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Queenstown, New Zealand
It's sheep we're up against
As good of an introduction to New Zealand as any, this is a view of typical farmland that seems to cover most of the island(s). There are an awful lot of sheep in New Zealand, statistically twelve sheep per person. Every white dot (including the ones on the hills) is a sheep. You could see sheep from the plane, there were sheep in the mountains, sheep walking free alongside train tracks, sheep at the airport runway, there was even a sheep named "Ed" on the front page of the main Christchurch newspaper when I was there. The worst ones were the runaway sheep I saw on the streets of Auckland holding up signs that said "will be sheared for food." Just plain sad.
My plane left a cloudy Sydney to fly over a cloudless Tasman Sea. From my window seat I saw a long bank of clouds in the distance and thought it might be New Zealand, clouds often seem to hover about land. As we approached I soon realized that the clouds were in fact snow covered mountain tops, which makes the Maori name for New Zealand of "Aotearoa" make a lot more sense- it means "land of the long white cloud." This then is one of my first views of the incomparable South Island of New Zealand and its uncreatively named yet thoroughly spectacular mountain range, the Southern Alps.
The view from my basic hotel room- scenic Lake Wakatipu, framed by the aptly named distant Remarkables, as morning dawns on Queenstown, New Zealand. Queenstown, the Adventure Capital of the World, is a place where skydivers and adrenaline junkies peacefully mingle with people visiting wineries on organized bus tours and troubled contestants in the punishing Southern Traverse Race.
My arrival to Queenstown did not go especially well. My Air New Zealand flight from Christchurch to Queenstown ran late and, some time after 8pm, was the last flight at the Queenstown airport. Upon landing I bought a ticket for a shuttle to my hotel then went to retrieve my luggage. Only one of my two pieces of checked luggage arrived. I went outside, informed the shuttle driver, then went back inside to the abandoned ticket counter. After a momentary panic, the Air New Zealand representative calmly took my name and luggage description. The piece missing was the heavy one, the one with my hiking boots, the one with all of my rain gear I needed for the Milford Track in just two days. I couldn't survive the walk without my boots; if I had to buy new ones they wouldn't be broken in and things could not possibly end up well. I hastily rechecked the abandoned luggage carousel to see if my bag showed up, then went outside to discover that the shuttle left without me. And since it was the last flight, all taxis and transportation had already left without a trace. Then, as I wandered looking for transportation alternatives, the airport locked up- a fact that wouldn't be that bad with the exception that all of the public phones were inside. As I'm sure you can imagine, at this point I was not happy at all. I decided (with my lighter baggage in tow) to start walking in search of a phone. I then spotted a sign that said that Queenstown was 6km away, at that point I decided to use my anger for good and to walk to town. Road construction forbade pedestrians at a crucial point on the road to Queenstown, diverting me to an adjacent and beautiful lakeside trail (see pictures), a trail that I was able to appreciate despite my fear and anger. Eventually I arrived in Queenstown (it stayed light out until almost 10pm in Queenstown and Fiordland), only to find the reception of my hotel closed. In the end all eventually turned out well: Air New Zealand returned my luggage the next morning, my hotel was certainly comfortable enough and my boots and rain gear served me as well as planned on the Track.
In case you can't tell from the periodic whining, I really liked Queenstown, the first real place I visited in New Zealand, where the lupine was in bloom and for a few days (if you don't count the first one), everything felt perfect.
The first ever bungy jump available commercially was, of course, located in the Adventure Capital of the World. In (or near) Queenstown you can do anything (or just about anything). Tandem skydiving, gliding, speedboats, white water surfing, countless off road adventures and multiple bungy jump sites cater to all who don't necessarily value their own lives. This is the Kawarau Bridge, where anyone willing to pay can jump the 43 meters to the icy cold glacial river below; those especially crazy tend to like to get themselves wet, head first into the water. Here some psychotic stranger jumps with only an elasticisized rope to protect him from a certain death. It makes you wonder what kind of person does this, what kind of person is willing to pay money to voluntarily jump into the abyss, to jump into the darkness regardless of the cost, regardless of the consequences.
Of course I jumped. I got wet well past my shoulders. And they gave me a free t-shirt.
Before we go on, a quick note about that last picture. It is (probably) the only picture on this slideshow and likely ANY posted slideshow that I did not take myself with my own camera, which explains why it looks a lot better than all of the other pictures I took myself. Now back to the slideshow…
Another adventure, far less adventurous but far more dangerous than the Kawarau Bridge, the Shotover Jet includes a jet boat ride through the Shotover River Canyons. The boat is driven within a foot of the canyon walls and often does their famous 360 degree turns, which were fun but at that point I was so pumped up with adrenaline from the Kawarau Bridge that I (at times) hardly noticed.
The last of the general introduction slides, the fuzzy Southern Cross as seen from Glade House, an oasis of pseudo civilization, lost in the first mile of the legendary Milford Track (see pages 2, 3 and 4). Unironically when I saw the Southern Cross for the first time (in Alice Springs), I really did understand just why I came that way...
