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Waiting in 3)Picton’s station—all trim white wood and red brick—brought to mind the cliché that traveling in New Zealand is like being in England in the Fifties. The carriages beside the only platform had old-fashioned handles on their doors. There was a sense of occasion among the locals queuing to buy tickets. Yet that stemmed, I had learnt to my surprise, not from any feelings of nostalgia but from novelty value.
“Here, you travel by train for the journey, not to get somewhere,” explained Raewyn, who was guiding a tour group of Australians. A combination of mountainous 4)topography and a small population had meant that the country had never constructed an extensive railway here. Now, all that remained were a few 5)commuter lines, mainly around
6)Wellington, and a track—chiefly aimed at tourists—that slid slowly down the country from 7)Auckland to
8)Christchurch and then over the 9)Southern Alps to 10)Greymouth. Once a day, a train sets out along a 200-mile stretch of this that the marketing men have named the TranzCoastal: the journey from Picton, a harbour town on the northern rim of the South Island, to Christchurch.
Soon we had left behind the hills above Picton and were running down to 11)Blenheim through a flatter landscape of orchards and then past rows of vines
12)smudged by an early 13)tinge of autumn. Beyond the window were the images I had expected of New Zealand—a farmer repairing 14)wire, newly shorn sheep white against the yellowing grass. I leant over the rail of the open-sided 15)observation car to feel the cool of the air against my face. I let my thoughts drift, 16)lulled by the 17)sluggish rhythm of our progress. Then a long 18)blast of the 19)hooter woke me from my 20)reverie.
Soon the breeze smelt of salt, not from the ocean but from Lake Grassmere, a shallow 21)lagoon among the 22)dunes where seawater is allowed to evaporate and the 23)residue is harvested for domestic use and for bleaching paper. Now we could see the grey sand of a beach and the 24)parce white limbs of trees on the foreshore, 25)gaunt survivors of the 26)desiccating effects of wind and sun. About two hours from Blenheim, the train began to run alongside the blue of the Pacific.
Joe came from Hawkes Bay, on the North Island, and was giving his children their first taste of the South. They knew it had a harder climate than where they lived, but they were surprised by its more varied and wilder landscape, especially its 27)rocky 28)spine. “This has been the best part of the trip for us,” he said, as we pulled into 29)Kaikoura, in the shadow of those same mountains. “Doesn’t everyone like trains?”
We waited a while as Joe and others
30)disembarked. The sun picked out a 31)piping of snow that ran along the range and I 32)savored the sound of the 33)syllables of its highest peak, Tapuae-o-Uenuku, or “footprint of the rainbow”. Offshore, its mirror image, the 10,000ft-deep 34)Hikurangi Trench, is the 35)larder of the whales, dolphins and marine birds—36)albatross and even blue penguins—that are Kaikoura’s great attraction.
The engine 37)hefted its load once more and we followed the coast, rolling through a 38)bucolic landscape of lightly wooded hills 39)coursed by swift brooks. A succession of smooth, grey sandy coves was soon a memory as the track started to 40)weave inland, 41)darting back occasionally to the water to rinse off the heat. The late-afternoon sun blew fire into the glassy surface of the waves. The sound of the train startled a black-faced herd, which 42)scurried toward the hills. Shorn of their cloak of trees, the bare ridges stood out sharply as we dropped down to the Canterbury plain, a major wine-producing region about 40 minutes’ drive from Christchurch. “The Garden City” has the reputation of being the most English in New Zealand and as we neared it order began to 43)reassert itself in the countryside. Lines of pines, a neat cemetery;
44)gabled cottages; somewhere called Amberley. Only the long, long 45)bank of white cloud in the distance held a hint of the 46)exotic. Right on time, after four hours and 21 minutes, we 47)drew into Christchurch station.
There is something of a bygone age about the train, but it is all of a part with what I discovered in a New Zealand entirely comfortable with itself. What I found was a place where the striving that drives life in Britain was virtually absent. There seemed to be no urge among those I met just to accumulate more 48)stuff, to get somewhere ahead of everyone else. For the first time in many years I had had the time, and had felt the need, to reflect. I had taken life, like the train, at its own pace, and enjoyed it for what it showed me.
There had been a moment, too, on that afternoon ride from Picton, when I had felt more in harmony with the world than for many years. I had been watching what I thought must be deer, standing half-hidden in the shade of trees a hundred yards from the track. Some instinct had startled them, and they turned their backs on the train and began to bounce away through the grass, their motion as graceful as any 49)ballerina’s. I followed their movement with my head, and my eye caught that of Joe, the man from the North Island. He had been watching the same thing. For an instant, we had been admitted to an older world, one that still existed if you knew where to look and if you gave it room to breathe. We had come into it only for a short time, but for just long enough to 50)still the ticking of the clock…
在皮克顿火车站候车——整洁的白色木结构和红砖建筑，让人想起这样的陈词老调：在新西兰旅行，就像置身于五十年代的英国。列车停在唯一的站台边，车门上是老式的把手。排队买票的当地人都一副出席隆重场合的样子。然而我很惊奇地得知，这种感觉不是来自怀旧，而是源于新奇。
“在新西兰，乘火车是为了享受行车的旅途，而不是为了到达某个地方，”来自澳大利亚一个旅行团的导游雷维恩解释说。新西兰多山的地貌和人口稀少的特点，使这个国家从未兴建大范围覆盖的铁路网。现在，仅存的铁路线路是几条通勤线，以环绕惠灵顿周边为主。还有一条主要针对游客开放的路线，从奥克兰缓慢地驶过乡村原野到达基督城，然后翻越南阿尔卑斯山前往格雷默斯。每天有一列火车在这条由营销策划人员命名为泛海岸线的200英里路线上营运：从南岛北缘的港口城市皮克顿到基督城。
开车后不久，我们就把皮克顿的群山抛在后面，行驶在布莱尼姆的平原上，那里到处是果园，成排的葡萄树已经染上了秋色。车窗外是我想象中的新西兰景色——一位农夫在修理金属栅栏，渐黄的草地上有刚剪过毛的羊群。我倚靠在敞篷观光车厢的栏杆上，感受着清凉的空气扑面而来。火车缓慢的行进节奏让我思绪纷飞。然后，一声长鸣的汽笛声把我从沉思中拉了回来。
不久，微风有了咸味，这盐份不是来自海洋，而是来自格拉斯米尔湖，一个在沙丘之间的浅盐水湖。湖中的盐水不断蒸发，沉淀物可家用，也可用来漂白纸张。现在我们可以看见灰色的沙滩，还有湖边稀疏的白色树干，暴晒加上风吹使得它们干燥得厉害，虽存活了下来却憔悴不堪。从布莱尼姆出发两小时后，火车开始沿着蓝色的太平洋行进。
乔来自新西兰北岛的霍克斯湾，这是他第一次带着孩子们到南方来观光。他们知道南岛的气候比北岛恶劣，但是这里的风景变化更多、更粗犷，尤其是那连绵的群山，这些都使他们感到很惊奇。“这是我们旅行中最好的一段行程。”当我们进入凯库拉，行驶在那些山脉的山阴下时，他说道，“大家都喜欢乘火车，不是吗？”
列车停留片刻，乔和其他一些乘客下了车。山脉上雪顶连绵，如奶油糖霜装点着蛋糕，阳光下分外显眼，我默读着凯库拉山最高峰名字的音节“塔普奥—欧—乌努库”，意思是“彩虹的脚印”。在海上，跟其相映成趣的是深达10000英尺的希库兰吉海沟——那里是鲸鱼、海豚，还有信天翁等海鸟，甚至是蓝企鹅的觅食之地，是凯库拉最迷人的地方。
火车头再一次拉动车厢，我们沿着海岸线驶过一片田园风光：山上树木扶疏，激流穿梭林中。不久，那一连串灰色平坦的小海湾就成了回忆，火车开始驶进内陆，偶尔会驶到水边，像是要消解一下炎热。下午骄阳似火，拂探水面镜波。火车的声响惊动了一群黑面羊，羊群纷纷快步朝山的方向跑去。火车往下开到坎特伯雷平原，山上的树木被修剪过了，裸露的山梁突兀地显露出来。坎特伯雷平原离基督城约四十分钟车程，是一个主要的葡萄酒产地。新西兰的“花园之城”基督城享有最具英国风情的声誉，渐渐走进这城市，眼前的乡村景致开始重拾那份秩序感。成排的松树，整洁的墓园，尖顶的农舍，还有一个叫安伯雷的地方。只有远方天空中那层层白云才有少许异域的味道。四小时二十一分钟过后，我们准时到达基督城火车站。
虽说火车总带着某种怀旧风情，但我在新西兰这个怡然自得的国度里的发现之旅却离不开火车。我发现，在新西兰没有在英国生活的那种紧迫感。我遇到的人们似乎没有拼命去积攒更多的财富，去想方设法赶超别人。多少年来，我第一次有时间去反思，也感到有反思的必要。我像这列火车一样以自己的节奏生活，同时享受着生活给我带来的一切。
那天下午从皮克顿出发时，有一刻我感觉到自己比过去更谐和地融入到世界中。我看见一群应该是鹿的动物，站在离轨道一百码外的树荫里。可能是受到了惊吓，它们转身远离火车，在草原上奔跑，动作像芭蕾舞演员那样优雅。我转过头去追看它们奔跑，眼光与北岛来的乔相遇，他和我一样也在看鹿群奔跑。那一瞬间，我们似乎都回到了昔日的世界里。假如你知道它在哪里，假如你给它自由呼吸的空间，那么这个世界就依旧存在。我们在那里仅停留了片刻，但这一刻已经足够让时间暂驻……
“Here, you travel by train for the journey, not to get somewhere,” explained Raewyn, who was guiding a tour group of Australians. A combination of mountainous 4)topography and a small population had meant that the country had never constructed an extensive railway here. Now, all that remained were a few 5)commuter lines, mainly around
6)Wellington, and a track—chiefly aimed at tourists—that slid slowly down the country from 7)Auckland to
8)Christchurch and then over the 9)Southern Alps to 10)Greymouth. Once a day, a train sets out along a 200-mile stretch of this that the marketing men have named the TranzCoastal: the journey from Picton, a harbour town on the northern rim of the South Island, to Christchurch.
Soon we had left behind the hills above Picton and were running down to 11)Blenheim through a flatter landscape of orchards and then past rows of vines
12)smudged by an early 13)tinge of autumn. Beyond the window were the images I had expected of New Zealand—a farmer repairing 14)wire, newly shorn sheep white against the yellowing grass. I leant over the rail of the open-sided 15)observation car to feel the cool of the air against my face. I let my thoughts drift, 16)lulled by the 17)sluggish rhythm of our progress. Then a long 18)blast of the 19)hooter woke me from my 20)reverie.
Soon the breeze smelt of salt, not from the ocean but from Lake Grassmere, a shallow 21)lagoon among the 22)dunes where seawater is allowed to evaporate and the 23)residue is harvested for domestic use and for bleaching paper. Now we could see the grey sand of a beach and the 24)parce white limbs of trees on the foreshore, 25)gaunt survivors of the 26)desiccating effects of wind and sun. About two hours from Blenheim, the train began to run alongside the blue of the Pacific.
Joe came from Hawkes Bay, on the North Island, and was giving his children their first taste of the South. They knew it had a harder climate than where they lived, but they were surprised by its more varied and wilder landscape, especially its 27)rocky 28)spine. “This has been the best part of the trip for us,” he said, as we pulled into 29)Kaikoura, in the shadow of those same mountains. “Doesn’t everyone like trains?”
We waited a while as Joe and others
30)disembarked. The sun picked out a 31)piping of snow that ran along the range and I 32)savored the sound of the 33)syllables of its highest peak, Tapuae-o-Uenuku, or “footprint of the rainbow”. Offshore, its mirror image, the 10,000ft-deep 34)Hikurangi Trench, is the 35)larder of the whales, dolphins and marine birds—36)albatross and even blue penguins—that are Kaikoura’s great attraction.
The engine 37)hefted its load once more and we followed the coast, rolling through a 38)bucolic landscape of lightly wooded hills 39)coursed by swift brooks. A succession of smooth, grey sandy coves was soon a memory as the track started to 40)weave inland, 41)darting back occasionally to the water to rinse off the heat. The late-afternoon sun blew fire into the glassy surface of the waves. The sound of the train startled a black-faced herd, which 42)scurried toward the hills. Shorn of their cloak of trees, the bare ridges stood out sharply as we dropped down to the Canterbury plain, a major wine-producing region about 40 minutes’ drive from Christchurch. “The Garden City” has the reputation of being the most English in New Zealand and as we neared it order began to 43)reassert itself in the countryside. Lines of pines, a neat cemetery;
44)gabled cottages; somewhere called Amberley. Only the long, long 45)bank of white cloud in the distance held a hint of the 46)exotic. Right on time, after four hours and 21 minutes, we 47)drew into Christchurch station.
There is something of a bygone age about the train, but it is all of a part with what I discovered in a New Zealand entirely comfortable with itself. What I found was a place where the striving that drives life in Britain was virtually absent. There seemed to be no urge among those I met just to accumulate more 48)stuff, to get somewhere ahead of everyone else. For the first time in many years I had had the time, and had felt the need, to reflect. I had taken life, like the train, at its own pace, and enjoyed it for what it showed me.
There had been a moment, too, on that afternoon ride from Picton, when I had felt more in harmony with the world than for many years. I had been watching what I thought must be deer, standing half-hidden in the shade of trees a hundred yards from the track. Some instinct had startled them, and they turned their backs on the train and began to bounce away through the grass, their motion as graceful as any 49)ballerina’s. I followed their movement with my head, and my eye caught that of Joe, the man from the North Island. He had been watching the same thing. For an instant, we had been admitted to an older world, one that still existed if you knew where to look and if you gave it room to breathe. We had come into it only for a short time, but for just long enough to 50)still the ticking of the clock…
在皮克顿火车站候车——整洁的白色木结构和红砖建筑，让人想起这样的陈词老调：在新西兰旅行，就像置身于五十年代的英国。列车停在唯一的站台边，车门上是老式的把手。排队买票的当地人都一副出席隆重场合的样子。然而我很惊奇地得知，这种感觉不是来自怀旧，而是源于新奇。
“在新西兰，乘火车是为了享受行车的旅途，而不是为了到达某个地方，”来自澳大利亚一个旅行团的导游雷维恩解释说。新西兰多山的地貌和人口稀少的特点，使这个国家从未兴建大范围覆盖的铁路网。现在，仅存的铁路线路是几条通勤线，以环绕惠灵顿周边为主。还有一条主要针对游客开放的路线，从奥克兰缓慢地驶过乡村原野到达基督城，然后翻越南阿尔卑斯山前往格雷默斯。每天有一列火车在这条由营销策划人员命名为泛海岸线的200英里路线上营运：从南岛北缘的港口城市皮克顿到基督城。
开车后不久，我们就把皮克顿的群山抛在后面，行驶在布莱尼姆的平原上，那里到处是果园，成排的葡萄树已经染上了秋色。车窗外是我想象中的新西兰景色——一位农夫在修理金属栅栏，渐黄的草地上有刚剪过毛的羊群。我倚靠在敞篷观光车厢的栏杆上，感受着清凉的空气扑面而来。火车缓慢的行进节奏让我思绪纷飞。然后，一声长鸣的汽笛声把我从沉思中拉了回来。
不久，微风有了咸味，这盐份不是来自海洋，而是来自格拉斯米尔湖，一个在沙丘之间的浅盐水湖。湖中的盐水不断蒸发，沉淀物可家用，也可用来漂白纸张。现在我们可以看见灰色的沙滩，还有湖边稀疏的白色树干，暴晒加上风吹使得它们干燥得厉害，虽存活了下来却憔悴不堪。从布莱尼姆出发两小时后，火车开始沿着蓝色的太平洋行进。
乔来自新西兰北岛的霍克斯湾，这是他第一次带着孩子们到南方来观光。他们知道南岛的气候比北岛恶劣，但是这里的风景变化更多、更粗犷，尤其是那连绵的群山，这些都使他们感到很惊奇。“这是我们旅行中最好的一段行程。”当我们进入凯库拉，行驶在那些山脉的山阴下时，他说道，“大家都喜欢乘火车，不是吗？”
列车停留片刻，乔和其他一些乘客下了车。山脉上雪顶连绵，如奶油糖霜装点着蛋糕，阳光下分外显眼，我默读着凯库拉山最高峰名字的音节“塔普奥—欧—乌努库”，意思是“彩虹的脚印”。在海上，跟其相映成趣的是深达10000英尺的希库兰吉海沟——那里是鲸鱼、海豚，还有信天翁等海鸟，甚至是蓝企鹅的觅食之地，是凯库拉最迷人的地方。
火车头再一次拉动车厢，我们沿着海岸线驶过一片田园风光：山上树木扶疏，激流穿梭林中。不久，那一连串灰色平坦的小海湾就成了回忆，火车开始驶进内陆，偶尔会驶到水边，像是要消解一下炎热。下午骄阳似火，拂探水面镜波。火车的声响惊动了一群黑面羊，羊群纷纷快步朝山的方向跑去。火车往下开到坎特伯雷平原，山上的树木被修剪过了，裸露的山梁突兀地显露出来。坎特伯雷平原离基督城约四十分钟车程，是一个主要的葡萄酒产地。新西兰的“花园之城”基督城享有最具英国风情的声誉，渐渐走进这城市，眼前的乡村景致开始重拾那份秩序感。成排的松树，整洁的墓园，尖顶的农舍，还有一个叫安伯雷的地方。只有远方天空中那层层白云才有少许异域的味道。四小时二十一分钟过后，我们准时到达基督城火车站。
虽说火车总带着某种怀旧风情，但我在新西兰这个怡然自得的国度里的发现之旅却离不开火车。我发现，在新西兰没有在英国生活的那种紧迫感。我遇到的人们似乎没有拼命去积攒更多的财富，去想方设法赶超别人。多少年来，我第一次有时间去反思，也感到有反思的必要。我像这列火车一样以自己的节奏生活，同时享受着生活给我带来的一切。
那天下午从皮克顿出发时，有一刻我感觉到自己比过去更谐和地融入到世界中。我看见一群应该是鹿的动物，站在离轨道一百码外的树荫里。可能是受到了惊吓，它们转身远离火车，在草原上奔跑，动作像芭蕾舞演员那样优雅。我转过头去追看它们奔跑，眼光与北岛来的乔相遇，他和我一样也在看鹿群奔跑。那一瞬间，我们似乎都回到了昔日的世界里。假如你知道它在哪里，假如你给它自由呼吸的空间，那么这个世界就依旧存在。我们在那里仅停留了片刻，但这一刻已经足够让时间暂驻……