Bus Travel in New Zealand

"Buy a car in New Zealand," said most everyone who heard we were going there. "Then sell it when you leave."
Everybody does it, we hear. There's a great used-car market in New Zealand. Car-sales and rental websites tailored to the market abound.
We looked at the numbers, but it wasn't for us. First, you have to be prepared to put up anywhere from 1,000 (for a clunker) to 8,000 dollars (or more)  for a used car. Then you have to worry about insurance, and maintenance. You really want to be dealing with a mechanic on your trip? Can you trust who you're buying from? Have you flipped a lot of cars before?
And sure, you can recoup your money in the end. But that's assuming it sells fast. And just when do you plan to sell it to get your money back-before you leave, or after you've gone? You're potentially tying your money up for a while, we felt.
And you still have to pay for hotels, hostels, or camp.
We looked at rentals. It's pretty expensive (still cheaper than short-term car rentals, though). A few camper-vans looked pretty good, but that could be touch-and-go with the boy's particular ways. And don't even look at how much the car ferry costs.
It all seemed like too much bother for marginal savings. We ended up renting a car for about two weeks. After that, we caught the bus.
It was a great choice.
New Zealand has an excellent inter-city bus system. It's convenient, on time, and cheap. It goes most everywhere and there are some fantastic circle routes. We went Naked Bus on the south island, Intercity in the north. Most fares were 10-20 dollars, or less.

Admittedly, there was also a lot of this view.

Most of the time the buses weren't crowded. There were three of us, so we usually nabbed the back seat, if the bus wasn't full. The boy had plenty of space to stretch out and sleep, and we could too.
We only ended up on one uncomfortable bus- though it was a doozy. Six hours, Dunedin to Christchurch. The scenery was beautiful but we were on hard plastic seats, in a vehicle just one step up from  a school bus. But stuff happens, and if that's the worst travel experience we have, great. Most of the buses were those nice, upscale coaches with padded, reclining seats.
The bus ended up being a great way for us to see the country. Cue the tune of  "I've Been Everywhere, Man" in your head:

Dunedin, Timaru, Waimate, Omaru,
Christchurch, Washdyke, Temuka, Waipukurau,
Christchurch, Kaikoura, Blenheim, Rolleston,
Picton, Levin, Porirua, Hastings,
Paraparamu,  Peekakariki,
Dannevirk, Palmerston...

You get the point.

An aside: Actually, there is a New Zealand version of the song, by John Grennel, done in the sixties. Easiest job ever, considering Kiwi place names. The Maori called this country is Aotearoa, which I think means something like 'no consonant shall be vowel-less'.   

Sure, it'd be great to fly sometimes. And god knows, in other countries (I'm looking to you, Laos) the bus can be downright brutal. But compared to the alternatives, and for ease, price and convenience, the bus system in this country is pretty darn good. And the traffic, winding roads, and unpredictable weather are someone else's problem.
Here's how I'd break it down:
If you're a young couple, a group, or retired; are staying over three months, and wandering the whole time; have a maintenance/insurance budget; and don't have to worry about tying up your money, then by all means buy a car.
If you're staying for just a month, and want to travel a lot, have a family, and want to economize on hotels, rent a camper van. Remember though, going between the islands will cost you.
If you're travelling alone or are on a budget, even if you're staying an extended period, take the bus.
If you're staying at particular places for significant length of time (as we were, house-sitting), then rent a car short-term if you have to. Otherwise, take the bus.
In the end, we were quite luckily, and our wonderful house-owners in Whangarei lent us their beater truck. We got to travel the North Island's northern peninsula pretty thoroughly, at our own speed and pace. Best of both worlds.

Livin' like a Kiwi

"The wind in New Zealand is always in a hurry," the farmer says to us. "It doesn't blow around you, it blows through you."
It's been a cool spring in the south island of New Zealand. The locals grumble a lot, but take it as a given. They're happy when it's sunny and +15.
And so are we. We're living life like the locals, house-sitting a home with doves, parrots, cockateels, chickens, ducks, and dozens of wild birds.
It's cold in the morning. I get up, and stoke the coal-stove. Pick the thin skin of ice on the outdoor bird feeders. Feed the birds. Bring a jacket when we go out for the day.
House-sitting isn't travelling. Not really. Travel is really experience-from-a-distance. No matter how friendly you are to the locals, or if they bring you into their home for a local meal, at the end of the day, you go back to your hotel, or you're on the next boat, or plane. You take some photos, you swap Facebook addresses. You're in it, but you're not of it.
I take out the garbage on garbage day. I wander the aisles at the grocery store, or see what's in the local library. We watch local TV, and start catching the jokes, knowing the politician's names. We worry about the bylaw officer catching us letting the dogs run loose. Complain about dumb government rules. We pick up litter we see laying around. We start using local slang.

Thornley's OK, but Sim, what an asshole.

A few weeks later we're on the north island, caring for some dogs in farm country. We worry about possums getting into the trash. Wonder if we'll encounter a wild pig while we're walking the dogs through a neighbour's fields. We see flowering trees bloom, the grass turn browner day by day.
The neighbour, a dynamic, no-nonsense woman who tends 60 head of dairy cattle, becomes a friend. She has a horse named Pippa. One of the dogs we're taking care of is called Pepper.

We're talking one day about the animals, and there's some confusion wether we're talking about the dog or horse.
"Not Pippa," she says in her Kiwi accent, correcting us. "Pippa."
We now ask each other to pass the 'pippa' at dinnertime.
It's a fun, peaceful time of exploration for us. We travel the same roads, time and again. Get fed up with traffic, and learn when the best times are to avoid it. Find the cheapest store for meat, the most convenient one for a bottle of wine. The guy at the Internet shop shares some freeware with me, helps me clean up my hard drive. He's an ex-network technician, and is more web-savvy than any senior I've met.
The roads get easier to drive on. Right-hand steering, traffic circles, become second nature. We know where to get the cheapest gas, which parks have the best trails.
The guy at the video store recognizes us, lets us rent movies without ID.
We've been here three months. It's starting to feel a bit like home. Like we are Kiwis.
Then sooner than we want, it's time to go. The dogs look mournfully as the car pulls out of the yard. They saw us pack.
They know we won't be back.