A New Zealand Blog That Doesn't Mention The Lord of The Rings

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God we're unoriginal. First Asia, then Australia, now New Zealand. How unimaginative. Just like every other backpacker before us, here we are. 'Why couldn't you have gone to North Korea or Antarctica?', we hear you scream. Well tough, you're all going to have to hear about what a tremendous time we've been having in New Zealand, even though some of you have been here and done exactly the same stuff ages ago.

So, Arthur's Pass, check. Fox Glacier, check. Skydive, che...!! Skydive?! We'll come to that in a bit.

So, we picked up our latest camper van in Christchurch. Only this time it wasn't a camper van at all. It was, however, and still is, a van. It's a twelve seater van in fact (with curtains!) which is most impressive if you happen to need to drive twelve people around the place. But for the two of us, it's a little over equipped on the seating front, and under equipped on the everything else front. This was, however, all part of the plan. This time we'd outdone ourselves and found the cheapest of the cheap hire companies and all we had to do was kit it out ourselves. With the majority of the seats replaced by a mattress, we set about buying camping chairs, a cooker, pots and pans, plates and cutlery, and soon enough we had our very own, not very bespoke, camper van. Spending, in the process, probably the same amount we had saved in not coughing up for a normal camper van.

Of course, New Zealand is the land of action and adventure, hills, thrills and spills, and we came prepared to get active. Our first stop of any note was the Fox Glacier, or Fox's Glacier, as Jen likes to call it. Unlike the mint, the real Fox Glacier is too big to fit in your mouth and is in fact big enough for us to go walking on for a whole day. Before we could say Sir Edmund Hillary, we were strapping ourselves into crampons and stepping out onto the ice. To be honest, it feels a bit fake to find yourself walking on a glacier in a temperate valley, surrounded by trees and whatnot. You sort of expect there to be blizzards blowing and yeti's clambering out of crevices, or is that crevasses? As far as I know neither of us had a Yeti in our crevices, but I did get a bit of a wedgie under my cagool. Even on the ice, there was time to witness the social bickering of tour guides, as our guide was accused by two others of not digging big enough steps with his big ice axe. This must have come as a slight to the man's bravado, especially in earshot of his group, but it's comforting to know that even these outdoor types still have their squabbles. Next time either of us gets pissed off at someone for leaving no paper in the photocopier, we'll know that such gripes are a result of human nature rather than our dour jobs.

Our route from Fox took us south, down the west coast, heading towards Queenstown, activity capital of the world, it seems. But before that we stopped off in Wanaka (pronounced One-aka for those of you sniggering at the back of the class). Wanka was lovely, the sun had started shining, and we took a day to wander up the Rob Roy Track which took us to the foot of a stunning hanging glacier with about 30 waterfalls of various sizes spouting out of it. Well worth the hike. We were pretty hot and sweaty by the time we got back to the van, so naturally, a dip in the river seemed like a good idea until we worked out that the water had probably travelled for less than an hour since it had been under the glacier. We cooled down pretty quickly.

The it was on to Queenstown. This is where people first bungey'd, apparently, and as you drive into town you notice the sky is filled with people dropping out of it, either on ropes, parachutes or paraglides. Then you look back at the road and nearly smash into the tourists in front who are also looking at the sky and not at the road. Meanwhile, the people in the air are looking down at the tourists who aren't looking at the road or each other, hoping to get a birdseye view of the inevitable crash. It's a symbiotic feast of action for all concerned. We didn't really have a plan or any particular activities when we arrived in town, but it did occur that given the lovely weather, it would be wise for Ant to claim his birthday present sooner rather than later. So before too much thought could go into it, the skydive was booked. There are, of course several companies who operate skydives around Queenstown, but there was never any doubt about who would be most appropriate. The brochure read: 'It takes a certain kind of person to jump out of an aircraft. It takes courage.' No doubt about it, this was a job for AC360. But once it was booked for the following morning, there was no sign of AC360, just a quivering wreck where Ant used to be. Fortunately a fretful night was avoided thanks to our neighbours who plied us with wine and allowed us access to their much bigger and very impressive van. It's no secret that Jen suffers greatly from van envy, especially when she sees a behemoth Winnebego or a converted bus drive pass us. There's little we can do other than dream that one day, we too will get the keys to such a beast. So to be able to see inside a van that sleeps four and has a built in cooker and dining table, was almost as thrilling to Jen as anything else Queenstown could offer.

And the next day, Ant, nervous but strangely calm, jumped out of a plane from 12,000 feet, strapped to a hung over American. (Not one of the obese ones though, a normal one). There's not much more to say actually. The plane was tiny which was quite cool, but generally the whole process seemed so relaxed and professional that there was nothing to worry about. The moment of jumping out of the plane was the only time when it felt like there might be some extra laundry to do that night, it was like the moment in a dream when you wake up just before you hit the ground. But generally it was just loads of fun, and massively exhilarating.

By this stage, it was clear that Jen was missing out on all the action. So we booked ourselves in for a bit of canyoning the following day. Canyoning is not at all like canoeing, it's far more fun than that. It's where instead of going for a walk alongside a mountain stream, you go for a scramble along it or in it. So this means abseiling, sliding down rocks, swimming and zip lining. It's stupid really and totally impractical, but quite a lot of fun. And strangely, we both came to realise that somehow, between leaving London 11 months ago and now, we've both become a little bit braver. I think we've learnt to trust equipment, especially when it's Kiwi equipment...they have a very good way of setting you at ease. The most memorable thing about the canyoning though was an unfortunate lad called DJ, who just didn't have a clue what he was doing. His highlight (there were many to choose from) was when he got tangled half way across a valley on a flying fox when he should have been pulling a rope to lower himself. In the end, one of the guides who was 20 meters below him in the river had to take a flying leap over the river to catch the end of his rope, yanking it and releasing him, sending him flying down the rope and splashing into the river with all the dignity of an exploding boil. Poor lad.

Watching someone else's suffering was a sign that if we stuck around long enough, we might be the laughing stock next time, so we left Queenstown and its plethora of playthings, heading for the more sedate but spectacular fiords. Not knowing whether to head for Doubtful Sound or Milford, we decided to go to both. Rather dubiously we'd noted that the boat trip on Doubtful included a visit to a hydroelectric power station...visions of morbidly dull geography field trips started to fill our heads. Our fears were escalated when we realised that we were the youngest people on the boat by a good 200 years. It began to dawn on us that the name Doubtful Sound might have described the fact that it was doubtful that any of our fellow passengers had ears that could actually pick up any sound. Saga tours it may have been, but the place itself was spectacular, and made even better by the sighting of two pods of dolphins who decided to leap around and generally arse about, much to the amusement and cooing of all on board. Of course, we hadn't forgotten the exciting excursion that awaited us on the way back. There's not many ways of describing the trip to the power station, I think the guide described it best when he mentioned something about 'a large boring machine'...nuff said. We'd advise anyone under the age of 70 to think about alternative ways of seeing Doubtful. Kayaking is an option which is probably incredible, although it did look a tad chilly out there.

Then it was Milford. Same again, spectacular, in fact even more spectacular than Doubtful. Ant got a bit over excited at Milford, believing for a minute that he was Jason leading his Argonauts in search of the golden fleece, waiting for Poseidon to come crashing out of the water and cleft our measly boat in two with his giant watery club. But he didn't which was probably for the best.

God, I'm banging on a bit here, aren't I? Sorry. Blah blah blah...drove to Dunedin....bit of a dump...blah blah blah...more driving back up north...blah blah blah...nearly there.

The we got to the Banks Peninsular, back up near Christchurch. We went there on a tip off, hearing that it was beautiful and also that you can swim with dolphins there, which it was and which we did. We'd been planning on swimming with dolphins for a while, and had both conjured up images of gliding through the water, one hand clenching a dorsal fin, leaping out of the water then back down while other dolphins yip yipped with glee etc etc. Of course, the reality was that this wasn't Miami. It was ace though. 'Swimming with' is actually more a case of 'bobbing about' whilst making high pitched squeaking noises under the water in the hope that you'll attract them towards you. And they did. A pod of about 6 dolphins toyed with us for half an hour or so, zipping past us every few minutes, nearly close enough to touch (which unlike our preconceptions, was not an option). To add to the sense of occasion, the boat's skipper looked more nautical than a barnacle attached to a lighthouse. He looked like Captain Birdseye's older, more sea worthy brother, complete with huge eyebrows, missing teeth and one of those moustache-less beards. It was so convincing that he could possibly have been a 22 year old drama student with access to the props cupboard. One note of caution: don't drink a cup of tea then a cup of coffee before squeezing into a wet suit for a 2 hour boat trip with no toilet and the constant sound of sploshing water...it tends to detract from the purpose of the trip.

And so, finally, our last port of call before this giant blog comes grinding to a welcome halt. Thanks for sticking by us this far. Veering back in a westerly and northerly direction, we decided to stop at Hamner Springs, about 2 hours north of Christchurch. This is one of those popular resort towns, best described by Jenny's comment: 'It's all a bit obvious. It's where people with no imagination go on holiday.' Unfortunately for us, it was also Valentines Day, making it even more obvious and on this occasion, a little bit sick. For our aim was to take in the hot sulphur springs...along with every other horny teen and even hornier pensioner within a 100km radius. It was hard to distinguish whether the smell was coming from the sulphur or the over active loins of our canoodling companions in the baths, but we didn't last long. That and the constant threat that someone's bunion plaster would lose its moorings and set itself adrift on a course for our mouths...it wasn't a pleasant place to be. We legged it quicker than you could say 'unhygienic spa, give it a bloody good rinse with some Dettol' and made for the cleaner climes of a forested camping ground. Hilariously our forested camping ground was crammed with steamy windowed cars and fleshy parts pressed against windscreens...they really do embrace Valentine's Day around here.

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Photos

Camp 1
Our first camp site in NZ. Totally free, and right next to a massive lake cum bath cum washing up vestibule. A sign of things to come.

Secret Camping Ground
Our camp on day 3 was this totally empty beach miles from anywhere. Marvellous.

Sir Edmund and Tasmin Outhwaite
We conquered the Fox Glacier using this axe which I had just pulled out of Jenny's head

Ice Woman
Jen looking like the complete mountaineer on the Fox Glacier

Alpine Meadows
On the way up the Rob Roy track. It was a lot like Heidi....everyone, after 3...Doodo do do doo do do doo dooooooo

Cold Bird
Jen spent a total of 0.013 seconds in the water, despite going in 5 times.

Sky Diving
Probably the only way a man can enjoy the peasure of another man strapped to his back without being accused of being a gay.

Doubtful Dolphin
This dolphin tragically leapt straight into the net of a tuna fisherman and died a long, slow and very painful death

Milford Sound
Look at the size of the boats!! And they were big boats.

MILF Jen
Jenny enjoyed Milford Sound a great deal, she really did.

Comments

[Mel]

You guys...
... you don't half make me laugh, you really do. xxx