does one get gas bottle refilled, apart from the swap-a-bottle at
the service station.
(Answer:
all service stations refill them.
Desirable and
acceptable answer even if a little vague about the area would have been: I will
look up to see if there is a wholesale gas filler … oh, no, sorry, there is
only the refill facility at the BOP and Mobil up the road (Facts we later
gleaned from locals))
2)
Is there an RV Accessories retailer in the area?
(Answer: You
can get all that at a garage / service station.
Reality: What
rubbish!)
3)
Where will we find the nearest Mercedes Truck agent?
(His answer: Oh, you will have to go into Nelson for that)
And then went back to his magazine.
Subsequently we found
a truck service person who gave up part of his lunch time, conversant with both
Mercedes and Mitsubishi trucks, who was able to advise us whether our brakes
were normal or not.
We filled or gas
bottle successfully at the Mobil Service Station.
Advice to the
Richmond Information Centre: While there is an office full of brochures and
papers that promises until answers to all possible questions, close shop if you
cannot deal with the most mundane questions, or at least have people able to
check matters out on line or in the local directories.
We drove on into
Nelson, finding our way to the Burnsco shop where we shouted ourselves some
more plastic levelling blocks to replace the wooden ones Chris manufactured in
Cromwell, and a smart new kettle to replace the old one which is starting to
show signs of dangerous wear.
Armed with our new
purchases, we returned the thirteen kilometres to Richmond and set up here near
the Racecourse, on power. This will do.
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