'Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
'Relax' said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can check out any time you like,
But you just can never leave!'

Appreciation to the writers: Don Felder, Don Henley, Glenn Frey

Hotel California. What a name for a blog. With the picture of the van heading up this instalment, are we trying to compare our motorhome to a better establishment? On no, not at all, the title is quite appropriate. Casting our minds back to Friday 27th, the car being packed up and ready for our final trip to Mount Cook, Lesley dropped into the practice to say her farewells…..as you do. Receptionist Barbara said "your leave is cancelled, we'll be seeing you next week". Ha ha, that's the sort of thing folk like you to hear as you walk out the door. It's got a bit of 'I'd like to leave as well but I can't', so they make a comment to get you all worried. Ha, ha!

"I'm serious", Barbara follows up, "the next locum who is supposed to start on Monday hasn't got his certificate to practice through from the NZ Medical Council. Some sort of problem somewhere. So that's us short of a doctor next week".

As we get into the car, Lesley says that she has something to tell me, just drive on and she'll let me know. So she tells me, and her proposal if indeed the new locum is not allowed to practice. That is why I married this girl, she is so open hearted, so much so that if she's needed she'll come back up from down south and do a couple of days at the end of the week, plus a night on call. As the day progresses a plan emerges, more of that later.

That night we stay at Tasman Downs, on the east shore of Lake Pukaki, about 45 minutes drive north of Twizel. Our host is Linda Hayman, a mannered lady who takes guests into her farmstead. She looks about 70. The arrangement is that she will cook and eat with us, and after a pre-dinner drink we settle down at the table laid for four. The brochure says 'Linda and Ian Hayman'. So, it looks like Ian is still out on the farm. He doesn't turn up after an hour, so I think that maybe he finds it a bit difficult having to speak to the guests that his wife brings in all the time and he'll turn up eventually. In the meantime, we exchange stories. It turns out that her Ian, a farmer who lives with his wife and son nearby, is Linda's son, and he appears as we are on desserts. Ian's wife has told him to get his own dinner, ouch that's harsh for a man who has been working in the fields all day. Anyway he eats it gratefully then after a couple of pleasantries heads off back to his own place.

Linda Hayman's husband Bruce was 18 years her elder and he died a few years ago. They have two children, Ian and Jane. It seems that neither has landed the right partner, with Ian having to get his own dinner and Jane's husband leaving and living with another man having 'come out' a year ago. But as a hostess Linda cannot be matched, she has obviously had a decent upbringing. We get a huggy send-off worthy of that bestowed upon us by family when we left Edinburgh last September.

Fast forward to Sunday 1st. Having picked up our van in Queenstown we drive north to Glenorchy, at the northern tip of Lake Wakatipu. If you half closed your eyes you could be in Scotland, with the mountain scenery and for completeness the rain. A few items in the van need attention, so we stop off at the depot in Queenstown with a 'to fix' list : water heater not working; toilet not flushing; battery meter inoperative; water tank level indicator not working; and worryingly, a smell of gas when the cooker is turned off and we are sitting in the rear. The mechanic fixes the first four (one loose wire) and tells us that he didn't smell gas, he's a mechanic not a gas fitter. Um. Well anyway, we can turn the gas off at night……..a couple of days later the problem is revealed as one of the external (pulled out from the van body to cook outside) gas grill rings has been left on by persons unknown. That's them marked down from 6/10 to 1/10 for pre rental checks. That all said, the van is a step up from what we had in the North Island and considerably easier to handle. These things are workhorses, this one has done 192,000 kms. The inside is quite decent, the use of space having been thought out quite cleverly and the van looks like it has had an internal modern refit.

The Catlins get good reports in our guide book. Situated in the very south east of South Island, they are being promoted as a compact tourist friendly area…..and there are lots of roadside brown signs indicating worthwhile places to visit. On Sunday, Monday and Tuesday we stay in one DOC site, one holiday park, and freedom camp the third night. One would think that a campsite at the end of a gravel road to a remote peninsula would be quiet, but another 40 folk have the same idea as us. It is not bad at all, the site is next to a sandy beach and to we do justice the next morning with a quick dip in the sea. Department of Conservation sites are fairly basic, some have toilets and water (not that we need those as we are 'self contained'), and the nightly fee is only $6.

This part of the NZ coastline is a heaven for wildlife watchers. Lured by the possibility of seeing sea-lions (and the need to charge up our NZ phones) we check in to a holiday park and Bren the owner nods confirmation that if we walk along the beach we'll see the sea lions. There were none. Maybe they don't come out of the sea on Mondays.

The need to have a workable NZ phone is all related to the possibility (increasing as the days go by) that Lesley will be returning to Twizel on Wednesday morning to work for a couple of days. All voluntary of course, that's the trouble with a two person practice, when one lets you down you have to do all the work and most of the on-call yourself. Access to e-mail in the holiday park confirms that her offer is accepted and the locum agency put in place an extension of her Twizel contract. We have already worked out a plan to get Lesley from the Catlins to Twizel on Wednesday, firstly she will get the bus to Queenstown from Invercargill then hire a car for the drive to Twizel....a 6 hour journey. Yes, that will work, and she'll drive back down to Queenstown on Friday evening to meet me having handed back the van which I will have to myself for 3 days. You would not think that there would be anything bloggable about booking a bus ticket. But Lesley is unfortunate enough to get Diego on the other end of the line, and he advises her that the bus leaves Invercargill from the 'Ice Hut'. Don't know about that one…..yes, the 'Ice Hut' Diego confirms. Ah, Lesley twigs, the 'I-Site' (the information office found in most NZ towns). Diego is obviously not used to Scots' English........NZ English….maybe. Well, the conclusion of that story is that when she turns up at the I-Site on Wednesday morning at the right time the driver has no record of her booking. ARGGHH!! Diego, I could wring your neck! Turns out that it is all okay, they had the booking after all.

To backtrack to the Catlins, Tuesday sees us on a whistlestop tour of the brown signs. Waterfalls, museums, lighthouses, windswept beaches, seals, penguins, a fossil forest, South Island's southernmost point…….but no sea-lions. The best is saved to last. At Waipapa Point, such joy as six sealions laze on the sandy beach! No zoos, no wildlife parks, just six big boys napping on a bed of seaweed with a couple of fur seals close by. We approach them making sure to stay about 20 metres away. They aren't bothered by our presence and become restless needing a scratch - those flippers are pretty useful on land as well. The biggest sealion rears up and with a head jab in the direction of its neighbour roars telling everybody who's the boss. The two have strong words with each other, heads pitching but never touching, it's not a fight just a show of strength. Fascinating.

Tuesday night's camp is real freedom, so free that we miss the regular spot where everybody else ends up. But they all didn't overlook a half-moon bay, on top of a cliff, with the southern ocean swell breaking below, Stewart Island on the horizon, not a soul for miles and a gilded western sky that changed hue every minute. Then almost as soon as we have arrived, it's out of the Catlins to drop Lesley off at Invercargill Ice Hut for her journey to Twizel.