The Uber driver had no clue where the Strand was and the reason became clear — in a masterful piece of city-building they've swapped the beautiful old Gummer-designed Auckland Railway Station for a Portacom shrouded in barbed wire.
We checked in with the nice lady at the counter then wandered through to the waiting train. A few minutes later the lady pulled down the shutters, grabbed her laptop and jumped on the train — this turned out to be Fiona, our all-purpose MC for the trip to Wellington, ably assisted by Jodeen in the catering car. Soon enough we were whizzing through the industrial south of Auckland, gawping excitedly through the panoramic windows.
I visited Jodeen for refreshments ("a broad menu of delights" claims the promo bumf) and mentioned the fair clip at which we were travelling. "Oh, he's going fast today," she said. "They're all different, you'll notice that when we change drivers."
As we attacked our microwaved (and therefore limp) bacon and egg wraps, Fiona piped up with her welcoming speech, noting with that we must refrain from smoking and inviting us to check out the open-sided viewing car with the sombre caveat that "any items lost overboard will remain so".
We then tuned into the first bits of pre-recorded commentary using the provided headphones. "Penny" as we christened our female audio guide, began the first in her trip-long series of soundbites . . . "we're now in Papakura, which translates from the Maori for red earth".
Penny, it turned out had a knack for oddly dissonant detail and an obsession with rail disasters. At Tangiwai we got the full run down of that tragedy, which she noted happened at Christmas, leaving relatives waiting in Auckland for loved ones who would never arrive. We squirmed in our seats. Isn't New Zealand darkly wonderful sometimes?
A friend has said the train would clickety-clack the old-fashioned way (modern European trains mostly glide and hiss), but our one squeaked.
We squeaked towards Hamilton feeling vastly superior to the clowns trapped in their cars on State Highway 1. We saw the full loveliness of the Waikato River thanks to the extra elevation and languidity you get only on the train. Penny said stuff that was or wasn't interesting. We squeaked on to Ōtorohanga, our second stop, then took on the long and very pretty stretch of South Waikato that eventually gives way to the wild emptiness and grand mountainous splendour of Tongariro National Park.
For the Raurimu Spiral we left our seats and took pole position in the panorama carriage, where wisps of diesel fumes mingle with the thrill of viewing open-air NZ. It was all extremely pleasant although the interior of the train feels a little dated. "Penny" is always at hand with her random notes but sometimes you get the feeling the copywriter was trying to fill space . . . for example, near Foxton, "Penny" pointed out "to your right, the site of the old Feltex carpet factory" then added mysteriously . . . "now used for other purposes".
The Rangitīkei valley was sublime as usual and then we hit the long, deeply pleasant farmland stretches heading down to Kapiti.
By the time we got to Paraparaumu we were almost 10 hours into the dreamy expedition, although the last hour into Welly seemed to take forever — and "Penny" had just about given up, or maybe we had given up on her.
After a rejuvenating night in the capital and an incident-free Interislander connection to Picton (top tip: upgrade to the private rooms on board for a mere $20, and they give you $15 food & bev voucher into the bargain), we picked up the freshly restored Coastal Pacific line to Christchurch.
Picton Station is cute as a button, but has a Subway outlet wedged at the side of it, which is kind of a shame. Then at 2.15pm sharp we were away. "Penny" was back and Jacinda had given the line her blessing. All was well in the world. Except our seats were on the non-sea side. Not to worry, a word with our new Fiona, and we were bumped to another carriage, ready to enjoy our 335km trip.
The line chugs through the Marlborough countryside with its vineyards and dry hills and on through Blenheim and the loamy Awatere Valley then right through the middle of the other-worldly Lake Grassmere saltworks . . . but the real anticipation is hitting the Kaikōura coast.
It's not long before you see the bleached, raised rocks, uplifted from the 2016 earthquake that has twisted and distorted the coastal profile. Vast amounts of soil and muck poured across the railway lines in the quake and at some points pushed the whole lot into the sea.
The remediation has been a herculean task, but yes, worth every cent.
This drifting train ride down the Kaikōura coast is a special thing — and runs only in the summer. As you gaze across the shifting hues of the vast Pacific, the slow drama of the coastal landscape unfolds . . . the train crawls through kilometres of freshly reinstated track, tentative almost, as if it all could be gone again in an instant.
At Ōhau Point, the fur seals laze on sun-drenched rocks without a care in the world, belying the huge effort it took to remedy the 100,000cm of rock and debris that smeared this section of road and rail line.
It's almost a shame to reach Kaikōura and know we'll soon be heading inland but first there's the last bit of wild coastline at Oaro and views from the 21m high Okarahia viaduct before we slice westwards for the long run south to Christchurch.
It's a cliche but you really cannot fault the happy tourist train for giving you a different perspective on our lovely little country. From the bucolic views of the north to the theatre and drama of the south, all in the fruity company of dear old Penny, the trip from Auckland is an easy delight.
