Milford Sound - need I say more?

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The resolution to be more tolerant lasted less than 10 hours. Older German roomie decided to stamp her demands on me to shut the door one too many times and I snapped at her. She had asked me for a lift this morning to go to Doubtful Sound but she lucked out at this point. Also, as I'd find out later in the day, the irritated feelings were mutual, as she went and moved rooms for the second of her night's stay.

While I'm on the subject of lifts, NZ is full of hitchhikers. Everyone does it - you drive along the road and there's a queue of folk, all wanting to scrounge a lift. It's like match.com for travellers - you can drive along, pick the best or most interesting looking soul, and you've got their undivided attention for however long the journey is meant to last, or however long it is before you get sick of them and turf them out on another street corner (this must happen too, for the number of people that I've seen hitching in the most remote stretches of road you can imagine is sizeable. Doesn't really do them any favours in terms of selling themselves as a viable travelling buddy when they've been abandoned in the arse end of nowhere...).

Still, back to the matter in hand - today I'm off to Milford Sound, a beautiful fjord that leads out to the Tasman Sea. I'm on a big replica old sailing boat - looks like a sailing boat, has all the sails of a sailing boat, doesn't have the critical part - a keel - of a sailing boat, thus is nothing more than a big old fake. Actually not old either - less than 15 years old, so a baby in boating terms. A lovely boat - just a double big fake!

The drive to Milford was unbelievable - again, full of lakes, and beautiful scenic views towards the mountains. At this rate, my photo albums are going to be purely scenic shots and nothing else but it's hard when the views are so amazing that you want to share them with the world.

The drive became all the more entertaining when the broad bean and I turned round a corner to be greeted by close to 300 sheep skipping towards us. Made me remember the giant kangaroo that was just sitting in the middle of the Great Ocean Road, determined not to move for anyone and not frightened in the slightest by the cars belting towards it. The broad bean is tough, and the sheep clearly much smaller than a roo, yet I still don't want to find out what damage one would cause to the other should there be impact, so I crawled through the flock like a snail. Was then put embarrasingly to shame by a flat bed that steamed through them; like the parting of the sea, a path formed and hey ho, was bombing along again.

Once at Milford, I was instantl jumping up and down, not by the excitement of seeing the amazing scenery, which was, of course, out of this world. No, I was left jumping by the number of sand flies taking my blood at every opportunity. These blighters are like leeches - you can see them on your skin draining the blood away. Wafting them off in a manner befitting Mr Tickle, I made it to the boat, and set sail, along with around 50 other grockles.

Let me describe some of my shipmates - a Dutch couple, both with ridiculously cropped blonde hair, he with a haircut that could best be described as like Tintin crossed with the 80s. Bleached grade 1 all over bar a 2 inch strip on his forehead hairline that was gelled 1 inch high. An American couple - she much younger and much more enthusiastic than he, who looked like Father Christmas and could not read any of the signs she put his way about when to take her photo, depsite her forming numerous poses in readiness, before reading him the riot act when he failed to notice her. Then there was a guy that looked like Alistair (Merlin colleague) crossed with Al Murray. None of which bears any relevance to my story... just felt the need to share...

The trip was stunning - the mist and clouds were low at first, giving this eerie sense over the mountains. It was barely clear enough to see the summit of Mitre's Peak, but the cloud somehow made it more magical. Past enormous waterfalls, and huge mountains, we sailed out to the Tasman Sea, which was so calm it resembled a lake. Not a wave or a dip in sight and just sea as far as the eye could behold. We saw an island that had been used in days gone by as a post office - where a passing ship dropped off mail, which may have been posted 2 years earlier, into a rum barrel for collection by the local fishermen.

The commentator on the boat was a bit of a comedian himself today - a few jokes about the lobsters being caught in the Sound being transported alive but unconscious to Asia, 'where they are then woken up to a hot bath and dinner at a posh restaurant', along with others about the Queen and the Royal family, that were wasted on the majority of the shipmates whose first language was not English, or indeed, Kiwi English at that. The ability to decipher Kiwi English, where all the sounds of the vowels are muddled up, must be twice as difficult for these guys. I becomes U, E becomes I etc. I heard an English lady in a shop today being asked when it came to payment with her card 'do you have a pun?'. She just stopped and said, 'A pun? No, I don't think I know any puns dear'...

Try it yourself - Ten becomes Tin, Seven becomes Sivin. Fish becomes fush, chips becomes chups. Hours of amusement...

I digress - Milford was fabulous, eerie and beautiful. I stopped at the Mirror Lakes on the way back where the mountains reflect in the surface of the water, before heading back to the hostel and relaxing for the evening. A high point today, as it turns out that there are actually single male travellers over the age of 21 out there, better still that chat, are interesting and that make what would have been a very dull evening in front of the telly a real laugh instead. Not met one that fits that description until now. Hurrah - a fabulous day then, with beautiful surroundings and wicked company. This is what this travelling lark is all about!

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