Hitchhikers who eat pies in the car

Oceania » New Zealand » South Island » Central Otago
July 10th 2007

Published: July 10th 2007

Broken River had me going a bit crazy, so I headed down the mountain for a couple of days off. Normally, I don't mind being stranded on a ski hill, provided that there's some skiing. At first, the season started out promising. As I was driving up to work two weeks ago, snowflakes saturated the air. Unfortunately, the following week, 90mils of rain completely destroyed the base, and since we don't make snow, we had to close the mountain. It's a bit of a challenge to teach people to ski on grass, so as a result, I've got four days off this week.

I decided to take a break from the mountain and head to Wanaka because the ski fields there are open. Like I've said before, I really enjoy driving along the quiet, winding New Zealand roads and I picked up some Spanish language tapes so that I could feel productive. I've been raised in a generation brainwashed to believe that we should always be improving ourselves. Although, while I'm repeating Espagnol after Senor Lopez, I'm dreaming about my eventual ski trip to Latin America.

I get bored of the Spanish and pick up a hitchhiker an hour into my drive. After another three hours, we've exhausted all our common interests, and I realize I'd rather be listening to language tapes. To aggravate matters, the lovely hitchhiker decides to buy pies at a gas station. They look appallingly unappetizing, but probably taste even worse. The crumbs are flying everywhere and I imagine that they are slowly filling up my car. Soon I'll be up to my chin in pie crumbs and then I'll be forced to inhale them as they pour into my mouth. I'll die a horrid, crusty pie death, suffocating on dry flakes of pastry.

Luckily, I believe in a variation of karma that says: if you do good things for other people, they will realize this, and do good things for you. Pretty unoriginal, but I find it generally works alright. It turns out that this hitchhiker is staying with a masseuse in Wanaka who by coincidence happens to be the same girl that I offered a lift to when I was driving to Wanaka from Queenstown. New Zealand is a small place of four millions people, and I just can't seem to help running into them again and again!

After thankfully depositing my hitchhiker, and having a drink with Michelle, the masseuse, I head back to my car to discover a horrific sight: pie wrappers covering the floor of my car! I don't know why some people can't manage to pick up after themselves. Oh well, I drive off in search of the people I'm staying with. We've never met, but they're friends of my co-worker, Isaac, and as I pass hostel after hostel with "No Vacancy" sighs, I'm relieved that they told me I could crash on their couch.

Driving down the architecturally co-ordinated main street, I realize that Wanaka lures me back again and again; with its clean stucco siding and ski dreams. Everything shimmers like the mirage that it is. I could slip easily into this alternate universe for a while. I ski for the day at Treble Cone, which is no different then the village of Wanaka. Cool kids jib around on their school holidays, and sip on four dollar hot chocolates in the luxury lodge. The skiing wasn't good, but it was good to be skiing. Already I miss the laid back, 'club style', atmosphere of Broken River. Treble Cone is immediate and impersonal. People come, stay, go home, but never really immerse themselves. That's why tourists towns feel fake. The actual town is safely enclosed in a glistening, impenetrable bubble. The tourists can look in and see a distorted image of how the town works, but the people are locked away inside. However, that's also perhaps part of the reason I feel slightly at home in tourist towns; everyone's a stranger, but we all have a common reason for being here.

I'm relieved to be driving back to Broken River. It's my third time leaving Wanaka, but I can't seem to shake the clingy feel of the town. It's like it's latched onto my back and won't let me go. I'm not sure I'm ecstatic to sense that this won't be my last departure from this town.

But for now I luckily get to look ahead, and watch the road. Another reason why I like to drive; you can only glance briefly in the rear-view mirror, but you can't focus on what's behind you.

Dancing for snow...xoxo

Hitchhikers who eat pies in the car

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