Staying in Granity, wwoofing on the West Coast

Before I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of bed, I prayed for Katie’s safety, and thought very hard about manifesting two weeks of beautiful sunny weather, hospitable strangers, interesting travel acquaintances and my own competence. I would be navigating my way across the South Island with only a vague idea of where I was heading.

A wwoof host in Granity, near the top of the West Coast, had agreed to host me for a few days, and my tentative plan was to stay until I was ready (or had another host lined up) and travel south. Eventually I would be making my way to the Fiordlands (glacial area of NZ) in the south.

At 10:30 a.m. Tom Rainey, the youngest of the Rainey kids, drove me out of town to the highway, my gateway to the west. My stomach had butterflies like the first day of school when I was excited about a fresh start, but nervous the other kids might reject me.

After fifteen minutes with my thumb in the air and a smile on my face, I was picked up by a man in van and away we went. He left me on the side of the road 35 minutes later with an encouraging smile and a mint tea bag – very random but I guess he wanted to leave me with a parting gift. Another five minutes on the side of the road, no one in sight except a field of cows and two horses who stared anxiously, apparently they’d never seen an American before, and I was picked up by a coal miner heading back to Granity from Nelson.

When I rolled my luggage out of the car, over 200 km later, I was greeted by a curvy middle aged woman with short dirty blond hair and her giant black dog.

“Jeanna? Welcome to Granity Sands,” said Sande as she turned and started walking, expecting me to follow.

She walked with a swagger, as if she were a cat sashaying her tail from side to side. It would have been obnoxious if she had been taller than 5’1”.

There weren’t any guests staying at the backpacker’s, and she didn’t mention any recent departures or arrivals. Not many people intentionally travel through Granity. It was founded as a coal miner’s town, but now harbors less than 200 people, one café, and one general store. The village is sandwiched between the rocky coastline of the Tasman sea and the mountains. River gorges, waterfalls, bush walks and coal museums are sprinkled throughout the region.

Sande showed me the grounds, explained the rules, gave me reign over the kitchen and set me free to unpack in the cabin that would be my dwelling place. The cabin was across the yard from the main house with views of the sea and the sounds of the crashing waves. I unloaded my things on a bottom bed that was one of six bunk beds and had the only non floral print comforter. The walls were covered in magazine cut-outs of men and women from vogue. I felt like I was at camp, except I had attended a conservative Christian camp during my younger years and instead of provocatively posed people there were Bible verses and chore lists decorating the walls.

Sande stayed in her room most of the time, emerging occasionally and reeking of red wine.

I spent the evening walked along the rugged beach line that stretched for miles and Sande eventually joined me to watch the sun set. We sat together on her homemade tree seat and watched the fireball sun sink into the sea. The rosy sky lit our way back to the house and Sande shared her wine and a movie with me, before sending me out to the hot tub where I could soak and watch shooting stars.

My first day alone was a success.