In my next life, I want to be a fur seal (but without all the clubbing)
After leaving Queenstown, we stopped in a little place called Kingston to call the kayak companies and see if we could get on some trips. As we were parked in a store parking lot next to the pay phone, suddenly a little old man on a Jazzy zoomed up from out of nowhere. He was selling jams to benefit the local fire dept., and he was completely adorable and charming. How can you say no to a cute old man on a Jazzy? We bought some cranberry jam for $3 and watched him zip over to all the other people in the car park, all of whom also bought jam.
Now, about the kayaking. Let it be said that I am usually right (except if T asks, in which case please tell him I said ALWAYS). I had really wanted to go kayaking and since we didn’t go in Abel Tasman, I wanted to go in Milford or Doubtful Sound. But nooooo, T thought that was a merely tolerable idea. He eventually caved, because I told him that the big boat tours are boring and there’s nothing else to do if you don’t do those.
We ended up doing a sunrise tour with Rosco’s Kayaking, which meant we were picked up at 7am by a girl named Kelly from Belfast and brought to the water, where there were only about a billion sandflies, waiting to chomp on me. We got dressed in some mighty sexy stripey thermals (yes, there were pictures; no you cannot see them) and we hit the water.
It didn’t take too long for T to realize that yes, I am always right. Once we got away from the shore and the sandflies disappeared, it was lovely. The water was perfectly calm and “stunningly clear,” as Kelly said, and we could see down to the bottom in the shallower parts. There were very few cruise boats out and no other kayakers. It was wonderful.
The only bad part was that we weren’t seeing any wildlife. Kelly had promised that if we saw none, she would go swimming, but that we would see fur seals, at least. A couple of hours had passed and we had seen nothing. We all started to console ourselves with the fact that the scenery was amazing, when Kelly saw something in the distance.
From far away, it looked like driftwood. When we got closer, we realized it was five fur seal pups, just hanging out. They were just floating around, doing nothing. Kelly said it was the first time she’d ever seen that many seals together, just swimming around, and even she was riveted. They just cruised around, flopping their fins, lying on their backs. They were right next to our kayaks, without a care in the world. We watched them for ages before we kept going.
After the seals, we saw a funny yellow-eyebrowed penguin called a Fiordland Crested Penguin, sitting on the rocks. He gave us quite a show, washing and doing his best catwalk turns. Then, we saw at least six more big fat fur seals, sunning themselves on the rocks.
Our final destination was the enormous waterfall that provides the power to the area. From a distance, it’s beautiful, but we didn’t get a sense of its scale until we walked over to it. It was really spectacular, despite the fact that we had to maneuver across loose rocks covered with moss to get to it, and I nearly died multiple times.
After the waterfall, we started back to the dock, but the wind had really picked up, making the water really wavy. We got kind of stuck for a while, but managed to reunite with the group, mostly because of my manly paddling skills. The group behind us full of obnoxious American cyclists got separated and I laughed inside.
In the end, the whole experience was pretty fantastic. I got to see seals and a penguin, the kayaking was really easy until the end, and the best part is that I WAS RIGHT AGAIN, which is the important thing. T admitted later that our Milford day was his favorite, along with the skydiving. Ha.
Tears in Queenstown
The last time I left Queenstown, I cried. This time when I entered the town, I almost did the same thing. I’m not sure what happened in the seven-year interim, but it looks totally different. I recognized nothing. Queenstown is now tourist central. There are stores and restaurants everywhere. There are condos on every block. There is a ^%$#@&* Louis Vuitton. LOUIS VUITTON, people!
To be honest, I found it all really depressing. I don’t have my photos from my last trip, but when we get back to Maine, I am going to pull them out, because I didn’t recognize a thing. In 2000, I spent a week in Queenstown because I loved it so much. It was a fun, kind of sleepy town—a lot like Wanaka was on this trip. This time, I was just grossed out.
T and I wandered around a little bit and decided to get lunch. Of course, since it’s so touristy there, everything was outrageously expensive. T wanted beer, so we hit the local Irish pub, Pog Mahone’s. The food wasn’t great but T had his 2 1/2 Guinnesses, so he was happy, and I was happy because we were sheltered from the icky, icky urban sprawl.
We spent two hours having lunch and then we left. Don’t get me wrong: Queenstown is still a beautiful place. The Remarkables are still stunning and the road coming into town is gorgeous. But the Others. Oh, so many Others.
I left my thighs on Rob Roy glacier
We woke up early the next day, completely oblivious to what day it was, only knowing that it was horseback riding day. We drove out to Cardrona, where we went riding with Backcountry Saddle Tours. I should explain that T and I often try to go horseback riding when we’re traveling and it’s almost always a disappointment. Not because of the scenery or the horses, but because we want to canter the whole time and we never get to do it.
This time, sadly, was no different. The scenery was perfect, don’t get me wrong. We walked up into the mountains, overlooking Lake Hawea and the surrounding hills. There were pink and lilac lupines scattered about, and lovely little streams running through the hills. There was even a little dog that led the way, running through the fields and lying in the streams to refresh herself as she waited for us to catch up.
Again, the problem was that it was kind of boring. We walked for Ages and trotted far more than I would have liked (especially because I was on the last horse, who was considerably lazier than the others, so we kept having to trot to catch up). The first two times we cantered, the girl who was second in line didn’t know how to do it, so we trotted and trotted. The third one was good, but was too short, and the fourth time, the horses got all out of order and mine charged past T and the second girl and jumped the queue.
It was nice to be outside, though, and it was a beautiful, beautiful day. On our way back to Wanaka, we saw an example of typical New Zealand scenery:
After the riding, we picnicked in town, overlooking the water and decided to do the Rob Roy glacier walk. It was a “must do” in our book, and the girl at the campsite said it only took 3-4 hours. Even I could hike for 3-4 hours.
Things that should be mentioned in the guidebooks that tell you something is a “must-do”: the road to the Rob Roy glacier is at the end of 25km of unsealed road. The book said it took an hour to get there, so we figured it was no problem. Then we came to the end of the paved road and spent about an hour and a half bumping along the dirt road at 30km an hour, until we came to a ford. We gots a rental van! We ain’t going to cross no ford!
And so we climbed out, figuring that hell, we’d been driving for over an hour on the godforsaken unsealed road and how much further could the frigging glacier be? We soon found out. A car passed us as we were walking, and the driver slowed down, yelling “Woo hoo!” I thought he was just being a weiner and giving us a hard time because we were walking. It turns out he was a Red Sox fan (I should have guessed) and was applauding our hats. Helpful Sox fan informed us that the glacier was a 20-minute DRIVE from where we were. And so, back to the van. We were crossing the ford.
When T went to get the van, he spoke to two English girls who were about to make the same decision we did. He told them he’d drive them to the glacier, and we ended up taking Becca and Clara, two lovely girls from London, with us.
Helpful Sox fan wasn’t kidding about the road. However, by the time we returned to the van, T had had enough of this road and decided to fight back. And so we skidded and bumped our way to the glacier at much higher speeds than before. We crossed EIGHT FORDS on the way to the glacier (again, it might have been useful if that had been mentioned in ANY of the guidebooks—the English girls had a Lonely Planet which didn’t mention it either).
When we arrived, we made a deal with the girls that we would go first and if we decided to turn back, we’d pass them and we’d drive them back to the car. Unfortunately, as only T and I can do, we got lost immediately, and ended up in a field full of startled cows, jumping over a wire fence. In the distance, we could see the girls, and we followed them back to the correct path.
This hike was a real bitch. Sure, three to four hours! No problem! What I had forgotten was that I hate hiking and that it was also about 85 degrees with blistering sun. Hiking + sun = TERRIBLE IDEA. Also, we had been riding that morning and my calves were in a shameful state. So we climbed. Up, up, up. We passed dozens of people climbing down. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” they said. “Oh, it’s worth it,” they promised. I made a mental note to hunt each of them down and kill them slowly if they were wrong.
Finally, after T had to help me stretch my calves (I was literally about to cry with pain), a couple passed us. “20 minutes more!” they cried. Is it worth it? we asked. “Yes, yes,” promised the husband. “If it’s not, you can find me later.” Oh, I will, brother. I will.
Finally, sweaty and dirty and pissy, we saw the girls at what we thought was the end of the road. It turns out they had been climbing at record speeds trying to catch up with us, and since I had told them I am a slow hiker, they were most confused. And we still weren’t at the end of the bloody trail.
We reached it about 5 minutes later. I guess it was worth it. The glacier was spectacular. It was covered with pristine, virginal snow (not like that dirty Franz Josef), and there were waterfalls all over. We stopped to rest for a while, and then began the descent down. Going down the mountain is much easier than going up, can I just say? It was lovely and cool in the forest on the way down, and the four of us talked the entire way (well, mostly the girls. As usual, T listened).
We got back into the car, all disgustingly stinky and starving, and we decided to gun it back to Wanaka. On the way back, T was driving at least 70km/h and the girls were right behind. Unfortunately, on the way back, all the local animals decided it was dinnertime and began to venture into the road in front of us. Let me tell you: sheep and cows are dumber than rocks. The would get in the road in front of our car, and then freak out and just run down the road IN FRONT OF US, instead of getting off the road. T started ruminating about having some fresh lamb for dinner, and I was in full agreement.
We got back to the campsite in one hour. From the glacier. It took about two hours to get there, but only an hour to get back. I am sorry to report that T’s bird count is now 3-0. He was moaning about “suicidal birds” and swerved to miss one, and another one RICOCHETED OFF THE WINDSCREEN. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. He is now officially The Slayer. Please note that I have killed no animals in New Zealand.
When we got back to the campsite, we sprinted for the hot tub and the sauna. Then we fell into a long, deep sleep.
Postscript to the founding members of the Giant Thigh Fan Club: Fear not! There is still plenty of thigh to be found, both right and left.
We wanna live in Wanaka
We got to Wanaka after 10pm, at least 4 hours after we left the glacier. The ride was beautiful, except for the constant sandfly attack. By the time we got there, it was pitch black and we couldn’t find the campsite. We stopped and looked at a map in town, we drove down a dirt road trying to find it, and eventually, we did.
It was worth the trouble. The place we stayed, the Aspiring Campervan Park, is the greatest campsite in the world. The bathrooms have double doors and are all heated and immaculate. The sites are spread out from another, with picnic tables and trees in between. There is a sauna and two hot tubs. And as we discovered in the morning, there is a glorious view of the mountains.
We woke up late, showered, and decided to take a rest day. We did some laundry, moved the van to a better sightline, and I called my parents. Then we walked into town and I spent the remainder of the day taking pictures and crying out, “People live here! All the time! People get to look at this EVERY DAY!” and T would nod and say, “Yeah, I know. You’ve mentioned it.”
Wanaka is lovely. The lake is encircled by snow-capped mountains (even in December) and the lake is a beautiful blue. The town overlooks the lake overlooking the mountains, and it’s just perfect. On our first day, a Sunday, everyone in town was down by the lake, swimming and sailing and kayaking and I almost cried, it was so pretty.
I knew then we weren’t going anywhere for a while. We stayed in town for the afternoon, got dinner at a restaurant overlooking the whole scene, and then walked back to the campsite. We already knew—we were in love with Wanaka.
TRAGEDY! I awoke the next morning to find three grey hairs squirting out of my head. I told my loving husband, who responded, “JESUS! We don’t even have kids yet!” Yep, that’s my husband.
On our second day, we went to reception to extend our stay from two nights to four, since we had already decided to make Queenstown a day trip and just stay in Wanaka. We asked about different activities: skydiving, horseback riding, and kayaking in the Sounds. We could do the skydiving in an hour, she said. And we did.
I’ll be honest: I wasn’t too keen on the idea of skydiving again. Not because I was worried about myself, because I’d already done it. Obviously, I was worried about T. He had never done it, and would SURELY DIE. Also, he refused to promise me that he wouldn’t die, which made things all the more difficult.
We did it anyway, and it worked out all right. There was an outrageously friendly Dutch boy named Eric in our bus who was going for the first time, and he was accompanied by another Euro woman in his hostel who had gone the day before. And, the people at the skydiving place were fantastic.
I was paired up with Henk, who was also Dutch and had been skydiving for 18 years. T was paired up with Adam, who was from Southport (which I guess is near Chester) and had lived in New York and Melbourne, just like T. Fortunately for us both, they were both very chatty and hilarious guys.
They crammed us into a tiny plane with two other girls, their partners and another cameraman. T was to go second, I was going last. I was pretty nervous going up in the air, since I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to T, who would SURELY DIE. We went up and up, and then we were at 12,000 feet. Out went the first girl and her cameraman. Then, it was T’s turn. There, he was, dangling with his legs out the door, and bam! He’s gone! AND HE DIDN’T EVEN SAY GOODBYE!
I tried to comfort myself with the fact that these guys are professionals and that if he had smashed into a bloody heap on the ground, then we wouldn’t go. Henk dragged me over to the door, so I assumed T was still alive. And then, we were gone.
The last time I went skydiving, I had a guy filming me, and trying to make me do funny things. I couldn’t do anything entertaining because A: I was terrified out of my mind and B: I was completely distracted by the mountains surrounding me that I couldn’t stop staring at them, because they were just so purty.
This time, I had no cameraman, just Henk. Bless him. He was wonderful. We jumped, and because he was so great, I wasn’t scared at all. We were falling, and falling, and I was completely relaxed. Henk wouldn’t kill me…Henk was married. His wife would be pissed! He kept holding my hands, and making a thumbs up, and waving his arms around, and then, the parachute opened.
He pointed out T from the air, and we had a nice little chat as we drifted back to earth. He let me “drive” the parachute, and we did some crazy little circles in midair. And then, we landed. In one piece. Standing up, even.
This time, I didn’t have the crazy adrenaline rush that I had the last time, because my partner was so much gentler and more friendly. Also, I had done it before, so I knew what to expect. Also, I was way less terrified. However, I would definitely do it again, and if I did, I would want to do it at the same place.
T, as I mentioned earlier, seemed pretty ambivalent about the whole thing at the time. He didn’t seem scared or excited by any of it. However, it should be said that the next day, he looked at me and said “If we had the money, I’d do the 15,000 foot jump today,” and he’s been all cracked out on skydiving since we jumped. But don’t tell him I told you that. He’s cool, man.
After the jump, we had lunch at Subway (what better way to celebrate being alive than eating fresh?), and we walked back to the campsite. We celebrated by going into the hot tubs and the sauna (T is completely obsessed by saunas now) and drinking wine and eating cheese. We even discussed our next trip…we know some people who did a trip called “1000 wines” and we talked about doing a 1000 cheese trip. I think T thought I was joking. I never joke about cheese.
There’s nothing like jumping out of a plane to make you glad to be alive.
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Murder tonight, in the trailer park
After the glacier climbing, we were only too happy to get the hell out of Franz Josef. We looked at the map and saw that Wanaka was 300km away. No problem! 300km at 100 km/h = 3 hours! Sweet action!
Ha ha ha ha ha, we were so foolish. We had forgotten that in NZ, 300km = 3 days of driving. And so we started our journey down the west coast, through valleys and past mountains, and to a scenic vista infested by sandflies. We had some sandwiches as we watched the sun set lazily over our shoulders, and began to be attacked by the little bastards. We killed as many as we could and then continued on, worried about running out of gas.
We got to Haast at about 8pm and everything was closed. We found a petrol station that claimed to be the last for 28km, so we stopped. No one was there, so T was forced to feed cash into the manual paypoint so that we didn’t have to freedom camp in the petrol station car park. I had opened a little window in the back of the car so that the flies could get out, and I proceeded to start a massacre inside the car.
Unfortunately, the petrol station was even more infested than the viewpoint was, and they were swarming in. We spent the next two hours smacking down flies and screaming “All your dreams are dead!” as we checked for blood spurting from our limbs.
Good times.
T wishes his wife was as dirty as the Franz Josef glacier
After the drive to Franz Josef, we were ready to jump right out of the car and party. ..or at least walk around. Franz Josef town is one of those places that is full of non-English speaking tourists, and is composed of cute looking restaurants and stores that have clearly sprung up just to serve the tourist population. Any time you have a ratio of 3 internet cafés to one local, you know you’re in trouble.
The place we stayed was a mammoth eco-resort, with hostels, hotel rooms, and campsites. It was nice enough, but was full of Others. Young Others, in their teens and early 20s. We managed to hook my computer up to the wireless in one of the kitchens and I got online and did some blogging. The kitchen was full of backpackers, including one older French man who made my heart hurt. He was about 25 years older than all the people in there (excluding us) and he was obviously traveling alone. He had bought a giant package of frozen fish (perhaps intentionally) and was asking everyone in the room if they wanted some. It was heartbreaking to watch, but finally a sweet English girl whom he clearly knew came over to speak to him and look at his glacier photographs. It’s a good thing she did, because I was about 30 seconds away from going over and just giving him a hug.
The next morning, we wandered around town before our glacier climb. Franz Josef is a pretty place, but towns like that that are clearly designed and run strictly for tourists skeeve me out a lot.
TRAGEDY AVERTED! When we left Melbourne, I had the sinking feeling that I had accidentally shipped my sunglasses back to Maine. I couldn’t find them for days and was becoming increasingly sad about it. I wasn’t helped by the fact that in Golden Bay, T squinted at the sun and said to me, “It’s a great day for sunglasses!” and then fell over laughing. In FJ, I was told to get some for the climb, because the sun reflects off the glacier, so we did some shopping. None of the sunnies I saw was as nice as my $20 Target pair, but I resigned myself to buying some. Fortunately, we did one last sweep of the van before forking over the $45, and surprise! They were in T’s bag! Thief!
The glacier climb was interesting. There were about 50 people on the bus out there, and when it came time to climb and they asked for the people who were looking for a “more active” experience, about half of them shoved everyone else out of the way and pushed forward. This is why I hate people, people. It is much better to stay away from Others.
Since I only shove people out of my way to get onto a subway, T and I were left in the less aggressive group, which was fine with me. In the end, all the groups ended up spending the exact same amount of time on the glacier anyway, and I laughed inside.
We were all decked out in waterproof jackets, giant boots and crampons, and were also given wool hats and mittens. We were split into another two groups and started to climb the stairs that were hacked out of the snow. It was surprisingly easy for me, and I hate hiking. We climbed up for about an hour, then spent about 20 minutes having a snack, and then headed back down.
The glacier was covered with all sorts of rocks and crusty debris, which apparently comes from some kind of glacier explosion. Apparently, with all the melting and freezing, after a while glaciers suddenly expel all the dirt and grit inside, and that’s why the pictures are all of a grey glacier. Interesting, no?
T and I had decided to do the glacier climb because we figured that if Al Gore is right, there might not be much more time to do this kind of stuff. The glacier had once extended out to the end of the valley at its bottom, but gradually receded back to where it is today. It was interesting to hear that it’s actually pushing forward again now, and has been spreading back out since about 1999. It’s still much, much smaller than it was.
I was obviously disappointed by all the grit everywhere, but when we got close up to the ice, I was thrilled. It was a gorgeous sort of crystal blue—exactly the shade of my sister’s favorite color. And being a nerd for textures, I was fascinated by the ripples and valleys that the ice made. Inside the ice, we could actually see the water melting and moving around.
It was stunning and I’m really glad we did it, even if the crampons cut into my strangely shaped ankles so much that by the time we descended, my feet were nothing but bloody stumps. Even then.
