August 23rd to 26th - The Fudge Principle

It was the best kind of déjà vu to be back on the wine trail in Marlborough though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad worried that those manning their posts at the various cellar doors would remember the tall, pasty Canadian who was there only a few months before demanding all the free wine entitled to him. My worries were for nothing as even those I distinctly remembered didn’t remember me so I was free to sample to my heart’s content and sample I did. I had warned Jaclyn that the close proximity of the wineries means that pacing is very much a real issue. Had it not been for a number of closures for the final days of winter we may not have made it around the first corner as the distributors were being most generous on this lovely afternoon. Since leaving the blizzard-like conditions of Wellington we have been blessed with nothing but pure sunshine and a distinct lack of clouds. This last bit of holiday has been wonderful for the simple reason that choice has flown out the window; I mean this in a positive light so allow me to give you an example. We had just finished a giant lunch under the shade of an overhang and were consulting the map as to our next destination when a sign promoting a fudge factory caught my eye. It has come to pass that we no longer hold debate in our minds and weigh the pros and cons of a yes or a no decision, before our brains can process these things we have been in and out of said fudge factory with multiple flavors each. It didn’t matter that we were both immensely full after our big lunch, it was a matter of principle; if you are on a holiday and you see fudge you buy it, even if just to take a small piece and throw the rest away. We could’ve justified it by taking into account the ungodly amount of biking we did that afternoon but I’m talking about all the other times we were faced with similar decisions. At the beginning of a holiday you must withhold the thought process and go through with the something amazing yet essentially unnecessary like sky diving, at the end of a holiday the same applies to candy and baked goods. Anyway, just like last time we were unable to drink that sweet nectar without purchasing a bottle or two, or 8, which did require a small bit of justification which was found in the form of the souvenir. Ah yes, the souvenir, the delight of everyone else but the bane of my existence. Jaclyn has put me to such shame picking up everything from tea towels to possum fur nipple warmers for people ranging from grandparents to piano teachers. Not as if they needed her custom; the New Zealand knick knack industry is thriving as tourists congregate by the busload and pay through the roof for little stuffed kiwis bearing t-shirts that say ‘sweet as!’ or some other kiwi catchphrase. That being said, if this had been an off year for this particular industry then Ms. Fedorus would singlehandedly be putting these shop owners children through college with her many contributions. The upside to this for you the reader, which I now assume is limited to family and very close friends, is that it has prompted me to follow suit though with a noticeably larger amount of selectivity. Sorry neighbour’s children and 3rd cousins, you shall not be receiving a shirt with a sheep in sunglasses with the slogan ‘baaah’d to the bone’, not from me leastways. Despite our wishes to provide all of you with your own bottle of classy wine we realized that we wouldn’t be able to bring them all back into Canada with us. We therefore are faced with the arduous yet delicious chore of polishing off 4 bottles over 4 days so that our purchases were not in vain. With Christchurch still being under the weather and recipient of the world’s lumpiest roads award we spent a fine evening along the beach and away from most of the destruction watching The Two Towers over one of said bottles. Rather than linger we pushed off aimlessly southwards and into Central Otago’s Lake District. We put many miles under our treads that day, powered by sushi and chocolate milk, and made it all the way to Wanaka. We took the scenic route and stopped for photos and videos at all sorts of glacial lakes including a lunch break overlooking Mount Aoraki/Cook, the tallest mountain in New Zealand and the one that kiwi icon Sir Edmund Hillary cut his teeth on before becoming the first man to climb Mount Everest. I had wished to get some video of me playing ukulele in the presence of the mountain but to our horror we discovered that we had left the little guy on a log on the beaches of Christchurch. I proposed that there was a bright side; there would now be more room in our luggage for wine, but it was a small consolation. We will now have to pick up a better ukulele in Queenstown to replace our fallen brethren. That is of course if Jaclyn survives today! By which, of course, I mean her first ever (and probably only) skydiving experience! Since you have to take a mortgage out on your home to afford even the most basic jump package I will be jumping vicariously through Jaclyn and I’ll get to fix the mistake I made last time; not filming the experience! Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, the good folks who delight in hurling people 12,000 feet from airplanes will be kind enough to allow me near the drop zone so I can get all Spielberg with my angles and create a compelling documentary. This video and picture montage I will be putting together upon my return will be nothing if not random but it will feature bungee jumps, skydives and me juggling pinecones while singing in front of the tallest mountain in New Zealand. I expect to sweep the Oscars.