May 22nd and 23rd - Fox Glacier and Wanaka

My Holmes-ian sense of detection was waving red flags when we were trying to decide which glacier to explore. Both the Franz Josef and Fox glaciers are essentially identical, surrounded by townships purpose built to cater to tourists with Franz Josef being slightly larger and slightly more popular as it is a few kilometers closer to the main highway from Christchurch. Lonely Planet openly admitted that it was a coin toss to decide between the two. Oddly enough, there was a $25 price difference between the 4 hour ice treks on each glacier, despite our 2008 Lonely Planet stating that the price used to be the same. When we inquired at the info desk for the Franz Josef walk they claimed with pride that it included ‘’free entry to the hot springs’’ which would’ve otherwise cost us, yep, $25. Now I’m no conspiracy theorist but it would appear that the glacier folk are in cahoots with the hot spring folk. Since we aren’t suckers we decided to just spend the night in Franz Josef and make our way to the early bird Fox glacier walk. For the first time in a while we opted for a dorm room and we were made to pay for this slip in judgement. As previously mentioned, the body odor permeated everything to the point that it was almost a physical entity, floating about, mocking us in all its stinky pomposity. We were able to get to sleep just fine but a female roommate returned to the room around 3am and proceeded to organize all of her belongings in a systematic fashion designed to produce the most annoying noise possible. Luckily there were others in there that weren’t as good as I at holding their tongues and they let her have it, allowing me to save face. The awkward part for Kelsey and I came at 7am when we had to wake up to make it to the glacier in time and so we had to be exceptionally silent such that we didn’t awake the slumbering monsters that had exploded only four hours earlier. Climbing the Fox glacier was a treat, made infinitely better by the fact that I could make as many ice puns as I wanted and feel validated that they were appropriate. Our Argentinian guide particularly enjoyed when I said ‘’Ice to meet you’’ to Kelsey and I remarked that I’d let her use that to start her tours from now on. Those guides have it pretty sweet, getting to climb around on a glacier all day, wielding giant ice-picks and having the opportunity to make those ice puns, I am jelly. After the walk I was rather tired, having had a sub-par sleep and being subjected to the cold for that long. Unfortunately our map said we had a 6 hour drive down the remainder of the west coast and inland through the mountains to the Lake District and Wanaka. At first I thought that the map was telling the truth as I was forced to a near halt about 15 times in the first hour at the many one lane bridges that exist in this country. Perhaps because we didn’t stop for a pee break or for any of the minor natural attractions along the way we were able to make it to Wanaka in less than 4 hours. Simon had said that if there were one place he’d definitely consider settling down in for a little while, it would be Wanaka. It is a small town of about 3500 people sandwiched between a bunch of beautiful, mountain-fed lakes that acts as a base of sorts for some of the surrounding ski fields. We were overjoyed that our hostel had an amazing view over Lake Wanaka and we were even more thrilled to discover that we were the only two occupants of the en suite share room we were given! I especially was jumping for joy at this as I was looking forward to a solid sleep before our sky diving excursion the next day. We spent the evening at a New Zealand treasure, the Cinema Paradiso. It’s a small theatre and café about a quarter of the size of the Garneau theatre with a handful of interesting features. Firstly, most people arrive a bit early and enjoy a glass of wine in the attached café. The theatre itself is filled with couches and even an old car to allow people to either feel at home or like they’re at a drive-in. Before the movie they even have homemade advertisements for theatre etiquette as well as for local businesses. Lastly and most importantly, regardless of the film they hold a short intermission halfway through where you can purchase cookies that have been baked fresh to correspond with the timing of the intermission, or pick up a pre ordered dinner to eat at your couch back in the theatre. It seems to be doing quite well as they show the latest Hollywood fare as well as art-house flicks for squares like Kelsey and I. We were already in our bunks and reading when the proprietor opened our door and announced that there were two people taking the remaining beds in the share room. At first I was impartial as I figure I’d be asleep momentarily and I would barely notice their presence; this was not the case. One of the pair snored so loud I was worried for the foundations of the bunkhouse. It kept me up for at least an hour according to the indiglo on my watch. I tried everything, pillow over my head, plugging my ears with my fingers, wearing my DJ headphones, as well as combinations of these things, all to no avail. I pounced on the single opportunity where he made such a snort that he woke himself up and somehow willed myself to sleep. Luckily they disappeared early in the morning and I was able to rest my body and mind for skydiving that afternoon. I was introduced to my tandem diver who was a short, stocky Polish chap with broken English. He was a bit gruff, but I guess I appreciated it as it meant that he wasn’t taking any chances with safety or protocol. I never would’ve thought that I’d have appreciated being tightly strapped to a sweaty Polish man but New Zealand has been full of surprises. I was first into the plane which meant the last out. While ascending I noticed that my shoulder strap was loose enough to fall off my shoulder. I brought it up with Poland and he said ‘’uh oh, that’s not good’’ then laughed with another tandem instructor before assuring me that it wouldn’t be tightened until we were properly strapped together just before the jump. I didn’t appreciate the in-flight humor. The worst shock came with watching the others leave the plane. The first woman’s screams were the perfect indication of how fast you’re moving once you exit the aircraft. It looked like she was being sucked into a vacuum cleaner and her scream dissipated instantly along with her. The proper jump position has your head tilted way back, resting on the shoulder of your tandem diver. This is probably so that you don’t look down and panic. You really have no say in the matter as, similar to bungee jumping, they get you falling as fast as they can, no pun intended. The brochure claims that at 12,000 feet (the height we dove from) one can expect 45 seconds of free-fall reaching 200kph. I don’t know what terminal velocity is but it’s face-flappingly fast. It’s so different from bungee jumping where you can tell you’re falling whereas sky diving feels like you’re suspended while being bombarded with air currents. About 5 seconds after leaving the plane the instructor taps your arms signalling that you can let go of your harness and move them about. I couldn’t put them back on the harness if I tried with the wind pushing me like it did. After the parachute kicks in and gives you quite the startle you remember where you are as well as how much distance still exists between you and solid ground. I had a surreal little chat 9000ft. above the Earth with a Polish dude I hadn’t known 20 minutes earlier. The couple of minutes it takes to ride the chute down to the landing zone are really indescribable. The view alone made me swear out loud at least 10 times, I felt a bit guilty. I quickly forgot my bad sleeps and disgruntled body as we sailed through the sky, the instructor throwing in the occasional trick turn just to keep me on edge. I was able to land right on my feet, not on my bum like they tell you to. In the end, I couldn’t wait to do it again. It was so much easier than bungee jumping simply because of perspective. Speaking of which, there is no rest for the wicked; I have three bungees over the next three days, beginning with today. I should be able to upload video of them too as the place we are staying at in Queenstown advertised free internet!

May 20th and 21st - Greymouth and Franz Josef

A liberal estimate places the population of the entire west coast of the South Island around 32,000, making our first stop there, Greymouth, a comparatively bustling metropolis in comparison to anywhere else with its 13,500 residents. Our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook struggled to drum up much that was positive to say about the place but as it was a convenient stop on our long road to Southland we booked a 6pm tour at the one item of interest, the Monteith’s brewery tour. Unfortunately for the poor souls at Monteith’s, I had been to the Guinness factory not once but twice; the standard setter for brewery tours. Thus my apprehensiveness was warranted as I paid my $18 and was led through an empty bar and past the washrooms to the beginning of the tour. Where the Guinness factory had countless videos, recordings, and interactive displays, Monteith’s had a heavyset woman struggling to read notes she’d clearly been supplied from a soiled clipboard. The fact that the woman had never given the tour, or any tour for that matter, became increasingly clear as time went on, but her preparedness was irrelevant as anything she said was drowned out either by the hum of the machinery or by her own accord as she turned away from the tour group to speak. The saving grace came with the tastings at the end which proved that the brains behind the entire operation had been spending all their time making quality beer and not organizing sub-par tours. Casual drinking has become somewhat of a motif on our journey through New Zealand. It’s hard enough when there are so many breweries and wineries about that when you figure in how damn good everything tastes, it really is a recipe for disaster. Even drinks that I’d normally avoid back home are finding a place in my heart. The Monteith’s Black is a gift from the treasure vaults of Xerxes while the Cloudy Bay Pinot Noir put a stop to my wine racism; no more whites only for me. We have a giant bag that we use to carry our food from hostel to hostel that contains so much wine and beer that we probably appear to be severe alcoholics. Kelsey is in dire straits about how she is going to get all her booze back through customs. Anyways, after the tour and a stir fry dinner (with wine, obviously) we had a lovely night of Scrabble with a pair of Welshmen while the rain poured down outside. It’s easy to make friends when the hostel has musical instruments in its common room, I just play a little Fur Elise on the piano or solo along with a guitar to someone dabbling in Coldplay and good conversation starts. The next morning, in Hokitika on the way to the Franz Josef glacier, we picked up our first hitchhiker. Mike lives in the township at the foot of the glacier itself and was just coming back from a climbing trip in Nepal, in other words, a true kiwi outdoorsman. We tolerated the body odor coming from his travel gear because he was a delightful fellow full of character and local wisdom. Best of all, he was a big Fleet Foxes fan and we both whistled along when I put it on through the car stereo. Speaking of body odor, what is it with dorm rooms and overwhelming stink? We’ve mostly been staying in share rooms meaning that they have 3 or 4 beds, any more than 4 and they’re officially considered dorms. It seems there is some universal rule that once a room has more than 4 beds, the people who fill the beds must have terrible BO (other than us of course). Despite opening both windows upon check-in, the smell seems to have intensified considerably over a couple of hours, thus we find ourselves watching the Two Towers in the common room, waiting for the morning where we will actually get to climb the glacier (though we are heading to the Fox glacier, 25 clicks further south).

May 18th and 19th - Kaikoura

It’s a few days from officially being winter here in New Zealand; The South Island mustn’t have gotten the memo. If this is the worst their weather gets then why bother calling it winter at all? Case in point; I shouldn’t be getting sunburnt every day if its winter. You wouldn’t know it’s the off season by looking outside, only by booking activities do you begin to realize it. The discounts on already discounted prices are becoming commonplace, much to the excitement of Kelsey and me. After a successful day of drinking and driving (or boozing and biking if that sounds a little more acceptable) we were faced with the tough decision of heading either northwest to Abel Tasman National Park or south along the coast towards Kaikoura and earthquake country. Our eventual decision to go south was based on the belief that another epic endurance activity like our river journey was not something we should be jumping into without proper planning. In the national park we would’ve been sea kayaking out into the wilderness with nowhere to stay but camped under the stars for at least a couple of nights. We’d enjoyed the creature comforts of wine country so much I doubt either of us was eager for the opportunity to become homeless mountain men again. Kaikoura is a couple hours south of Blenheim, between which there is a whole lot of nothing population-wise, but a whole lot of everything scenery-wise. When the earth was created and the ingredients of beauty sprinkled about, it was done so carelessly; New Zealand has been given more than the lion’s share. Whenever someone in Red Deer, or Flint, Michigan, or any other unsightly place looks out their front window and wonders where all the prettiness went, the answer is invariably New Zealand. I thought that on the whole, the North Island gave any place I’d yet seen in the world a run for its money in the looks department, but the South Island makes the North Island look like a steaming pile. We wanted to pull over every few kilometers as photo op after photo op revealed itself around each corner. We stopped for lunch at a solitary cafe on the ocean that appeared out of nowhere after miles and miles of remoteness. We may have missed out on it had it not been for a massive recommendation from our backpacking bible, the Lonely Planet guide we pinched from the hostel all the way back in Piha. The fare was worthy of the view; Kelsey’s piece of lasagne was forged in the oven of God himself, and my organic apple pear beverage was a tall, cool glass of angels’ tears. After our kingly meal we followed the recommendation from a couple we’d met from Los Angeles for a path off the highway where seals come in the winter to play under a waterfall. It was as cute as it sounds; fifty or so seal pups in a 5m by 7m pool at the base of a waterfall doing barrel rolls and chasing bits of plants that had fallen into the water. I bet we stood transfixed for a solid 45 minutes. Now, I’m trying to think of some terrible simile or metaphor to describe Kaikoura but am failing. What would be one of the most picturesque little towns on any bay in New Zealand on its own is given the extra gift of possessing an extreme proximity to the Southern Alps. I would often find myself forgetting that this mountain range lay behind me and would turn around and be astounded by its presence over and over again. Kaikoura is the place to be for marine life tours with whale watching and dolphin swims possible. In order to balance our recent comfort with our desire for adventure we chose to go out on a small fishing vessel to catch perch, blue cod, and crayfish for our dinner. The owner, however, was not feeling as adventurous and cancelled the trip due to poor ocean conditions. We were forced into eating crayfish fritters and garlic scallops from a seaside BBQ shack. Tasty, yes, but healthy, not so much, which had become a tiny bit of an issue for me. Back in Blenheim, and in the spirit of spontaneity, I had purchased an entire cake from a bakery simply because I wanted a slice of it. After cutting it with my finger and eating it with my hands in the car like a raging fat ass I set it out on the counter of the hostel with a handwritten sign stating that it was free for anyone to come have a slice. There was only one taker by dinner time so I ate from it periodically over the next few days leaving my stomach a bit off, partially from its sweetness and partially from the fact that it was from a discount shelf and had expired the day after purchase. I relate this to you because we were successful in our attempt to get aboard the fishing vessel the next morning and my upset stomach came back to haunt me in full force. We made it out to a depth of 80m and I’d cast my line in three times with but one fish caught when I realized that I couldn’t fight it anymore, the sea was having its way with my equilibrium. I handed my rod to the captain, popped two Gravol caplets and slumped into a chair while Kelsey continued to reel in the fish behind me. I managed to keep the embarrassingly unhealthy contents of my stomach inside me but it had taken all my strength and I was pale and sweaty by the time we reached the shore. I believe it was out of pity that the captain didn’t charge us extra money as he took us to his house and cooked the crayfish up nice and proper for us. We’d seen crayfish advertised at over $25 the day before at the BBQ shack so we felt as though we’d gotten away with murder as we escaped back to the car with both the filleted fish and two full crayfish. We are now stopped at Hanmer Springs, a small tourist spot that was convenient on the stretch to the opposite coast. After eating our crayfish dinner, complete with many ‘that’s what she saids’ and diarrhoea jokes as we pulled meat from their tails, we are now lounging by the fire and plotting our route down the sparsely populated West coast. Although we were unable to go surfing with him, we did meet up with our British friend Andy for billiards and a pint last night and he remarked on the poor choice of name for my blog (Colin in New Zealand), I have another name in mind but I’m open to suggestions for something with a little more pizazz.

May 15th, 16th, and 17th - Picton and the Marlborough Wine Region

We bid adieu to the North Island and arrived in the port town of Picton after a 3 hour ferry ride. Most North Islanders that we asked seemed to hold the South Island in high regard, and upon our very first impression we immediately concurred. The Marlborough Sounds welcome you to NZ’s larger, quieter half; abrupt, tree lined islands snake through the water like fingers and create picturesque landscapes in every direction. People have setup holiday homes (known as ‘baches’ over here) all throughout the sounds and they all have small bays which they can essentially call their own. The mail service doubles as a tour company as they bring letters and supplies to these remote establishments. We stayed at a hostel across from a cemetery known as Tombstones. It has been described as a member of the new sect of ‘flashpackers’, which combine the ideology of a backpackers (low price, communal kitchen, etc.), with rooms and amenities which mirror a proper hotel. We scored a double room for the price of a dorm and the hostel had a guitar, piano, hot tub, ocean views, internet lounge, and TV room to keep us occupied. After the frenzy of Wellington we chose to simply relax that day, cook separate meals and generally just recuperate. The following morning we went on a solid 3 hour hike to a point overlooking the Cook Strait and had a heart to heart on the first half of the trip, the good, the bad, and how we planned to tackle what was to come. We agreed to be more spontaneous and to try and make a few more contacts with other hostellers now that Simon was gone. It was great chat and I think I finally made Kelsey appreciate the appeal of the long, secluded walks and other nature activities I had planned because we both felt refreshed and vindicated having been granted an opportunity to air whatever grievances we had and discuss how to make the most of the South Island. After the walk we drove a bit inland to the Marlborough wine region, passing through the larger town of Blenheim for a small town right in the heart of wine country called Renwick. The most peculiar thing occurred just after we checked in and Kelsey went to take a nap. I was sitting alone in the common room, studying maps and guidebooks in an attempt to decided where to go next when a British chap entered, asking me if I knew the way to a particular well-reviewed pub in town. I admitted that I did not know the way but I pointed to the trusty Lonely Planet guidebook and proclaimed that it had never steered us wrong. Sure enough the pub was in there, and it did indeed have a glowing review. He was grateful for the advice and inquired if I would like to join him for a pint. How fitting, I thought, as we had just discussed that this was an aspect of our trip that had been lacking. Kelsey, having just woken up, was astounded to hear me inviting her to the pub for a pint at 5 in the afternoon, but gladly accepted. Kelsey, I, and our new friend Andy headed for the Cork and Keg, the only pub in this small town of probably 500 inhabitants. I bought us a round of the local brew, Moa, with each of us choosing a distinct variety. Within moments, one of the locals picked up our foreign accents and began introducing himself. He was the strangest looking fellow I think I’d seen since I’d arrived. He wore a long sleeved, plaid shirt, the type you would expect to see on the highlands of Scotland, as well as an old English cap and he was drinking a tall glass of red wine. He seemed more than pleased to have some new company to talk to and we soon found ourselves immersed in his story about life on a vineyard in the area. We found out that he had found himself a wife from Thailand who cooked him spicy food, which I could’ve never imagined in a thousand years given his character. He claimed he was an engineer, the kind who builds sheds for cattle and the like. He also told us of his cat who likes to sit on a chair with his paws on the dinner table, joining him and his wife for meals. He was so happy to converse with us that he eventually gave Andy and me his card. Oddly enough, it turned out he grew grapes for Oyster Bay, the one New Zealand wine I am particularly fond of back home, and the one winery I hadn’t been able to find. Along with his card he offered us a bed and some food if we were ever in the area again, and who knows, I might try to take him up on his offer, that is if he remembers me after all the wine he put back. The following morning we set off on hired bikes for a wine tour. It was sublime; the sun was shining, the colors were vibrant, and nearly all of the wine was free! One would only need to bike for a minute between vineyards before dismounting and being treated to 5 wines per establishment. We had Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Noir, Pino Grigios, Champagne, Cider, Dark Beer, Light Beer, you name it. By the days end Kelsey had 3 bottles of wine and 3 bottles of beer, while I picked up two bottles of wine which would go nicely towards easing the pain of my sunburn. It is looking as though our prayers were answered as these last couple of days have been exactly what we were both looking for. Instead of another multi-day wilderness trek we may follow Andy to the coastal town of Kaikoura where he offered to give us free surfing lessons amidst the mountain landscape. Worry not those of you waiting to hear another tale of us doing something outrageously dangerous as we are most definitely going sky diving, immediately followed by 3 bungees and 1 canyon swing in the very near future. Perhaps this wine is just the cure I’ll need to soothe my jangled nerves after tossing myself from this series of high places.

May 12th, 13th, and 14th - Wellington

The morning after our river journey we all agreed that the weather was too poor to be climbing around Mount Doom on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. I suspect that the state of our bodies after three days of paddling combined with that beast of a celebratory dinner had a little to do with our decision as well. Rather than muck about in some of the small towns along the Kapiti Coast we decided to push forth for Wellington. I’d been especially excited about Wellington and its surrounding suburbs for a number of reasons; it has a renowned café culture, thriving arts scene, proper public transit, and above all else, natural beauty. Driving into the city we passed through Pukera Bay, the hometown of Peter Jackson of Lord of the Rings fame. Unfortunately nearly all of the hostels in the CBD had received mediocre reviews as they cater to the nightlife crowd with many situated above bars so we stuck to our golden rule set forth after the Tauranga experience and selected a place 20 minutes north of Wellington in Plimmerton called Moana Lodge. If my te reo Maori is correct I believe the translation of ‘moana’ is ocean, which is quite fitting as the only thing separating this hostel from the ocean was a thin strip of road. The proprietor, John, was an exceptionally bored old man who, for this reason, was uncomfortably welcoming and anxious to offer us every last bit of his knowledge of the area. It got to the point where each of us had separately tuned out his voice and were attempting to communicate through some form of telekinesis to devise a plan to kill him while outwardly retaining an image of mild interest. Hours must have passed before we escaped his siren song and we could read the disappointment in his face afterwards for, after giving us so many ideas for things to do, we instead did laundry. Let this be a warning to all potential backpackers in NZ; don’t hang your laundry out on a clothesline. The sunniest, most beautiful day will inexplicably turn to unrelenting rain for about 30 seconds, just to spite the dryness of your garments. Anyway, after slipping into my soggy jeans we hopped in the car and made for the city. I have to say, even though I’d seen many pictures of Wellington before coming over here, it still blew me away with how pretty it was. The three of us tried to name who the parents would be if Wellington were an illegitimate love child and we came to some sort of an agreement that it’s kind of like the offspring of Waikiki in Hawaii and San Francisco. As was the case in Auckland, it’s difficult to relate it to one other place in particular as it is very much unique. To see if the city passed the first Colin test I decided to see how long it would take me to locate and purchase the new Fleet Foxes album. What I soon discovered is that the main shopping district has multiples of everything, especially bookstores. Not only could I find the lesser known items I sought, but I had the ability to shop around. That’s an A+ in my books. I bought the album much to the chagrin of my pop music preferring travel mates but I had to put my foot down on this issue. We spent the rest of the day in Te Papa, New Zealand’s national museum on the CBD waterfront. It reminded me very much of going to the Space and Science center as a kid with all its interactive displays. We got to stand inside a model house and simulate an earthquake and learn how much devastation the European settlement of the land has inflicted. The highlight of the place was the skeleton of a pygmy blue whale that hung from the ceiling and the preserved carcass of the only giant squid on display in the world. Simon’s snoring had me up at 6:30am on day two so I went for a run along the beach, followed by a massive breakfast and a go on the hostel’s acoustic guitar and piano. That day was shopping day for Kelsey and we split up to let her do her thing, making bets on how much she would spend. Simon ended up winning but I won’t say what our guesses were. We found Simon an old copy of the Hobbit to read when he’s lounging on the beaches of Tonga and I mulled over a $20 pair of city shoes before realizing they’d do more harm than good. Simon introduced me to this interesting chain of sushi restaurants that have a changing daily special of 8 pieces for under $5 NZD. As a rule I’d normally avoid cheap seafood but in the spirit of being a backpacker I indulged and it was good enough that I bet I’d frequent the place if I stuck around Wellington. That evening, after cooking an amazing dinner of New Zealand lamb over rice, Greek salad, pitas, hummus, red wine, and Hokey Pokey ice cream (a kiwi original), we headed across the street from the hostel to the local boating club who let us in on members night to watch the Wellington Hurricanes NRL rugby match. Although the Hurricanes lost it was still a great time, and the $5 beers were a welcome change from the $8 beers in the city. On our last day in Wellington we left Moana Lodge for the city to stay with Simon’s old flat mate from his few days at university in Christchurch who had a place at the Massey University residence where we could crash on the floor. While waiting for the dryer and listening to the Fleet Foxes album in the car I drained the battery but bored old John was happy to have something to do and got us a boost. The flat at the University was really tiny but free, and beggars can’t be choosers. We did some of the tourist attractions that day, most notably the Mt. Victoria lookout which was both a workout and a revelation. It is the centerpiece of the city’s greenbelt, an amazing set of parkland that cuts through the city whose hills provide endless lookouts over the harbour. We walked the trails where the scene was shot from The Fellowship of the Ring where the four hobbits hide from the black rider and, being a huge nerd, I was giddy as a schoolgirl. We ended the day with a goodbye dinner at a place called Sweet Mother’s Kitchen which is like a better version of Dadeo’s in Edmonton. We got a heaping plate of nachos and a Tui each (my favourite NZ beer) to start followed by sizeable comfort food main courses with a side of bourbon mash. Kelsey did the unthinkable and ordered the $10 apple pie and Ice cream for dessert and despite my reservations I admit I was jelly. We caught a live cover band for free who played mostly West Coast ska music despite it being a mock Irish pub, but no one was complaining. I’m writing this on the ferry to the South Island, hoping that I don’t get seasick. I didn’t plan nearly as much for the South Island as I did for the North Island so it will be interesting to see what we get up to but naturally it will either be epic, or I will dramatize it to make it sound epic to justify keeping up with this blog!

May 9th to 11th - The Whanganui River Journey

New Zealand has a staggering number of government sponsored walks, hikes, and tramps, all of which take full advantage of the beautiful landscape of the country. Perhaps in a bid to increase tourism or perhaps out of genuine concern for conservation the powers that be decided to select 9 of them in particular and dub them as the Great Walks of New Zealand. For these walks you are required to pay extra fees for staying in the allocated huts and generally need to book months in advance as only a certain number of people are allowed on them at any given time. Starting on the morning of Monday, the 9^th of May, we set out on the black sheep of the Great Walk family, the Whanganui River Journey. Given that it’s a journey that is done entirely by watercraft, it seems a bit strange that it should be included in such an exclusive list otherwise comprised entirely of walks. I suppose the Department of Conservation was most concerned with including trips that succinctly capture the uniqueness of New Zealand in a relatively short period of time, and if such is the case then they have succeeded with the inclusion of the river journey. A small company called Yeti Tours rented us a canoe, a kayak, all the camping supplies we needed, and transportation to and from the river for a very reasonable price. I had been concerned about the amount of food we were bringing with us, partly due to not being certain on the amount of storage we would be provided with, and partly because I found it to be against the spirit of the journey to provide ourselves with too many small comforts. I suppose the others found it difficult to understand that I was chasing the same experience as my walk across England where an extremely arduous day makes one appreciate the taste and ease of obtainability of food that much more. It turns out we were supplied with plenty of barrels to store our belongings, perhaps at the expensive of some canoe stability but nevertheless it was welcome. The man who drove us out to the drop off point was a prime example of the dichotomy that separates the contemporary Maori people, at least from what I’ve experienced thus far. It seems as though you have some that have absorbed some of the worst aspects of European and Western culture, namely the obsession with fast, unhealthy food, and others that have retained their traditional morays and methods at the expense of seeming a little on the fringe. Despite this, they have all been amicable, if not downright hospitable to us since we arrived. Our driver was in the former category, one of many severely overweight individuals that appear to be more accepted by the Pakeha (European New Zealanders), as I will discover later. The drive from Ohakune was about an hour and a half, the better portion of which was spent on roads that appear to be driven upon about once every few months. We were amazed to see signs for a school out in the hills after having gone half an hour without any signs of civilization. There are minor colonies of people that have congregated on the secluded Whanganui River who probably receive some of their goods by boat lest they be forced to brave the treacherous, unsealed roads, laid down by logging companies that connect them to the outside world. We finally set off with myself in the back of the canoe, Kelsey at the front, and Simon paddling solo in the kayak. It started out a bit rough, I was unfamiliar with the handling and management of a proper, loaded canoe and was apparently so bad at steering during the first hour that Kelsey was convinced I was intent on sending us to our collective doom via an intimate encounter with the rock walls. Of course this wasn’t true, though I must admit I was pretending that I was in more control than I actually was. I was quick to realize that sometimes you just have to go with the flow; there are times where no matter what you do the river takes you where it wants to, and that despite our best efforts, what we are subjecting ourselves to is putting us out of our comfort zones for long enough to make us all act a bit funny. That being said, I think we’ve done quite admirably in coping with each other’s idiosyncrasies and all the curveballs this trip has thrown at us. We are, after all, vastly different people who just happen to share a hidden desire to do bungee jumps and other crazy things of that nature. The river journey was a good time to confirm our friendships with nothing to do but talk over a solitary candle. We shared this amazing experience with four other travellers; Yifat, Anselm, Emanuel, and Danilo. Despite a bit of a language barrier we were able to become quick friends over a shared love for an Israeli version of the card game Rummy called Yaniv. On the second day we went to the infamous Bridge to Nowhere which, as its name suggests, is a bridge in the middle of nowhere built to service two communities of people on opposite ends of the river that have since vacated the area. We found a small path from the view point that took us to a secluded rock ledge overlooking the bridge and it was there that we stopped for a snack of taco chips and salsa. It was one of those rare moments that, despite sharing it with some cool people, I wish I were alone as it’s something so perfect you just want to sit there in the silence and appreciate it for longer while it’s still there, unspoilt. The second night we encountered a Department of Conservation maintenance party at the hut. Among their ranks was a man who fit into the latter kind of Maori people I described previously. He was very much in touch with nature and insisted we enter through a ceremonial gate to be greeted by a statue built by his ancestors. I finally got a chance to use some Maori as I gave him a friendly ‘kia ora’ upon our meeting, though I was disappointed that he didn’t initiate a hongi. He had only arrived a few moments before us but had somehow managed to roll a joint within those first few moments and was soon getting high with the two German chaps who were setting up their tent. Another of the DOC wardens in his party was from small town New Zealand which we learned breeds a strong sense of racism. This old crackpot was unimpressed with our travel companion from Israel simply because she was from Israel and turned the whole hut deathly quiet with his remarks. The weirdest occurrence of the trip however began on the first day; we kept coming across dead goats with their heads and hooves cut off, hung on sticks at the river’s edge like grim warnings that we were about to experience the movie Deliverance firsthand. We had become sufficiently freaked out after about the 5^th corpse when we came across a jet boat with two hunters aboard. Upon exchanging pleasantries one of the men explained that they had been the ones who had killed the goats as they are considered pests to the native flora and they would be heading back up river to collect them soon. This was confirmed later as we saw another of their group with a hunting dog track a goat down into the shallows before blasting it in the face with a high powered rifle. I don’t see the excitement in this activity, the dog did all the work of finding it, cornering it and injuring it, which makes the final act just seem pointless and malicious. In the end it was an amazing but exhausting trip and we celebrated by pigging out. My dinner of a gourmet muffin and beef kebab seemed tamed in comparison to Kelsey and Simon who had chips, ice cream, and beer in addition to their kebabs. If I keep up these eating habits I might resemble our Maori friend come June.

May 7th and 8th - New Plymouth/Ohakune

With a whole bunch of activities needing to be sandwiched into a few days we drove south along the west coast towards New Plymouth. The big, and some say only, attraction of this small coastal city is its proximity to the mighty Mount Taranaki, a solitary volcano that seemingly rises from nowhere to dominate the horizon for miles around. What on paper appeared to be about a 2 hour pleasure cruise from Waitomo turned out to be a full day nightmare. Immediately after noticing a highway sign declaring the presence of falling rocks for the next kilometer I came across, you guessed it, some fallen rocks. I thought that I’d center them between my tires such they’d pass underneath the middle of the car, say hello to the axles and muffler, and carry on about their pointless existence. They, however, had much more sinister intentions as the largest of their lot took a bite out of our left front tire. The sound of escaping air was unmistakable and I was forced to pull over on the side of the single lane, mountain side highway. I’d certainly changed a tire before but only on the groundmaster tractors at my job with the city and that was with an impact gun and a tank full of compressed air. I was more or less on the right track when a lovely Indian man and his father pulled over, pushed me aside, and proceeded to secure our spare before we could comprehend what was happening. The downside of this occurrence was that for the remainder of the drive (well over an hour) I was forced, as per the instructions written upon the spare tire, to keep my speed below 80kph. Looking on the bright side, this allowed me to better appreciate the spectacular scenery of the Taranaki region. Our good friends from Lonely Planet steered us to an organic brewery on the outskirts of New Plymouth where our tensions were eased over the purchase of some fine ale, lager, and strawberry blonde beer. Our plans for a 5 hour walk around the mountain were ruined so we decided to use the day to take care of some minor business such as laundry and internet matters. Simon and I found ourselves in the middle of the unique New Zealand weather patterns as we hopped from overhang to overhang as the rain alternated between pissing and non-existence, separated only by a matter of seconds. That evening we had our first experience with one of the many takeaways which seem to litter the corners of every intersection regardless of population size. The format of these shops appears to be fish and chips that you order from a counter along with Chinese food served buffet style. Any way you slice it you get exceptionally greasy food for dangerously cheap. These places are buzzing after hours with people unashamedly bending the rule that states you must be able to close the lid on your all-you-can-eat container. Kelsey opted for an MSG fix while Simon and I went for the more traditional fish and chips, though I got kumara chips instead of regular ones (which are sweet potatoes in New Zealandese). Combine this with the beers we purchased on the way in and we had one hearty meal. This was followed by a rousing round of the Lord of the Rings board game and a stop at the local live music venue to see Nite Shift, a band of moderately talented forty-somethings who were in desperate need of a makeover. The following morning (Sunday) we found the only repair shop in town that was open and the guy was so bored he fixed the tire for free. With our car full of petrol and our bellies full of greasy food we finally made it to the mountain and justified the previous night’s meal with a nature walk. We got some great pictures of the peak and Dawson Falls and left feeling satisfied. I felt like a soccer mom driving my two tuckered out kids home from the big game as Simon and Kelsey passed out on the road to Wanganui. We discovered that despite the fact that I do the majority of the driving, it always seems as though Kelsey gets stuck with the scariest bits of road. The final push on Sunday evening was no different with more hills and turns than ever. At our final destination of Ohakune, a town in a similar vein to Jasper at the foot of Mount Ruapehu/Doom, we truly learned that we were visiting in the off season. Every local we met was delighted we’d bothered to come into their establishment and offered us discounts on everything. We got an en suite room with a balcony and views out to the mountain for the equivalent of $15 Canadian. In addition, we had two kitchens between us and a French couple; it was heavenly. It was my night to cook and I really stretched my culinary limits and whipped up soup and sandwiches, a fitting meal to prepare us for our early morning start on the 3 day journey paddling the Whanganui River.