Catching a ferry with the truckers from Wellington to Picton
Sunday, 16 February
About a week into my journey heading south I thought I better book my spot on a ferry from Wellington (the south tip of the North Island) to Picton (the north tip of the South Island). Turns out all the other travellers had the same idea and, since there is only one port and only two ferry companies that brave the four hour crossing of Cook Strait, tickets were completely sold out for the next four weeks. One of my takeaways from this trip is that it’s fine to be a ‘last minute’ kind-of-guy for the small things, but when it comes to the slightly more crucial bits like booking tickets for planes or ferries, essentially when I’m crossing literal land borders, do it in advance.
In a desperate rush I called an operator and she told me that there was one ticket available for my van at 2 am the next morning. The slot was usually reserved for nighttime truck drivers but, miraculously, my van met the requirements. The only problem this presented was that I had to get to Wellington ASAP. Nothing like a bit of time pressure to keep things interesting!
Thankfully, my campsite was situated on the southern edge of Rotorua but it still meant I needed to travel 370km, the equivalent of driving from London to Newcastle in one sitting. A slightly daunting task for someone who only passed his driving test a month prior. I set off just after lunch and the nerves largely offset the boredom that often comes with long-distance driving.
The only thing that kept me going on this drive was listening to a recording of the 2025 BBC Reiths Lecture (https://open.spotify.com/episode/425VNm9k2TeJKx1C6dJ2SJ?si=8925f47c96734d92) from Rutger Bregman, It was a well-timed recommendation from an ex-colleague as Bregman, a Dutch Historian, makes a case for everyone to ditch their corporate jobs and lean into one’s ‘moral ambition’ by devoting your career to making the world a better place. This was a message that particularly resonated with me off the back of leaving my job in finance in November.
I arrived in Wellington late-afternoon with only one ‘minor speed bump’ along the way - a lovely red scratch down the side of my white van (see pic) after I failed to see a bollard in a car park where I had stopped for lunch. Thankfully, I had purchased the full insurance package so I put it swiftly to the back of my mind and hoped the campervan company in Christchurch (where I was dropping it off) would go easy on me.
Because of its location in the Roaring Forties and its exposure to the winds blowing through the Cook Strait, Wellington is the world's windiest city, with an average daily wind speed of 17mph (yes, I did google that last bit and yes, it did not ease my concerns about my ferry trip). Sometimes its best not to spend an hour reading up on the local area.
And, naturally, as soon as I arrived, I was met with torrential wind and rain. I reflected on how I could never live here as someone who regularly worries about the structure of their hair. This reflection also nudged me to get a haircut as it was long overdue. The shaggy unshaven look is fine when you’re travelling alone but I had plans to join a group tour around the south island in a few days time.
I parked the van by the port and headed out in search of a decent barbershop. As I was strolling through the streets, I couldn’t help but notice how many shops and businesses were shutdown. My initial impressions of the city weren’t helped by how wet and grey it was as the mist rolled off the sea. I found a small barbershop with one appointment left before closing. I love getting my haircut, and not just for the ‘fresh’ trim but for the chats with the barber. The significance of these shops as safe places for men to talk openly is as important as ever. I’d argue that there aren’t many other spaces for men to share their grievances or anxieties with an objective third-party and it’s interesting how quickly conversations turn to life’s challenges.
I bonded with my barber pretty quickly over our past aspirations to become professional tennis players before the conversation turned to the local area. The best way to understand a country is, of course, chat to people who work and live there and it turns out that underneath the surface there is a pretty dark underbelly to New Zealand.
My barber had recently moved to the capital and explained how thousands of businesses had closed since the Covid pandemic (over 2,000 in 2025 alone), which led to what the Guardian called a ‘hollowing out’ of the country. Unemployment subsequently spiked, as did homelessness and you can feel the discontent. This is partly attributed to the tough Covid restrictions that were put in place by Jacinda Adern back in 2020. Whilst they were lauded at the time for keeping the death rate so low, the rules seem to have had a ripple-effect years later.
My barber also informed me about the current government too. It is more right-leaning and the Prime Minister, who used to be the CEO of Air New Zealand (no, I’m not joking) is running the country like a business with no thought about the welfare state, cutting social housing and cutting public sector jobs year on year. As I understand it, these actions don’t reflect the majority of the electorate and he hasn’t go a ‘chance in hell’ of serving another term after the November elections.
Countries are always a lot more complex than the stereotypes we place upon them and, generally speaking, nuance is something we don’t often apply to foreign countries. Yes, New Zealanders seem to be very proud of their country overall and from the outside looking in the country seems totally idyllic. Yet, once you get amongst the hustle and bustle and chat to the locals, particularly in the cities in the North Island, you start to realise the picture is a lot more complex.
And with that pleasant thought I returned to my van with a plan to bunker down for the next few hours. Ten minutes after closing the van door the rain returned with force and I was feeling thankful for the shelter. The rain didn’t stop for two hours and I became increasingly concerned that the car park I was in was going to flood (see video).
When it hit midnight I decided it was time to get in the queue and wait to be boarded. Whilst ferries can often be quite exciting - I mean driving a car onto a boat as a concept is just quite an exciting thing - my ferry ride was anything but. It was more than a bit nerve-wracking trying to drive a five metre long van up steep ramps and round tight corners, and when I exited the van and reached the observation deck it was so dark I could only see the choppy waters below due to the reflections of Wellington’s dimly lit skyline. I bought a herbal tea that came in a polystyrene cup and settled into a chair that reclined about 15 degrees. Looking around I felt a little envious of the few couples and families that weren’t experiencing this alone and where, between them, they had the bright idea of bringing up a blanket.
I wrapped a jumper around my eyes and tried to convince myself that the ferry rolling side to side from the waves wasn’t something to worry about. However, before I knew it the fluorescent lights had been flicked on and a voice boomed on the tannoy announcing we were pulling in to Picton Harbour. I had arrived at the South Island. Eyes blinking I returned to my van, disembarked and searched for a spot where I could park my van and go to sleep. I found a freedom camping spot up a nearby hill and before passing out I couldn’t help but snap a picture of the view out the back of the van.
