EDIT: So, it did it again, you'll find yet another exciting adventure in the world of Butko right below this post. It's labeled "I'm Irreverent," as if you didn't already know.
So this whole blogger thing is weird. I created a post before I left for my Adventure and saved it as a draft. Yet now, when I finally decide to post it, it decides to place it in the middle of my blog where nobody is ever going to see it. Which is why I'm writing this post; to direct you to the awesomness that is labeled "nakedness of the face" that you should see on the little bar to the right. Check it out. I'm cute.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
I'm irreverant!
So, last Wednesday was ANZAC day. It's like a Kiwi/Aussie memorial day. What this means, effectively, is that the day before (Tuesday) everybody gets really, really drunk because they don't have to go to school the next day. I find that somewhat irreverent, so I don't feel too very bad that I spent the day losing another one of my rock-climbing virginities.
I went bouldering, on real boulders, outside, for the first time. I had learned about it the night before when I went and visited the climbing wall and everybody asked me if I was coming on a trip that I'd heard nothing about. Naturally, I used my silver tongue to talk them into letting me come. And I'm glad I did, because it was pretty awesome.
The area that we went bouldering was about an hour drive out of Palmerston North on privately owned farmland. Luckily, the first time that Matt Natti (the main climbing dude) attempted to go climbing there, he bribed the owner of the place with bottles of really nice wine, and was then invited to come climbing there any time he wanted to from there on out. They also told him to bring as many people climbing as he wanted to, hence our trip. Thus we struck out at 11:00 AM ( it was going to be an hour earlier, but everybody else was still too hungover to climb)
and arrived at our boulders at noon. The area was beautiful, some lone rocks atop a hill overlooking New Zealand's countryside:
There are a few things that differentiate bouldering from top-roping: first, the height, and thus length, of the climb tends to be a lot less. You would think that this would reduce the chance for injuries, but no, it doesn't, it only means that when you fall from any height, there's nothing but pads below to stop you from cracking your skull open. So the second difference is that you tend to get more, if less fatal, injuries while bouldering. Difference three, you have to clean the boulders that you want to climb, especially if you're climbing on private, non-regulated land. So before we climbed we had to scrub off the moss on the rock with scrub brushes. Not really hard or irritating, merely time consuming. Lastly, since the routes are naturally smaller, you tend to spend more time figuring out how to do a specific move than you ordinarily would. Of course, the routes are only smaller in a general fashion. This boulder, for example, is much, much larger than a bouldering route should be. The climb's not hard, really just a v-0 bordering on v-1 at the top, but there's a psychological barrier that has to get over. The oh-mi-god-this-is-really-really-high-off-of-the-ground-a-fall's-really-going-to-hurt barrier. I did do the climb, and let me tell you, by the time I got to the top, I was shaking, and not from physical exertion.
That was the most major climb that I did all day, and it was really just a fun day. We stopped climbing when the sun started to go down,
but I think some people would have brought torches and climbed all night too if we hadn't forced 'em off the walls. Monkeys. We had dinner at an awesome Turkish kebab joint, drove back to Palmy, and I just crashed. Really, sleep came when my head touched the pillow.
I went bouldering, on real boulders, outside, for the first time. I had learned about it the night before when I went and visited the climbing wall and everybody asked me if I was coming on a trip that I'd heard nothing about. Naturally, I used my silver tongue to talk them into letting me come. And I'm glad I did, because it was pretty awesome.
The area that we went bouldering was about an hour drive out of Palmerston North on privately owned farmland. Luckily, the first time that Matt Natti (the main climbing dude) attempted to go climbing there, he bribed the owner of the place with bottles of really nice wine, and was then invited to come climbing there any time he wanted to from there on out. They also told him to bring as many people climbing as he wanted to, hence our trip. Thus we struck out at 11:00 AM ( it was going to be an hour earlier, but everybody else was still too hungover to climb)
and arrived at our boulders at noon. The area was beautiful, some lone rocks atop a hill overlooking New Zealand's countryside:
There are a few things that differentiate bouldering from top-roping: first, the height, and thus length, of the climb tends to be a lot less. You would think that this would reduce the chance for injuries, but no, it doesn't, it only means that when you fall from any height, there's nothing but pads below to stop you from cracking your skull open. So the second difference is that you tend to get more, if less fatal, injuries while bouldering. Difference three, you have to clean the boulders that you want to climb, especially if you're climbing on private, non-regulated land. So before we climbed we had to scrub off the moss on the rock with scrub brushes. Not really hard or irritating, merely time consuming. Lastly, since the routes are naturally smaller, you tend to spend more time figuring out how to do a specific move than you ordinarily would. Of course, the routes are only smaller in a general fashion. This boulder, for example, is much, much larger than a bouldering route should be. The climb's not hard, really just a v-0 bordering on v-1 at the top, but there's a psychological barrier that has to get over. The oh-mi-god-this-is-really-really-high-off-of-the-ground-a-fall's-really-going-to-hurt barrier. I did do the climb, and let me tell you, by the time I got to the top, I was shaking, and not from physical exertion.
That was the most major climb that I did all day, and it was really just a fun day. We stopped climbing when the sun started to go down,
but I think some people would have brought torches and climbed all night too if we hadn't forced 'em off the walls. Monkeys. We had dinner at an awesome Turkish kebab joint, drove back to Palmy, and I just crashed. Really, sleep came when my head touched the pillow.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Great Adventure Concludes.
April 17:
We woke up (again? wow, what a shocker) and walked downstairs to eat PB&J's for breakfast. When we were there, we got to know our Hostel-mates a little better. Again, as I've previously noted, there were no Kiwis. There were two guys from the UK that were there to hunt deer, who were continuously hassling and getting hassled by an awesome Italian cowboy. They were glad to have Ben and I as that nights Americans, because, apparently, the night before, they were blessed with the presence of a Texas Cowboy and an overly gay Englishman, who, as the story goes, about halfway through the night went up into an upper bedroom for a private "rodeo." Ahem. So, yeah, they loved us.
We then bid a tearful farewell to our one night friends and drove to Christchurch, New Zealand's second largest city. Just before we got to the city, we figured that since we were effectively done driving in NZ, that we should probably wash our car. Unfortunately, we forgot to put down the antenna in the car wash, whoops. Anyways, we finally got to Christchurch, booked a hostel for the next two nights, and set out to explore the city.
We woke up (again? wow, what a shocker) and walked downstairs to eat PB&J's for breakfast. When we were there, we got to know our Hostel-mates a little better. Again, as I've previously noted, there were no Kiwis. There were two guys from the UK that were there to hunt deer, who were continuously hassling and getting hassled by an awesome Italian cowboy. They were glad to have Ben and I as that nights Americans, because, apparently, the night before, they were blessed with the presence of a Texas Cowboy and an overly gay Englishman, who, as the story goes, about halfway through the night went up into an upper bedroom for a private "rodeo." Ahem. So, yeah, they loved us.
We then bid a tearful farewell to our one night friends and drove to Christchurch, New Zealand's second largest city. Just before we got to the city, we figured that since we were effectively done driving in NZ, that we should probably wash our car. Unfortunately, we forgot to put down the antenna in the car wash, whoops. Anyways, we finally got to Christchurch, booked a hostel for the next two nights, and set out to explore the city.
Christchurch is actually a pretty cool little city. The city's center is a somewhat old church (hence the name) that you can climb up and take pictures from.
I just thought this was interesting: apparently Kiwis don't believe in a bearded Jesus.Around the Church is a shopping district, and if you walk about 4 blocks in any direction, you get to residential areas. All in all, it's a cute little city, and, like everywhere else in NZ, it's about impossible to feel threatened in it. But, since it is the second largest city, we saw something there that we'd never seen before in New Zealand. Bums. Seriously, there are no homeless people in New Zealand, it's like there's a law against it or something. Of course, if you think about it, it kinda makes sense. There's 40 million sheep and 4 million people, so it's a pretty safe bet to think that you can get some sort of occupation on a farm if you try.
After wandering about the city center for most of the day and learning our way around, we realized that, other than shopping, there really wasn't anything to do in the city. So we saw a movie. But not just any movie, a Zhang Yimou movie, The Curse of the Golden Flower. The only reason we went to see it is because, in our Chinese Film class, we've been studying Zhang Yimou, so I actually (for the first time) felt like I had learned something in that class. Oh, he directed Hero too, so that should help. It was a decent movie, thought provoking at the very least, and we returned to our hostel, I watched Sin City with Germans and some Englishmen, laughed at them because they didn't get the movie, and went to bed.
April 18:
Today we cruised along museums and the botanical garden. This is also the point where I describe just how much I really, really dislike modern art.
Okay, so some of it can be poignant and meaningful. That gives it a point towards art. Unfortunately, I see the ability to make art as a gift, in other words, it is something special that is not given to everybody. We, as human beings, should be able to recognize our limitations and not attempt to do things that we, let's be honest with ourselves, can't really do. The story of Icarus and Daedalus comes to mind. So, this simply means that people like myself, who can't physically draw a smiley face, shouldn't really attempt to make themselves artists. And shame on you, whoever told this budding artist in kindergarten that they could be an artist someday. Shame.
Also, modern art is pompous as hell. They seem to think that they're the only ones in the world that understand anything, and they make their art purposefully obtuse just to make sure that they, themselves, are only ones that can understand it. They also seem to think that they're important; they seem to believe that making something out of toilet paper rolls and pom-poms makes some important, world-altering change. Honestly, their self-riotousness is simply disgusting. They sacrifice aesthetics for politics, and then can't even get the point across that they're trying to make. It drives me absolutely bonkers. Or Bat-Shit crazy. You can take your pick. So here's some pictures to drive home just how much it makes me nuts:
This is a pretty famous exhibit. Here's the lamp when it's on.
And here's the lamp one second later when it's off. . . yeah. 'Nuff said.
At least Ben got to be the Bic man.
Anyways, we wandered around museums, and just as we were about on our way back to town, somebody caught my eye. It was a large, Caucasian male with flaming red hair dressed in a bright green T-Shirt. I only knew of one person in NZ fitting that description, and, against all odds, it was Rhett. He was down from Massey University for Easter break as well, and we'd said goodbye about two weeks before, so the odds were astronomical, but nonetheless, we met him randomly on a street in New Zealand's second largest city. We stared at each other, shocked, then talked in brief about our respective trips to the same places, and we decided that, since they knew of even more Americans about to come into Christchurch that night, that we'd make it An American Night On The Town.
So we did. Later in the night, Ben and I went to Rhett and Co.'s hostel, and I watched as they all played a rousing game of P&A, or for those of you not currently up on college drinking games, President and Asshole. I'm not even going into that here. Suffice it to say, by the time we actually left their dorm to make a round of the local bars, everybody else had at least a buzz. And one girl, Diane, was already really, really drunk. She averaged a straight line. The first place we went was called Sticky Fingers (which I said sounded like a gay bar, but luckily I was wrong) and the baker's dozen or so of us just talked about our trips, and, since it was a bar, drank. So, since it wasn't a Thursday, we closed the place down at 1:00. We then proceeded to explore Christchurch city center in search of an open bar, but, in the whole of the city center, there were only two. Yeah, this place is weird. Then the party continued at The Stock Exchange, where we talked some more and drank some more. This continued on for another two and a half hours or so, and Ben and I elected to leave, 'cuz tomorrow we had to check out of our hostel. The strange part came during the walk home, I saw something else here for the first time (even though it's legal), we, Ben and I, encountered prostitutes. Now, wouldn't it make sense to be attractive and be a prostitute? Wouldn't that help your business? Apparently not, because these girls were ugly as sin. I think, as I walked past to an offer of a blow job, the glass on my watch face cracked.
April 19:
Today, like any day that ends a vacation, had a cloud over it. We didn't really posses the energy to do anything (which is good, because there was nothing more to do in Christchurch) was non-existent. So we watched Terminator 2 in the lounge of the hostel, and eventually called an airport shuttle to drag our lazy American butts to the airport.
So, throughout our journey, we saw signs for something called the antarctic center. "One of New Zealand's top attractions." "Voted best indoor entertainment in Christchurch." "Will make you poop gold for one week after attending." Stuff like that. So we decided that since we had about 5 hours until our plane left, we might as well go to The Illustrious Antarctic Center.
The outside of the place looked cool, if you'll forgive the pun.
So I don't know if I've said this yet, but all of the museums in New Zealand are free to the public. Donations recommended, of course, but to starving college students, free. The Antarctic Center, however, cost $30 to get in, which, because everything else was free, seemed really steep. But, whatever, we were there, we'd get to poop gold, so we decided that we should go in. Maybe our feces would make up for the admission. . . but no, it was really unimpressive. It was a bunch of static plaques describing Antarctica and its history, which is really less than exciting. There were really only two rooms of note. This one:
So I don't know if I've said this yet, but all of the museums in New Zealand are free to the public. Donations recommended, of course, but to starving college students, free. The Antarctic Center, however, cost $30 to get in, which, because everything else was free, seemed really steep. But, whatever, we were there, we'd get to poop gold, so we decided that we should go in. Maybe our feces would make up for the admission. . . but no, it was really unimpressive. It was a bunch of static plaques describing Antarctica and its history, which is really less than exciting. There were really only two rooms of note. This one:
This room simulated a real Antarctic storm, which was pretty cool. They supplied warm coats and coverings for your boots. The clock counted down like it was the new year, and then they turned on the fans until it got rather frigid. I, of course, wore shorts. It really wasn't that bad, but I like the idea. As I was heading out, I made a flippant comment about how next time they should make it snow too, and I was really surprised to learn that Antarctica doesn't really get snow storms. An Antarctic storm consists of almost entirely wind. Cool. Ha.
And they had a room dedicated to Blue Penguin preservation. So I actually get to show you pictures of real, live, mobster Blue Penguins. It was pretty cool to see them during the daytime, not nearly as awesome as seeing them during the night in a red light, but it afforded a somewhat better view. And, I would like this on the record, these things are damn cute. I want one for a pet. Adorable.
We then parted the Antarctic Center, disillusioned. But, Ben being the weird kid that he is, decided that he'd stop by the New Zealand Antarctic Institute and ask what it takes to get to spend some time working there. The lady at the front desk, bureaucratic as ever, told us that they couldn't actually help American students, we had to go across the way and ask the American Antarctic Institute our questions. Naturally, the door was locked. Bureaucracy wins again. Sigh. After that disappointment we caught a plane back to Palmy, a shuttle bus back to Massey, and we crashed in our respective dorms, content with an awesome trip.
Ben and Brandt's Great Adventure was over. Back to school, if not back to reality.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The Great Adventure, continued.
April 15th:
In the morning the Swiss guy decided to teach us (Ben, Peter the Englishman, and myself) how to juggle. Surprisingly, I picked up on it quicker than I though I would, but, sadly, I still find myself not entirely confident in my abilities. In other words, I can juggle 3 balls 3 times. Not very impressive. As we left the nice Swiss-Kiwi hostel, Ben gave his number to one of the girls that we met the previous night, thereby getting his hopes up and denying himself the ability to actually call them by getting their numbers. Sadly, they never did call us back.
It was no time for sadness, however, because we were finally getting out of the bush back into a real city! We drove from Balclutha to Dunedin that day, and we found ourselves surrounded by a strange, foreign animal - people. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, we found ourselves there on a Sunday, so the town was effectively closed down. Which was fine with me, it left the isite, and backpacker hostels in the city, effectively free. So we got them to book us a place at a backpackers, we retrieved our keys from the cashier, and headed off to explore the Otago peninsula.
Our first stop on the peninsula was at Larnach Castle. It's the only castle in New Zealand, and apparently it was built by a Scotsman who decided that he was bitter that his family had never had a castle in the past, so he was gonna damn well make one in New Zealand. Anyways, it wasn't the largest or most impressive of castles, but it does have the distinction of being the Only Castle in New Zealand.
A view of the castle.
Ben, living the life of a King.
Ben, living the life of a queen.
A view of Otago Peninsula from the castle. What it lacked in tremendous size, it made up for in tremendous views.
We then proceeded on our merry way to the tip of the Peninsula, where there is the only land-based nesting area for the Royal Albatross in the world. Unfortunately, it wasn't open to the public, and to get in you had to pay to get on a tour. For Albatrosses. I can rent the Rescuers whenever I want to see an Albatross, by gum. And we were about to go and pay for a tour of a yellow-eyed penguin colony. Yes, that's right, penguins.
As Ben was inside booking our tickets for the tour, I stayed outside and pet the dog on the porch. It was obviously a little attention whore much like my own, and laid on its side the minute I started to touch its belly. When the dog was laying on the ground, prone, Ben called me inside to check out the price of the tour. But, instead of being focused on the tour, I decided to tell the lady working at the desk that I had "killed her dog." She gave me this sad, scared face, and I decided to add to my previous statement that I had pet the dog until he "looked dead." I'm afraid that if I didn't add that, she was going to have some sort of a heart attack. Anyways, the penguin tour.
We got in the penguin tour buses and rode to the penguin reserve. But before we actually got to see any penguins, they took us to a spot where fur seals were know to stay. And, that day, they were indeed in residence. My favorite part is how the sheep would walk right up to the seal, flash a west sah-ide and walk away. Awesome. So then we walked down to the penguin reserve. We saw a couple of 'em come in from the distance, and then our guide took us into the trenches:
No joke. They dug penguin trenches so we could get closer to the penguins. And we got closer. A lot closer. I got so close that I could have reached out and kissed this one, the little guy named Shrek:
Note the really creepy yellow pupil. Apparently the newborn penguins develop this at six months in order to look like a gangster and scare away early predators. At least, that's what Ben and I think. These little guys live completely solitary lives, closed off from any other penguin (excepting their mate) for the duration of their lives. And, with eyes like that, I know why. Then Ben and I asked around and found a beach, where, after dark, the little blue penguins are known to come in from sea en masse and roost. We said, "sure. Let's do it. We're in." So we drove back to the tip of the peninsula to pilot's beach, home of the adorable little blue penguins. To pass the time, Ben and I talked. We're rather good at that. We talked about Heaven and Hell and Harry Potter until another American girl told us to shut up, the penguins were coming. Of course, sometime during the conversation it got dark, so we couldn't really get a good view of the penguins. They were but shadows within shadows, ephemeral spectres of the night that we could only hear: purrrrr, yelp, cackle. Really, these things made the weirdest noises. I wish I could replicate 'em, but it was somewhere between a birdcall, a cat's purr, and a dog's growl, ending with a puppy's yelp of pain. Luckily, one of the volunteers who was there to make sure that we didn't take flash photos and blind the little buggers had brought along a red light, so we actually got a front-row seat as the adorable creatures waddled up the beach in little gangs, made their noises, and kicked rabbits out of their holes so the penguins could sleep for the night. It was like seeing a bunch of little, adorable mobsters clean house.
We then returned to Dunedin for the night, Ben played footsies with a cute girl on the bunk opposite him, and we went to bed.
April 16:
Today I make all of the female readers of this blog jealous. I began this day in Cadbury World. The home of nearly all the chocolate in New Zealand. Since Ben and I hadn't really shaved in about 3 days, the lady leading the tour required us to wear snoots. Bah.
One of the biggest draws of the tour is a 5 story chocolate waterfall. Oh yeah, 5 stories. We had a waterfall of Willy Wonka proportions imagined, and with a tag like that, wouldn't you? The reality is that they have a 1 story chocolate faucet placed 5 stories in the air. The lady turned it on, the chocolate poured out of the faucet for 15 seconds, and we continued on with the tour. Nonetheless, I found the coolest present for ma mum in there, provided she can keep it away from the dog.
They had a few of these scattered about the factory, each more terrible than the last. They depicted scenes of animal torture on a grand scale. For example, if you care to look at this picture, you'll note that the happy, smiling gnome guys are joyously drowning a mouse in chocolate. Hardly after dinner fare.
From there we went on the Speights brewery tour. This tour was far more tongue in cheek and waay more entertaining than the Cadbury tour. And, at the end of it, they had a TV playing all of the Speights "Southern Man" commercials contiguously. They're pretty awesome, if you love youtube, check 'em out. Oh, yeah, and they had a little island in the middle of the room from which you could pour out as much beer as you liked while the commercials were running. I sat back, pulled up a cold lemonade, and giggled continuously at the commercials.
"Good on ya, Mate."
From the Speights tour we ate at the worst labeled Japanese sushi restaurant ever:
But, horrible appellation aside, they had the best wasabi that I've ever tried. The stuff that we get in Reno is amazingly weak compared with this stuff. I put just a little bit on a tiny piece of sushi and sat back as my nostrils caught fire. This stuff was awesome. The best part, however, was when Ben had not yet learned to fear the Wasabi, he put a really healthy helping of it on one of his rolls, and ate it. I only learned of his mistake when I heard him cough. And cough again. Then his eyes watered, and I saw the most pathetic look on his face that I've ever seen. Naturally, being the kind of friend that I am, I sat back, laughed at the expression on his face, and waited for the spell to pass. It did. Eventually.
At this point we had effectively done everything there was to do in Dunedin, so we continued on our great adventure. Because we love you guys sooo much, and we didn't actually get to take any pictures of the elusive Blue Penguin, we had heard that the Blue Penguin colony at Oamaru was pretty awesome. So we headed there. Only to learn that it was effectively the same thing that we had done in the less commercial Pilot's beach. So we decided that it wasn't worth another 30 dollars to see the same thing again, but, as we were leaving, Ben found a brochure.
Now, I don't know if I've told you this before, but Ben's a dirty drunk. He much prefers whiskey over other types of booze, which instantly earns him that moniker. Theoretically, Dunedin had the country's only whiskey distillery, which was another thing we were supposed to do at Dunedin. Unfortunately, it had closed up years before, rendering it impossible for Ben to get a taste or a tour. So, being the determined engineer that he is, he went on the Internet, found out that the original distillery was called Wilson's had folded up, and another company, Milford, had bought up all of Wilson's last few casks, and was selling them wholesale. We thought nothing of this until Ben found a Milford brochure at the Penguin Colony in Oamaru. We didn't know what to expect, but we were both shocked with what we got. A private tour of the new, budding distillery that's trying to get it's fresh start. They're using the casks of the Wilson whiskey as venture capital to start up a new distillery, and we lucked into getting a private tour (and tasting for Ben) with the master distiller himself. It was awesome, we just sat there and talked to the guy for about 45 minutes while Ben sat and sampled the beverages. The guy even seemed kinda touched when we asked him for a picture later:
We then continued on to Timaru, where we booked a hostel with a bunch of awesome, friendly people. We played 3-D connect four, chess (Ben's better than me now . . . maybe), and we crashed, surprised and content at the way the day went.
In the morning the Swiss guy decided to teach us (Ben, Peter the Englishman, and myself) how to juggle. Surprisingly, I picked up on it quicker than I though I would, but, sadly, I still find myself not entirely confident in my abilities. In other words, I can juggle 3 balls 3 times. Not very impressive. As we left the nice Swiss-Kiwi hostel, Ben gave his number to one of the girls that we met the previous night, thereby getting his hopes up and denying himself the ability to actually call them by getting their numbers. Sadly, they never did call us back.
It was no time for sadness, however, because we were finally getting out of the bush back into a real city! We drove from Balclutha to Dunedin that day, and we found ourselves surrounded by a strange, foreign animal - people. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, we found ourselves there on a Sunday, so the town was effectively closed down. Which was fine with me, it left the isite, and backpacker hostels in the city, effectively free. So we got them to book us a place at a backpackers, we retrieved our keys from the cashier, and headed off to explore the Otago peninsula.
Our first stop on the peninsula was at Larnach Castle. It's the only castle in New Zealand, and apparently it was built by a Scotsman who decided that he was bitter that his family had never had a castle in the past, so he was gonna damn well make one in New Zealand. Anyways, it wasn't the largest or most impressive of castles, but it does have the distinction of being the Only Castle in New Zealand.
A view of the castle.
Ben, living the life of a King.
Ben, living the life of a queen.
A view of Otago Peninsula from the castle. What it lacked in tremendous size, it made up for in tremendous views.
During our perusal of the Castle gardens, we took a sharp right turn, looked into the darkness of what looked like a prison cell, and saw this. I don't have a clue what it is. All I know is that it was scary as hell.
We then proceeded on our merry way to the tip of the Peninsula, where there is the only land-based nesting area for the Royal Albatross in the world. Unfortunately, it wasn't open to the public, and to get in you had to pay to get on a tour. For Albatrosses. I can rent the Rescuers whenever I want to see an Albatross, by gum. And we were about to go and pay for a tour of a yellow-eyed penguin colony. Yes, that's right, penguins.
As Ben was inside booking our tickets for the tour, I stayed outside and pet the dog on the porch. It was obviously a little attention whore much like my own, and laid on its side the minute I started to touch its belly. When the dog was laying on the ground, prone, Ben called me inside to check out the price of the tour. But, instead of being focused on the tour, I decided to tell the lady working at the desk that I had "killed her dog." She gave me this sad, scared face, and I decided to add to my previous statement that I had pet the dog until he "looked dead." I'm afraid that if I didn't add that, she was going to have some sort of a heart attack. Anyways, the penguin tour.
We got in the penguin tour buses and rode to the penguin reserve. But before we actually got to see any penguins, they took us to a spot where fur seals were know to stay. And, that day, they were indeed in residence. My favorite part is how the sheep would walk right up to the seal, flash a west sah-ide and walk away. Awesome. So then we walked down to the penguin reserve. We saw a couple of 'em come in from the distance, and then our guide took us into the trenches:
No joke. They dug penguin trenches so we could get closer to the penguins. And we got closer. A lot closer. I got so close that I could have reached out and kissed this one, the little guy named Shrek:
Note the really creepy yellow pupil. Apparently the newborn penguins develop this at six months in order to look like a gangster and scare away early predators. At least, that's what Ben and I think. These little guys live completely solitary lives, closed off from any other penguin (excepting their mate) for the duration of their lives. And, with eyes like that, I know why. Then Ben and I asked around and found a beach, where, after dark, the little blue penguins are known to come in from sea en masse and roost. We said, "sure. Let's do it. We're in." So we drove back to the tip of the peninsula to pilot's beach, home of the adorable little blue penguins. To pass the time, Ben and I talked. We're rather good at that. We talked about Heaven and Hell and Harry Potter until another American girl told us to shut up, the penguins were coming. Of course, sometime during the conversation it got dark, so we couldn't really get a good view of the penguins. They were but shadows within shadows, ephemeral spectres of the night that we could only hear: purrrrr, yelp, cackle. Really, these things made the weirdest noises. I wish I could replicate 'em, but it was somewhere between a birdcall, a cat's purr, and a dog's growl, ending with a puppy's yelp of pain. Luckily, one of the volunteers who was there to make sure that we didn't take flash photos and blind the little buggers had brought along a red light, so we actually got a front-row seat as the adorable creatures waddled up the beach in little gangs, made their noises, and kicked rabbits out of their holes so the penguins could sleep for the night. It was like seeing a bunch of little, adorable mobsters clean house.
We then returned to Dunedin for the night, Ben played footsies with a cute girl on the bunk opposite him, and we went to bed.
April 16:
Today I make all of the female readers of this blog jealous. I began this day in Cadbury World. The home of nearly all the chocolate in New Zealand. Since Ben and I hadn't really shaved in about 3 days, the lady leading the tour required us to wear snoots. Bah.
One of the biggest draws of the tour is a 5 story chocolate waterfall. Oh yeah, 5 stories. We had a waterfall of Willy Wonka proportions imagined, and with a tag like that, wouldn't you? The reality is that they have a 1 story chocolate faucet placed 5 stories in the air. The lady turned it on, the chocolate poured out of the faucet for 15 seconds, and we continued on with the tour. Nonetheless, I found the coolest present for ma mum in there, provided she can keep it away from the dog.
They had a few of these scattered about the factory, each more terrible than the last. They depicted scenes of animal torture on a grand scale. For example, if you care to look at this picture, you'll note that the happy, smiling gnome guys are joyously drowning a mouse in chocolate. Hardly after dinner fare.
From there we went on the Speights brewery tour. This tour was far more tongue in cheek and waay more entertaining than the Cadbury tour. And, at the end of it, they had a TV playing all of the Speights "Southern Man" commercials contiguously. They're pretty awesome, if you love youtube, check 'em out. Oh, yeah, and they had a little island in the middle of the room from which you could pour out as much beer as you liked while the commercials were running. I sat back, pulled up a cold lemonade, and giggled continuously at the commercials.
"Good on ya, Mate."
From the Speights tour we ate at the worst labeled Japanese sushi restaurant ever:
But, horrible appellation aside, they had the best wasabi that I've ever tried. The stuff that we get in Reno is amazingly weak compared with this stuff. I put just a little bit on a tiny piece of sushi and sat back as my nostrils caught fire. This stuff was awesome. The best part, however, was when Ben had not yet learned to fear the Wasabi, he put a really healthy helping of it on one of his rolls, and ate it. I only learned of his mistake when I heard him cough. And cough again. Then his eyes watered, and I saw the most pathetic look on his face that I've ever seen. Naturally, being the kind of friend that I am, I sat back, laughed at the expression on his face, and waited for the spell to pass. It did. Eventually.
At this point we had effectively done everything there was to do in Dunedin, so we continued on our great adventure. Because we love you guys sooo much, and we didn't actually get to take any pictures of the elusive Blue Penguin, we had heard that the Blue Penguin colony at Oamaru was pretty awesome. So we headed there. Only to learn that it was effectively the same thing that we had done in the less commercial Pilot's beach. So we decided that it wasn't worth another 30 dollars to see the same thing again, but, as we were leaving, Ben found a brochure.
Now, I don't know if I've told you this before, but Ben's a dirty drunk. He much prefers whiskey over other types of booze, which instantly earns him that moniker. Theoretically, Dunedin had the country's only whiskey distillery, which was another thing we were supposed to do at Dunedin. Unfortunately, it had closed up years before, rendering it impossible for Ben to get a taste or a tour. So, being the determined engineer that he is, he went on the Internet, found out that the original distillery was called Wilson's had folded up, and another company, Milford, had bought up all of Wilson's last few casks, and was selling them wholesale. We thought nothing of this until Ben found a Milford brochure at the Penguin Colony in Oamaru. We didn't know what to expect, but we were both shocked with what we got. A private tour of the new, budding distillery that's trying to get it's fresh start. They're using the casks of the Wilson whiskey as venture capital to start up a new distillery, and we lucked into getting a private tour (and tasting for Ben) with the master distiller himself. It was awesome, we just sat there and talked to the guy for about 45 minutes while Ben sat and sampled the beverages. The guy even seemed kinda touched when we asked him for a picture later:
We then continued on to Timaru, where we booked a hostel with a bunch of awesome, friendly people. We played 3-D connect four, chess (Ben's better than me now . . . maybe), and we crashed, surprised and content at the way the day went.
Friday, April 20, 2007
The Great Adventure Continues. . .
April 11:
We left for Mt. Cook from Twizel at 9:00 AM. I cried, because at 9:01, I was no longer a Twizler. Ouch, yeah, I'm sorry, that was a bad one. The drive looked really formidable on paper, but turned out to be far more straight, and straightforward, than anticipated, so we got to Mt. Cook early. The best thing about this day, however, was that the power of the rain and weather was inversely proportional to the distance from Mt. Cook. In other words, by the time we got to New Zealand's tallest mountain, it was pretty crappy out. I also hadn't planned on bringing any real rain garb with me.
Rain resistant pants. No.
A poncho. No.
Hooded jacket. No.
Doing a couple of tramps regardless. Check.
So we started by going to the information center, learning which hikes were going to be the best, then we got back in the car, and I drove a small distance along a gravel road until we found our way to the Hooker valley hike. Theoretically the hike takes approximately 3 hours to go there and back. We decided, Hell, we're here, we'll probably never be back, let's go for it. It took less than 15 minutes along the tramp before we were both soaked. I was loving it. The weather was perfect-the clouds cloaked the mountains, lending an air of mystique and intrigue to the whole experience. My rain-soaked garments clung to me like a sweet promise from long ago, and the rumbling of the mountains as lightning flashed and avalanches fell lended a further supernatural flair. Honestly though, it was awesome. So, soaked and happy, we returned to the car, ready to continue along with our journey.
Unfortunately for Ben, I was not about to let that happen. Shortly after getting back on the main road, I took another offshoot, this time taking us down a somewhat more dangerous gravel road to the Tasmin Glacier View hike. Our clothes still clung to us from our last tramp, but dampness has never been enough to diminish the spirit of adventure in man, so we walked up this hike as well. About halfway through the hike, the nice, steep, muddy trail turned into a nice, steep, rocky trail, thereby making the hike somewhat more dangerous. As we walked, we saw a flash of light, lightning, that was shortly followed by a loud sound, thunder. These were familiar sensations, and not troubling. What was troubling, however, was the fact that after the initial rumble of the thunder had died away, we heard a loud cracking, breaking sound. Avalanches. The sound of avalanches followed us throughout our little tramp until we reached the summit of the Tasmin Glacier View hike. It was well worth it, because the sight of icebergs on an inland lake is not one that many people are privileged enough to have seen:
You guys get the next best thing.
Following the wet adventures of Mt. Cook, we drove to a little town called Wanaka, visited the isite, and stayed the night. Now, many people prefer Wanaka to Queenstown, which is quite easy to see. Wanaka still clung to the illusion that it was a small, natural little resort town, while nonetheless possessing the facilities and opportunities of a much larger city. And it was pretty too.
We had pizza at a pretty good pizza joint, returned to our Hostel, and went to bed.
But before we went to sleep, Ben decided that it was time to conquer the WeetBix again. With BBQ sauce. Apparently the Bix won again.
April 12:
We left Wanaka fairly early, and arrived at Queenstown after a short 1.5 hour drive. To those who don't know, Queenstown is the NZ (and mayhap world) capital of extreme sports. Bungee jumping, sky diving, jet boat riding, pretty much anything your little Xtreme heart desires is within short walking or driving distance. And it would have been truly awesome to do any one of the three. Unfortunately, the weather had followed us from Mt. Cook, and the prospect of jumping off of something in a rainstorm and not being able to see where I was jumping did not appeal. Likewise, jet boat riding was out of the question; when it's cold out, the last thing you want to do is ride on a boat in water. Nor would I skydive, when (not if) I skydive, I don't want it to be in tandem, unfortunately, the only way that they would let you jump solo was if you were certified, which, of course, I'm not. Thus skydiving didn't really appeal. Naturally, the next logical step in this progression of Xtreme sports is visiting a bird sanctuary, which is what we did.
We went to the Kiwi and Birdlife Park, and saw birds. Normally this would have been really boring to me, but I wasn't really going to see a bird, I was going to see a Kiwi. They're like Platypuses in that you can tell that God was having a joke on the scientific community when (or if) He created them. Honestly, they're like little fuzzy mammals, not birds. Instead of having hollow bones, like most birds, their bones are marrow-filled. Instead of having wings, like normal birds, they have little nubs that posses all the attributes of wings, but with none of the flying abilities and with more of the cuteness than normal bird's wings. And, most interestingly, they have the highest proportion of egg-size to body mass of any avian member of the animal kingdom. Normal Kiwi weight is 20Kg, their egg is 5Kg. Think of that, having a quarter of your total body mass in egg form inside of you. That sounds painful to me, and I don't even have a uterus. I'd love to show you pictures, but the birds were stored in a dark hut, and flash photography was strictly forbidden. For good reason too, when we met the wife of the progenitor and owner of the park after the Maori cultural show (which I felt bad taking pictures of; it put them on the same level as the birds), she told us that one of the Kiwis in the bird house simply dropped dead after somebody let a flash loose in the Kiwi hut. I'm just glad I held back the impulse when I was in the hut.
While there we saw another of God's practical jokes. Ben and I saw a Tuatara, the only surviving member of the Dinosaur family. A fully matured Tuatara looks exactly like any other lizard on the outside, all green and scaly and lizardy. But, unlike other lizards, it has a third eye on the top of its head. When they're born the eye is fully visible, and, as they mature, the eye is gradually covered up with skin, leading scientists to believe that it's used to sense when there is or isn't light. It's believed that the reason that tuatara survived the multiple ice ages since the age of the Dinosaurs is because they can put themselves in a near-permanent catatonic state. They can slow done their heart rate to 4 beats per minute, which brings their metabolism to zero. The oldest Tuatara in captivity's name is Henry, and he's 125 years old and still going strong, so we have no idea how long the lizards can actually live.
After meeting three generations of the owners of the park, we drove from Queenstown to Te Anau on our way to Milford sound. We stopped by the isite, got accommodation and advice from the old lady behind the counter, and Ben booked us a bus&Cruise tour for a sweet price. "A Bus?" you may ask. Yes indeed, a bus. It wasn't that much more expensive than booking the cruise on its own and the old lady behind the counter had scared us away from driving to the sound.
"You'll need snow chains for you tires, yes, the authorities say there's going to be snow on the road to the sound tomorrow. Oh, and be sure to follow the signs that say 'no stopping,' those happen in avalanche areas, and it takes us a while to get around to clearing away snow during the avalanches."
So, Yes, Bus.
April 13:
Bus indeed, in order to disprove all of our fears and predictions, the bus actually picked us up just outside of our hostel. In order to further prove to us that there are no Kiwis in the scenic areas of their country, we boarded a small (well it was more of a large van) bus with 2 girls from the UK, Another American, and 3 people from South Africa. During the bus ride I got to speak with one of the South Africans; what we talked about wasn't important, but the fact that I could still tell that she had a South African accent after living in NZ for 12 years did interest me. Nobody picks up the Kiwi accent. These people were here for 12 years, yet you could still tell in half a second that they began their lives elsewhere. I've met Americans that have been here for 6+ years, but they still Sound American. Anyways, this is just my rationalization for not returning home with an accent.
Our bus driver was awesome, something like a Kiwi Mr. Moses, and stopped over at all the really quick, touristy places so that I could bring you awesome, beautiful pictures from across the ocean. Our first stop was at:
We then pulled over at the side of a road just in front of a tunnel. Let me tell you, I don't know how big these mountains were, but they were impressive. Steep, tall, foreboding, with glaciers hidden in all the little crags and crannies, it was really an awesome sight.
After all that, we drove onward to meet up with our cruise. It was impressive. The waters in the sound looked very murky, extremely brown and deep. Later, the captain told us all that the reason the water was brown, as opposed to a more commonplace clear blue ocean, was that the many rain waters that fall upon and around the sound collect and form a 3 meter section of potable fresh water that floats on top of a much deeper section of salty ocean water. If you walked to the back of the boat, you could see this in action, because the rudders churned up the salt water layer, so you could see a line of blue where we had been.
We saw fairy falls, so named because according to Maori legend, you can see a rainbow in them at any time of day, even if the sun is behind clouds. This, of course, is complete and utter crap. When the sun was behind the clouds, we saw no rainbow, but when the sun was out, Bam, rainbows.
We also saw Sterling falls, which, supposedly, is five times taller than the empire state building and larger than Niagara falls. Ben and I aren't sure where they were measuring from, but it certainly didn't look THAT big.
So, after the cruise we took the same van/bus back to Te Anau, where our car was parked. Along the way, Ben and I got a chance to talk to our bus driver. Here's how the conversation went:
"So, you two are Americans?"
-"yep."
"You guys have those Blooming Onions over there, don't you?"
It took everything I had to not bust up laughing. Somewhere along this man's life the word "American" became synonymous with "Blooming Onion." Wow. Just, wow.
Later along in the tour, we caught him talking with the South African lady. Here's what we heard: "You could throw a shopping trolley into the Thames because there's already a lot of them in there. You wouldn't do that here."
Yep, you sure could.
Again, one would think that a bus tour and a cruise would be enough to satiate two Americans, but I'm afraid that's simply not the case. Ben had picked up this strange habit of asking people he barely knows if we can stay at their house/apartment. Somehow, even more miraculously, it always works. Ben's dorm-mate Blake lives in a city called Invercargill, and Ben barely knew him, therefore, we had to stay the night with Blake. So we did. With Blake, his mom, dad, and three brothers in their home. I was expecting a flat with 3 other college aged people, not an intimate dinner with the Blake family. Nonetheless, they were awesome, warm people, and cooked us the best dinner we've had since coming to NZ, and later on Blake took us out for a night on the town with his mates. They were great people, foils of choir kids that Ben and I know back home, Ben got smashed again, and I got to be DD. Oh, and I did the best pool shot Evar, somehow, magically, we were two balls behind, and the other team was chasing the 8 ball. I closed my eyes, struck the cue ball, and watched as I hit our two remaining balls into two different pockets in one shot. It was poetry in motion. Here's a picture of that night's Crew:
April 14:
We got six hours of sleep that night, and woke up at ten O'clock. Well, I got six hours, Ben got seven because he didn't join me in playing Guitar Hero 2 before going to sleep. On a plus note, I can clear the first two tiers on expert now. So, when I finally elected to wake up and shower, I scared Blake's parents by utilizing my Butkonian tradition of not actually putting clothes on until after I've showered. It didn't bother me, but their faces were priceless. Oh, and by no clothes, I mean that I just had on my boxers. There, better?
From there Ben and I took our leave of Blake's great family and made our way down to the Invercargill museum to have a look at Henry, the 125 year old Tuatara. Like the Prima Donna that he is, he decided that today was not a good day to view his adoring public, so Ben and I left there somewhat saddened by the lack of a Henry. But, to perk up our spirits, just outside of the museum was a:
I believe that I can honestly state that the last thing I expected to see in Invercargill, New Zealand on April the 14th, 2007, was a Gypsy fair. It was nothing really impressive, but just the existence of the Gypsy fair confused me. So, with stars in my eyes and incense in my nostrils, I followed Ben to the township of Bluff.
What's in Bluff? The answer is simple, nothing. But it is the furthest Southern point that one can reach in New Zealand short of Stewart Island. Oh, and it had this really nifty signpost:
Oh, and it had a little bit of a hike. To tell you the truth, it had a lot of bit of a hike. It had a 45 minute earthworks stair climb followed by a very wet hour and fifteen minute descent. Not that I'm complaining, it was actually a rather magical and surreal sort of hike. It was a rather crappy day out, rainy and cold, but, after reaching the summit of the hill, we followed a rainbow to the coast of the sea. It was like searching for a pot of gold at the Southern tip of the World, and I rather enjoyed the experience.
From there we drove from Bluff through the Catlins to a little town of Balclutha. The Catlins, some assert, are the most beautiful place in New Zealand. I'm afraid that I have to disagree; in the days leading up to the drive through the Catlins, I had already seen Abel-Tasmin and Milford Sound, so the Catlins, to me, just seemed to be another mass of pretty, green forestland. My point of view may be entirely wrong, I may have just been on Green overload, but there it is anyways.
So, we spent that night in the only place we could find with vacancies, the Happy Inn Backpackers in Balclutha. It was owned by a little Swiss guy, who, I apologize if you've not met the following chap, reminded me of Marcus Bosshard. He was as nice as the day is long, and, like a hummingbird, never stopped moving around. Also, there were more people there than he was accustomed to, so he was quite obviously stressed. Nonetheless, he was a great guy, and would go to any lengths for his customers.
While we were there, Ben and I met up an Englishman and three other American girls, who played Canasta (thank you Jim) with us for a few hours until we decided, independently, to crash.
We left for Mt. Cook from Twizel at 9:00 AM. I cried, because at 9:01, I was no longer a Twizler. Ouch, yeah, I'm sorry, that was a bad one. The drive looked really formidable on paper, but turned out to be far more straight, and straightforward, than anticipated, so we got to Mt. Cook early. The best thing about this day, however, was that the power of the rain and weather was inversely proportional to the distance from Mt. Cook. In other words, by the time we got to New Zealand's tallest mountain, it was pretty crappy out. I also hadn't planned on bringing any real rain garb with me.
Rain resistant pants. No.
A poncho. No.
Hooded jacket. No.
Doing a couple of tramps regardless. Check.
So we started by going to the information center, learning which hikes were going to be the best, then we got back in the car, and I drove a small distance along a gravel road until we found our way to the Hooker valley hike. Theoretically the hike takes approximately 3 hours to go there and back. We decided, Hell, we're here, we'll probably never be back, let's go for it. It took less than 15 minutes along the tramp before we were both soaked. I was loving it. The weather was perfect-the clouds cloaked the mountains, lending an air of mystique and intrigue to the whole experience. My rain-soaked garments clung to me like a sweet promise from long ago, and the rumbling of the mountains as lightning flashed and avalanches fell lended a further supernatural flair. Honestly though, it was awesome. So, soaked and happy, we returned to the car, ready to continue along with our journey.
Unfortunately for Ben, I was not about to let that happen. Shortly after getting back on the main road, I took another offshoot, this time taking us down a somewhat more dangerous gravel road to the Tasmin Glacier View hike. Our clothes still clung to us from our last tramp, but dampness has never been enough to diminish the spirit of adventure in man, so we walked up this hike as well. About halfway through the hike, the nice, steep, muddy trail turned into a nice, steep, rocky trail, thereby making the hike somewhat more dangerous. As we walked, we saw a flash of light, lightning, that was shortly followed by a loud sound, thunder. These were familiar sensations, and not troubling. What was troubling, however, was the fact that after the initial rumble of the thunder had died away, we heard a loud cracking, breaking sound. Avalanches. The sound of avalanches followed us throughout our little tramp until we reached the summit of the Tasmin Glacier View hike. It was well worth it, because the sight of icebergs on an inland lake is not one that many people are privileged enough to have seen:
You guys get the next best thing.
This is the trail we hiked up:
Following the wet adventures of Mt. Cook, we drove to a little town called Wanaka, visited the isite, and stayed the night. Now, many people prefer Wanaka to Queenstown, which is quite easy to see. Wanaka still clung to the illusion that it was a small, natural little resort town, while nonetheless possessing the facilities and opportunities of a much larger city. And it was pretty too.
That night we were pretty lazy, we went to Puzzling World, did a little maze they had outside. Naturally, Ben being the boyscout that he was, lead us without fail straight to the end of the maze.
In front of the restrooms, they had this little relief that looked like a continuation of the bathroom. I almost got kicked out when I failed to notice the existence of the real bathroom right next to these ones:
We had pizza at a pretty good pizza joint, returned to our Hostel, and went to bed.But before we went to sleep, Ben decided that it was time to conquer the WeetBix again. With BBQ sauce. Apparently the Bix won again.April 12:
We left Wanaka fairly early, and arrived at Queenstown after a short 1.5 hour drive. To those who don't know, Queenstown is the NZ (and mayhap world) capital of extreme sports. Bungee jumping, sky diving, jet boat riding, pretty much anything your little Xtreme heart desires is within short walking or driving distance. And it would have been truly awesome to do any one of the three. Unfortunately, the weather had followed us from Mt. Cook, and the prospect of jumping off of something in a rainstorm and not being able to see where I was jumping did not appeal. Likewise, jet boat riding was out of the question; when it's cold out, the last thing you want to do is ride on a boat in water. Nor would I skydive, when (not if) I skydive, I don't want it to be in tandem, unfortunately, the only way that they would let you jump solo was if you were certified, which, of course, I'm not. Thus skydiving didn't really appeal. Naturally, the next logical step in this progression of Xtreme sports is visiting a bird sanctuary, which is what we did.
We went to the Kiwi and Birdlife Park, and saw birds. Normally this would have been really boring to me, but I wasn't really going to see a bird, I was going to see a Kiwi. They're like Platypuses in that you can tell that God was having a joke on the scientific community when (or if) He created them. Honestly, they're like little fuzzy mammals, not birds. Instead of having hollow bones, like most birds, their bones are marrow-filled. Instead of having wings, like normal birds, they have little nubs that posses all the attributes of wings, but with none of the flying abilities and with more of the cuteness than normal bird's wings. And, most interestingly, they have the highest proportion of egg-size to body mass of any avian member of the animal kingdom. Normal Kiwi weight is 20Kg, their egg is 5Kg. Think of that, having a quarter of your total body mass in egg form inside of you. That sounds painful to me, and I don't even have a uterus. I'd love to show you pictures, but the birds were stored in a dark hut, and flash photography was strictly forbidden. For good reason too, when we met the wife of the progenitor and owner of the park after the Maori cultural show (which I felt bad taking pictures of; it put them on the same level as the birds), she told us that one of the Kiwis in the bird house simply dropped dead after somebody let a flash loose in the Kiwi hut. I'm just glad I held back the impulse when I was in the hut.
While there we saw another of God's practical jokes. Ben and I saw a Tuatara, the only surviving member of the Dinosaur family. A fully matured Tuatara looks exactly like any other lizard on the outside, all green and scaly and lizardy. But, unlike other lizards, it has a third eye on the top of its head. When they're born the eye is fully visible, and, as they mature, the eye is gradually covered up with skin, leading scientists to believe that it's used to sense when there is or isn't light. It's believed that the reason that tuatara survived the multiple ice ages since the age of the Dinosaurs is because they can put themselves in a near-permanent catatonic state. They can slow done their heart rate to 4 beats per minute, which brings their metabolism to zero. The oldest Tuatara in captivity's name is Henry, and he's 125 years old and still going strong, so we have no idea how long the lizards can actually live.
After meeting three generations of the owners of the park, we drove from Queenstown to Te Anau on our way to Milford sound. We stopped by the isite, got accommodation and advice from the old lady behind the counter, and Ben booked us a bus&Cruise tour for a sweet price. "A Bus?" you may ask. Yes indeed, a bus. It wasn't that much more expensive than booking the cruise on its own and the old lady behind the counter had scared us away from driving to the sound.
"You'll need snow chains for you tires, yes, the authorities say there's going to be snow on the road to the sound tomorrow. Oh, and be sure to follow the signs that say 'no stopping,' those happen in avalanche areas, and it takes us a while to get around to clearing away snow during the avalanches."
So, Yes, Bus.
April 13:
Bus indeed, in order to disprove all of our fears and predictions, the bus actually picked us up just outside of our hostel. In order to further prove to us that there are no Kiwis in the scenic areas of their country, we boarded a small (well it was more of a large van) bus with 2 girls from the UK, Another American, and 3 people from South Africa. During the bus ride I got to speak with one of the South Africans; what we talked about wasn't important, but the fact that I could still tell that she had a South African accent after living in NZ for 12 years did interest me. Nobody picks up the Kiwi accent. These people were here for 12 years, yet you could still tell in half a second that they began their lives elsewhere. I've met Americans that have been here for 6+ years, but they still Sound American. Anyways, this is just my rationalization for not returning home with an accent.
Our bus driver was awesome, something like a Kiwi Mr. Moses, and stopped over at all the really quick, touristy places so that I could bring you awesome, beautiful pictures from across the ocean. Our first stop was at:
We then pulled over at the side of a road just in front of a tunnel. Let me tell you, I don't know how big these mountains were, but they were impressive. Steep, tall, foreboding, with glaciers hidden in all the little crags and crannies, it was really an awesome sight.
After all that, we drove onward to meet up with our cruise. It was impressive. The waters in the sound looked very murky, extremely brown and deep. Later, the captain told us all that the reason the water was brown, as opposed to a more commonplace clear blue ocean, was that the many rain waters that fall upon and around the sound collect and form a 3 meter section of potable fresh water that floats on top of a much deeper section of salty ocean water. If you walked to the back of the boat, you could see this in action, because the rudders churned up the salt water layer, so you could see a line of blue where we had been.
We saw fairy falls, so named because according to Maori legend, you can see a rainbow in them at any time of day, even if the sun is behind clouds. This, of course, is complete and utter crap. When the sun was behind the clouds, we saw no rainbow, but when the sun was out, Bam, rainbows.
We also saw Sterling falls, which, supposedly, is five times taller than the empire state building and larger than Niagara falls. Ben and I aren't sure where they were measuring from, but it certainly didn't look THAT big.
So, after the cruise we took the same van/bus back to Te Anau, where our car was parked. Along the way, Ben and I got a chance to talk to our bus driver. Here's how the conversation went:
"So, you two are Americans?"
-"yep."
"You guys have those Blooming Onions over there, don't you?"
It took everything I had to not bust up laughing. Somewhere along this man's life the word "American" became synonymous with "Blooming Onion." Wow. Just, wow.
Later along in the tour, we caught him talking with the South African lady. Here's what we heard: "You could throw a shopping trolley into the Thames because there's already a lot of them in there. You wouldn't do that here."
Yep, you sure could.
Again, one would think that a bus tour and a cruise would be enough to satiate two Americans, but I'm afraid that's simply not the case. Ben had picked up this strange habit of asking people he barely knows if we can stay at their house/apartment. Somehow, even more miraculously, it always works. Ben's dorm-mate Blake lives in a city called Invercargill, and Ben barely knew him, therefore, we had to stay the night with Blake. So we did. With Blake, his mom, dad, and three brothers in their home. I was expecting a flat with 3 other college aged people, not an intimate dinner with the Blake family. Nonetheless, they were awesome, warm people, and cooked us the best dinner we've had since coming to NZ, and later on Blake took us out for a night on the town with his mates. They were great people, foils of choir kids that Ben and I know back home, Ben got smashed again, and I got to be DD. Oh, and I did the best pool shot Evar, somehow, magically, we were two balls behind, and the other team was chasing the 8 ball. I closed my eyes, struck the cue ball, and watched as I hit our two remaining balls into two different pockets in one shot. It was poetry in motion. Here's a picture of that night's Crew:
April 14:
We got six hours of sleep that night, and woke up at ten O'clock. Well, I got six hours, Ben got seven because he didn't join me in playing Guitar Hero 2 before going to sleep. On a plus note, I can clear the first two tiers on expert now. So, when I finally elected to wake up and shower, I scared Blake's parents by utilizing my Butkonian tradition of not actually putting clothes on until after I've showered. It didn't bother me, but their faces were priceless. Oh, and by no clothes, I mean that I just had on my boxers. There, better?
From there Ben and I took our leave of Blake's great family and made our way down to the Invercargill museum to have a look at Henry, the 125 year old Tuatara. Like the Prima Donna that he is, he decided that today was not a good day to view his adoring public, so Ben and I left there somewhat saddened by the lack of a Henry. But, to perk up our spirits, just outside of the museum was a:
I believe that I can honestly state that the last thing I expected to see in Invercargill, New Zealand on April the 14th, 2007, was a Gypsy fair. It was nothing really impressive, but just the existence of the Gypsy fair confused me. So, with stars in my eyes and incense in my nostrils, I followed Ben to the township of Bluff.
What's in Bluff? The answer is simple, nothing. But it is the furthest Southern point that one can reach in New Zealand short of Stewart Island. Oh, and it had this really nifty signpost:
Oh, and it had a little bit of a hike. To tell you the truth, it had a lot of bit of a hike. It had a 45 minute earthworks stair climb followed by a very wet hour and fifteen minute descent. Not that I'm complaining, it was actually a rather magical and surreal sort of hike. It was a rather crappy day out, rainy and cold, but, after reaching the summit of the hill, we followed a rainbow to the coast of the sea. It was like searching for a pot of gold at the Southern tip of the World, and I rather enjoyed the experience.
From there we drove from Bluff through the Catlins to a little town of Balclutha. The Catlins, some assert, are the most beautiful place in New Zealand. I'm afraid that I have to disagree; in the days leading up to the drive through the Catlins, I had already seen Abel-Tasmin and Milford Sound, so the Catlins, to me, just seemed to be another mass of pretty, green forestland. My point of view may be entirely wrong, I may have just been on Green overload, but there it is anyways.
So, we spent that night in the only place we could find with vacancies, the Happy Inn Backpackers in Balclutha. It was owned by a little Swiss guy, who, I apologize if you've not met the following chap, reminded me of Marcus Bosshard. He was as nice as the day is long, and, like a hummingbird, never stopped moving around. Also, there were more people there than he was accustomed to, so he was quite obviously stressed. Nonetheless, he was a great guy, and would go to any lengths for his customers.
While we were there, Ben and I met up an Englishman and three other American girls, who played Canasta (thank you Jim) with us for a few hours until we decided, independently, to crash.
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