The Lakes

Tuesday, May 10 (still)
South Island

Let's get back to it, shall we?

So after leaping off the Kawarau Bridge at a height of 43 meters, it was time to slowly come back to Earth to enjoy some of the South Island's countryside on our way to see Lakes Pukaki and Tekapo a few hours away.

The day was overcast and the drive felt longer than it probably was, but the scenery was nonetheless amazing and worth stopping to shoot as we went.

What are you looking at?

Along the way, rocky hills rippling the landscape,

     quiet streams cutting across fields,

and still lakes reflecting the beautiful rusted yellow of fall.

Lake Pukaki

Mount Cook, New Zealand's highest peak rests mightily beyond the lake, peaking out from behind thick wisps of cloud.

Lake Tekapo







I loved seeing glimpses of color on kind of a dreary day,

 

especially the pines here that actually change color, though they never lose their needles, but slowly shed them as new ones grow beneath.

Lake Anonymous
Not really its name, but we couldn't find a sign to tell us which lake this was.  I think it was my favorite, the rocks at its edge so smooth and white.  We'd gone down a random road away from the GPS's instruction to see what we'd find, and this was it, a beautiful, pale blue lake surrounded by forest.

It was a day that began with adrenaline-pumping impulsiveness, and ended with the quiet and beauty of our surroundings.  It would be our last night in Queenstown, which we would spend at Kristin and Matt's over some delicious homemade cottage pie and beer, talking about moves and travels to come.  With plans to meet up again in Auckland in a week and a half's time, we went to sleep that night dreaming of glaciers.

Quiet

Today has been a quiet day. I dropped Mom and Dad at the airport yesterday morning and came home to an empty house, though the post-travel grocery shopping and mound of laundry was a good distraction.

They were here for 3 weeks, and it was a good visit. Having gone two years without seeing each other, it was a much needed visit, too. My parents spent the first half of their European vacation on a Mediterranean cruise, and then a week and a half split between Rome and Florence with friends. The second half, they spent with Chris and I mostly in Germany, the last week taking all of us to Prague, Krakow, and then Boleslawiec for some Polish pottery shopping. My mom teared up as we hugged at the airport, and when I drove away, I did, too.

Today I keep finding myself staring off, my mind wandering back to the things I haven't really had the chance to think about lately at any length. Since the beginning of May it's been all go-go-go. Honestly, since a few months before then, when the real planning for New Zealand and Hong Kong picked up, there's been a steady hum of psychological noise. Planning, then the big trip, which was amazing (and still hardly blogged). Then we came home to a quieted house, but the kind of quiet that breaks your heart because somebody's missing. Dealing with that loss and readjusting to normal life, while preparing to say goodbye to more friends on the move did well to keep me busy, and then as soon as that began to quiet back down it was time to pick up my parents for a much anticipated visit. It's all been wonderful and I miss them already, my parents. We had a great time and it was just nice to see them every day for a stretch. I'm missing my friends, too. And today in the quiet, I'm itching to write.

The little writing I got done between getting home from the NZ/HK trip and welcoming Mom and Dad was less therapeutic and more pressured, as I knew it'd take me a while to get through the whole trip and once I lose focus, there's no real guarantee it'll return in a timely fashion, if ever. I participated in a couple of writing sessions with my fellow writers in the area during their visit, and although those were productive and fantastic, they were also structured and in the company of others. Today it's just me in an empty house, watching the sun slip behind the heavy, grey clouds and then peak out again from time to time through the windows. My parents have gone back home. Several good friends suddenly don't live here anymore. For the first time in 16 years, there's no one wagging her tail to greet me when I come home. Today is just quiet, and my heart is really feeling the weight of it.

When Heidi passed away I was in a hurry to deal with it and move on. Maybe that was just me not wanting to hurt. I didn't know what to expect, but at first I thought I'd done a fairly good job of accepting the inevitable, honoring her life and memory, and getting on to life without her. Maybe my subconscience knew I couldn't deal with it all at once, but for whatever reason, I went a little dead emotionally. I felt nothing, which was an entirely new phenomenon for me as no one has ever accused me of lacking sensitivity or emotion. Quite the opposite. What was most strange was knowing how I would naturally react to certain things and situations, catching myself acting it out, but not feeling it inside. I was pretending, but not entirely because if I had a functioning emotional heart that's how I would be reacting. Does that make sense? It's like once I stopped crying at the drop of Heidi's name, I was kind of stopped up inside. My closest friend in Europe moves away, I actually help her and her family onto their train with their luggage and everything, and I shed not one tear. I could feel that somewhere deep down I was crying, just not where anyone could see. It should be said that I expected nothing short of a disgusting and snotty sob fest when this day came, so I startled myself when all I could give was a smile and a wave as they pulled out of the train station. What's wrong with me?! They call it grief, I suppose. And whereas I thought I was taking Heidi's death very well and rolling on, it seems the deeper part of me had other plans. I said goodbye to two more friends after Diane left on the train that day, and nothing. But something happened when my parents were here the first week. We were talking about Heidi (my parents loved her nearly as much as I did), and in mid-sentence my voice cracked and I actually had to take a minute to reel it back in. Maybe I'm not doomed to apathy, after all. After that, I found myself looking at Heidi's pictures at night, the one on the bookshelf of her in her Gators jersey, or the one of her big smile that sits on my night stand, her ashes inside the box of the frame. I'm not back to bursts of tears, but I'm feeling it again, and that's something. How does something so small leave such a gaping hole? I can actually feel it aching inside, this void of space loving her and taking care of her filled so well. But I suppose this is good, another step in the process. There have been days already when I've felt completely ready to adopt a new family member of the furry kind, anxious to have that kind of presence in our lives and our home again. But today in the quiet, I don't think I'm ready, because I don't think I'm done with whatever I have to get through to really say goodbye to her. I could accept from the beginning that her life had run its course, her body well-worn and tired, but emotionally accepting is something different. I miss her. I know there are far worse things in the world to hang onto, people who have lost more than I could ever imagine, but for right now, she deserves my grief and my broken heart because she is worth at least that much.

I hope to one day stop trying to rationalize my own feelings, but one thing at a time.

The Day I Flung Myself Off a Bridge

Tuesday, May 10
South Island

This was the day we would take a drive out to visit Lake Pukaki and Lake Tekapo about three hours away. We hit the road early to make the most of fall's limited daylight, ready for a more relaxed pace. When we came across A.J. Hackett Bungy, the world's first Bungy site, I was yet unaware of just how far from relaxed I'd be getting.

We grabbed the cameras and descended the spiral walkramp to the viewing deck positioned at one end of the Kawarau Bridge, which stretched over the river of the same name. Not two days before when asked if I'd ever Bungy jump, my answer was a swift no; I'd seen the jolt people received when they reached the end of the cord and it looked painful. But as we watched a man spread his arms and leap into a serene looking swan-dive, then smoothly stretch down and swing back up after reaching the cord's ultimate stretch point, I experienced a nearly immediate desire to do it, myself. There was not jolt, no whiplash, nothing that looked the least bit uncomfortable, aside from the whole jumping off a bridge thing. I was bubbling over with excitement and a little bit of fear (the best combination for anyone who enjoys a shot of adrenaline), but Chris kept a straight face. Remember, not so fond of heights.  I went back and forth.  It's too expensive, I shouldn't do it.  But this is the birthplace of Bungy, how can I not do it?  What a fantastic place to Bungy jump for the first - and maybe only - time!  

Can you guess which way I went?

The guys who strapped me into the safety harness and then ankle straps were immune to the excitement of a first-timer, but it didn't matter. As I watched one guy wrap my ankles tightly I asked why no one had been screaming. They hadn't noticed.  I said there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to keep myself from doing so, and they said that I got to be the first of the day. It was quick once my ankles and safety harness were hooked to the Bungy cord.  I was instructed to walk out to the edge of the platform, which I did in tiny mini-steps. Then it was time for a couple pictures before the leap.  I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as the guy told me to let go of the handle - I didn't realize I was holding on. He told me to reach my arms out and look up, a smart way to keep from not hesitating before hurtling yourself off a bridge, and before I had time to think he counted down, 3, 2, 1, JUMP!  

All I saw was that gorgeous, turquoise colored water in front of me, and all I heard was my own hideous scream as I flew toward it. Seriously, I could never be in a horror movie because my scream was disgusting.  It had the guttural quality of someone who is truly being sawed in half. The vertical fall sent my brain into I'm-going-to-die adrenaline-pumping overload, but once I swung back up, it was all peace. My favorite ride ay any amusement park is the one where they shoot you straight up into the air, and then you free-fall back down. After the free-fall, you usually shoot back up again, then down again, and so on. The feeling of calm after that rush from the fall when you're just floating in the air like a feather is what the rest of my Bungy experience felt like. Just me, swinging slowly up and down, back and forth over the Kawarau River, laughing from the relief of surviving...









...hysterically.





Ask me now if I'd do it again, and my answer is now a swift, yes! But given the opportunity to do a second jump for a third of the price right after my big jump, and I said, Thanks, I'm good. Once was enough, and besides, I didn't want to take away from the unique awesomeness of my first jump. I got the T-shirt, the pictures, and a high-five from a couple of Japanese women who praised my courage, and I was set.



When we left to get back to our scheduled day trip, I couldn't come down. My heart rate remained happily up, I was so excited and proud of the very impromptu nature of what I'd just done. I'm a planner, to the extent of practicing certain conversations in my head before they happen so I'm better prepared. Anything on a whim kind of stresses me out, but this didn't. This was amazing and liberating in a way I hadn't expected. Aside from the fear of plummeting to your death, there is something innately unnatural about willing yourself to step (or jump) off of a platform of a bridge. Something to do with our primal need to survive, or something :)  But doing it was kind of an eye-opener for me. If I can just do something I'm ultimately afraid fo doing, instead of obsessing over it and over-thinking it as I always do, it might just work out okay.  I might survive it, and I might just have a great time. Apply that to what you will. As for me, I'm a little less afraid of taking a leap now, and I thank Mr. A.J. Hackett for helping me out with that.

Flying Foxes and Fjords

Sunday, May 8 - Flying Foxes
South Island

Sunday was the day that I would be zipping from tree to tree with ZipTrek Ecotours, an eco-friendly zip-line (or flying fox, as the Kiwis call it) company with a set-up in Queenstown. Before I could do any zipping, however, we first had to make it to the top of the gondola line at the Skyline Complex that sits over the city.  It was a drizzly morning, but the view was still pretty amazing so high up.

In our gondola

Sheep having breakfast.

It doesn't look it, but this mountain side was steep!

The view of Queenstown from the Skyline.

And a good luck kiss before I went zipping.

Soon enough it was time to meet up with the guides for the flying fox at the first jumping platform a short walk down from the Skyline. As Chris isn't so fond of heights, I did this one without him, though not on my own. Along with three other flyers, I geared up and set out to take a ride through the treetops, expertly guided by Haley and Julia. Between the 2 Aussies, local Kiwi, American me and our Canadian guides, we were a diverse group, but you gotta love it when four different countries still equal just one language.

The first platform

Since ZipTrek is not just your typical adventure tour company, from platform to platform we learned about how they work to not only offer adventure tours without damaging the environment, but also how they use these tours to teach sustainability, minimizing our impact on our environment, and the benefits of community outreach.  Much of the money made from their tours goes to local charities and community projects, and even the platforms and lines between trees, once removed, will not cause irreparable damage to the forest.

The first line was scary only because it was the first, and a lovely Kiwi woman named Sonsoray stepped up to go first. (Forgive my phonetic spelling, it's such a beautiful name!) The feeling of flying among the trees through early morning, misty air was exhilarating and freeing.  Doing so while hanging upside down was a whole other experience! I took along our Flip Video camera to capture what I could - beware, wind and screaming may call for you to lower your volume. Upon further inspection, I opted not to include the video of me flying upside down, as there's the slightest chance some profanity made its way out of my mouth, and my mom reads this! (Yes, I'm a goody goody who wants to believe my parents don't know I know such words, let alone speak them.) But here is the one where I stepped off the platform backwards, arms out.

The first five lines were fun, not scary as they weren't steep.  Line number six, however, was another animal.  The sixth and final line of our tour was (and still is, I suspect) the steepest tree-to-tree zip-line in the world.  And I couldn't wait!  I wasn't able to record this one because of safety precautions.  Because the braking system is different for so steep a line, you can't have anything attached to you, like a camera, lest it get caught and royally screw up your chances of a safe landing in the event that the first brake fails. Lucky for us - and everyone else who's taken this tour - everyone made it safely to the final landing site, and from there we hiked down a bit further to the base of the gondola line to take off our gear and say goodbye. As I left my flying fox friends to meet up with Chris in town, I decided that though it was early in the trip, THIS would be my favorite part.

Chris and I met up down by the wharf, where we ran into a bunch of Wilsons on their way out to celebrate Mother's Day. Such great people, and a reminder to try to call home. We headed back toward the gondolas to lunch in one of Queentown's most loved, local eateries, Fergburger. When I tell you we had burgers, it is impossible for you to fully comprehend what we actually ate. Kiwis may make the best hamburgers in the world. Their menu had burgers with beef, venison, chicken, tofu, or lamb, topped with everything from streaky bacon, avocado, all kinds of cheese, curry, and vegetables.  These burgers had to be eaten partially wrapped in paper or it'd never make it to your mouth in one piece, so heavy and dripping with savory goodness were they. Fergburger started off as a shack and is now treated like a national treasure, in Queenstown at least. We felt honored to have been able to digest a little bit of that treasure.

Later in the afternoon was our ride on a jet boat on the Kawarau River.  Everyone put on their waterproof pants and jackets and loaded up for our hour long, high speed ride down the river, complete with 360 degree spins. If we were on a road and not a river, we'd have left some serious skid marks from the hard braking and spinning. It was a blast.

With nothing else booked and the need to chill for a bit, we took in a movie at a cute little theater in town  before meeting up with Kristin, Matt, and friends at a pub for drinks.  It was nice to kick back with friendly people over pints with a rugby game on, though we didn't make it too late of a night.  We had ot be up early for our tour of Milford Sound the next morning.


Monday, May 9 - Milford Sound 

Milford Sound is one of the best known and most visited areas in the Fjordland National Park on the South Island. We booked a tour with the BBQ Bus so we could sit back and enjoy the 5 hour ride there and back, which was great first thing in the morning when the fog gave us all good reason to nod off for a bit.  

Our driver and guide, Nick, told us stories from local lore, as well as the real stories of how several of New Zealand's animals came to the islands. Rabbits were introduced for hunting way back by the Brits, then when they did what rabbits do, the stoat was introduced to control the exploding rabbit population, a mean little cousin of the ferret.  Stoats were ideal because they can run, climb, swim, whatever to catch a bite to eat, and they eat almost anything.  Unfortunately, the stoats soon caught on that whereas rabbits ran very quickly, the native kiwi bird did not quite have speed on their side.  Kiwi birds are ground-dwelling birds with round bodies, that apparently are heaven on a plate to a stoat. It is due in large part to this that the kiwi has become an endangered species in NZ.

Something we saw a lot of on our way out to Milford were deer farms, something we didn't expect. Just as beef cattle are raised for their meat, and sheep raised for their wool (and lambs), deer here are raised in the same way. It was a little strange at first to pass by fenced in fields of adult deer with their antlers sawed off, but it made sense as venison is a popular meat choice in many places.

We made a stop in the town of Te Anau for some breakfast and a pick-up before we got to Milford. Before meeting Jamie from Fresno, Chris and I wandered down the road from where Nick parked the van to get a couple of pies from a tiny roadside shop.  Clearly all those deer farms had made us hungry, for we both went for a venison pie for breakfast. Yum. We have GOT to learn to make meat pies!

Along the way we made several stops to admire more of the area's unique characteristics, and it was nice to get out of the van and take a short walk here and there. Our stops allowed for short walks through forest to see a couple of lakes and a gorgeous chasm carved out by the rushing waters.

                         
                           Mirror Lake

        The walk to Lake Gunn

The Chasm

One really great thing about visiting New Zealand in the late fall is that it's NOT tourist season, and every tour we went on reflected this in its low numbers of people.  It was nice.  Our group of five (all American) was joined only by two other groups on the cruise boat, so there was plenty of room and plenty of food at the nice little lunch buffet.  We found it a little odd that the food was mostly Asian, but hey, it was a good deal.

The day was mostly sunny and the water was beautiful.  The heavy low-hanging clouds lolled on the tops of mountains around us, but that just added to the beauty of it all. We saw one seal asleep on some rocks, got right up under a gorgeous waterfall, and I tried not to fall (more than once) on my rear when the boat tilted.

There's something about being out in the middle of something so enormous as this.  When the boat's engines were quieted, the only sounds came from birds and waterfalls.  The silence between is something beautiful, too, as there seems to be nothing but you and the air you breathe for a moment out on the water.  It's easy to forget that there are people around you and you start to wonder when you last heard silence so heavy and calm.

The drive back to Queenstown was as beautiful, as the fog had burned off in the afternoon sun and we could see the landscape around us. I'm drawn to water, be it sea or lake.  As I look over our pictures, it's apparent that the photos below are my favorite to take.

It was a full day and we were saturated by the amazing beauty of this place.  Until tomorrow then.