And then, a funny thing happened. It all came to an end.
In less than 24 hours I will be somewhere over the Pacific, flying away from New Zealand and all the people I've grown to love.
It's a funny thing.
There will be more to write about before I wrap up this whole project, but I have nothing to say for the moment. There's just nothing to say... the hurt is too fresh right now.
Five months ago I was unsure if I had made the right decision to travel so far away from the place where I had spent the majority of my life. Now I find myself feeling guilty for not wanting to return.
It's a funny thing.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
North Island Trippin'
The remainder of the weekends were spent memorably, but in or around Christchurch.
The fourth weekend of the month a group traveled to Adrenaline Forest, an enormous ropes course not too far from campus. Tossing harnesses to everyone and giving them a five minute tutorial, visitors are turned loose on the park. Sadly, no pictures were taken at this event; we were too busy flying through the air on ziplines and swinging from ropes into giant nets 20 meters off of the ground.
This type of thing would never fly in the US.
We also managed to visit the International Antarctic Centre, an attraction that is part museum, zoo and entertainment park. Easily the most enjoyable part of the day were the hagglund rides (If you don't know what a hagglund is, google it). Those things can move and if you're not buckled up, you'll get tossed around. Good fun.
The final weekend in May marked the prelude to the final week of classes, which, understandably, meant a great deal of work had to be completed ahead of time. Most stayed in on this weekend.
But to make up for this lapse in our adventuring spirits, a plan was hatched. As the first week of June had been set aside as the "study week", our natural reaction was to book some plane tickets.
New Zealand is comprised of two islands, dubbed the north island and the south island. Brilliant.
Anyways, the south island had been rather thoroughly explored by this point; the north island, however, had not been seen by some since they connected in Auckland on the flight from the US. A ferry would have been possible, but the fare was very expensive (roughly $200-300). Plane tickets proved to be the more economical decision.
So from June 4 - June 11 the plan was to tour the north island, seeing as much as we could in the time that we had. If we followed through with our plan to rent a car (we did), then people could study in the car. And by that I mean the option was there. Interpret as you will.
Landing in Auckland on the afternoon of the 3rd, we walked around the city aimlessly, unsure of exactly what we were hoping to accomplish. But the weather was nice, and for some time we sat in a park, occasionally hopping up to enjoy the playground.
I only mention this because it's important to note that the weather was nice. This would not be a constant on the trip.
Staying the night in Auckland, we toured around more the following day, trying to absorb as much of the culture as possible. And just our luck! We happened to spot a Palestinian rally being carried out in the streets of the city. Unfortunately, this demonstration was a peaceful one, and no rioting or looting took place.
And only a handful of anti-American signs. Somewhat disappointing; people must be caring less about us these days.
Oh, and at lunch we were accosted by a homeless fellow. He screamed at a group of people on the street for a bit and was subsequently arrested. City life!
Really, Auckland is much like any American city. Large buildings and crowded sidewalks, endless rows of windows attempting to lure pedestrians, chaotic waves of congestion, desperate and talented street performers, beggars, prostitutes, blaring car horns and flashing lights, all set alight against the gray background of concrete walls.
Gorgeous night skyline, though.
By Sunday we had had enough. Renting a car (only automatics; disappointment) we turned our sights south, heading for one of New Zealand's prime tourist attractions, the Waitomo Caves.
Famous for the glowworms that exist within the cave, groups are guided through on inflatable tubes, gazing up at the glowing ceiling while slowly make their way through the cave.
And it delivered what it advertised. It was a tad bit shorter than we had hoped and there was more awkward walking than actual tubing, but overall it was still a very enjoyable experience.
We were provided with wetsuits, which turned out to be a very good thing, because that water was frigid. The hot shower we got to take afterward was an enormously gratifying feeling.
That night proved to be an interesting one.
Rotorua was chosen as the next city to be visited. This meant a fair amount of driving, not arriving until around 9pm. Stopping for a quick drink in a local bar, we debated about where a campground could be found. Remembering a picnic area we had passed about 15 kilometers outside of town, we headed in the direction we had just came.
It had begun pouring shortly after leaving Waitomo Caves, and though the intensity fluctuated, it picked up again as we were settling into the tents for the night. The wind caused the sides to ripple and shudder violently, but the water was not able to penetrate. We all drifted off to sleep and hoped the weather would be different in the morning.
However...
At 2:30am (and I know it was 2:30 because the first thing I did was check the time) I sat up, instantly awake. A car engine idled just outside the tent and a female's voice was heard clearly.
"This is the police. Please step out of the tent."
I complied. The night had cleared up, and eyes drifting towards the sky, stars could be seen. The voice returned.
"Is this your rental car?"
A reply in the affirmative.
"You should be careful storing your belongings inside of it."
A hesitant nod in agreement.
"Have a good night."
The female police officer and her male partner (who had been shining his flashlight through all of the car's windows) returned to their vehicle and drove away.
I crawled back in the tent and none of us fell back asleep before the sky had begun to lighten.
Getting up after a few puny hours of sleep, the weather remained shaky throughout the day. Trying to get in a round of miniature golf, the skies opened up. Deciding to complete the round, we were all soaking wet by the time the final ball sank into the hole of the 18th green.
The Waikite Hot Springs. These were the words of the kind women in the clubhouse, advising us that the springs were the best solution to warm up on such a dark and drizzly day. She didn't have to sell the idea very hard.
The springs, found about 20 kilometers outside of the heart of Rotorua, flow naturally at about 100 degrees centigrade. The water boiled and bubbled before our eyes as it flowed from one main pool downstream, steam rising as it went.
The hot springs themselves were a cross between a public pool and spa resort. There was little to do but sit and soak in the hot pools, staring out across the hills and letting the smell of sulfur become displaced in the breeze.
The hot springs also contained a campsite, and this is where we stayed for the night.
When we finally got back on the road the next day, the plan was to head north. The Coromandel Peninsula, known for its stunning coastline and sprawling rainforests, possessed several items needing to be checked off the New Zealand to-do list.
However, any particular activity was initially set aside upon our arrival at dusk, as we headed straight for the water.
This was the view from Hot Water Beach, which will be explained in greater detail shortly.
The second desired location was Cathedral Cove. Ever since hearing a local kiwi describe it as his "favorite spot in New Zealand" it had been a personal goal to get there.
Though we did not embark on the 40 minute walk to Cathedral Cove's beaches on this first night, we did sit and stare out across the sea from the edge of the trail's beginning.
Simply stunning.
So fixated were we that a sneaky photographer went completely unnoticed.
Dining while watching the sunset, the next day's plan began to materialize. Low tide was just before 10am; this meant Hot Water Beach to start the day.
Retiring to a very cozy hostel in town, we had a good night of sleep (indoors!) and were rested to start the next morning.
Returning to Hot Water Beach with a shovel borrowed from the manager of the hostel, we made our way down the coast.
Due to the thermal activity in the area, there are certain areas on this beach that naturally fill with hot water through the simple act of digging a hole in the sand. In some places the water that oozes up through the sand is so hot that it is near-scalding to stick your toes in.
Selecting the perfect spot (not too hot, not too cold...), we begun to dig. Well, some of us did anyways.
But the laborers enjoyed the fruits of their labor to the fullest.
As did everyone.
Despite the weather not being particularly warm, the group decision was made to throw ourselves into the various water activities available nearby. For the two girls, Kelsey and Emily, this meant sea-kayaking.
For Jon and myself, well, a braver option was pursued.
Snorkeling in water that was just over 10 degrees centigrade. Fortunately we had wetsuits, which prolonged the numbing effect of the water.
Making our way down to Gemstone Bay, an inlet just over from Cathedral Cove, we took the plunge. The water was relatively clear, with visibility up to about 10 meters. So that we didn't have to swim aimlessly around the large bay, the Department of Conservation had arranged a series of buoys, effectively making a "hiking" trail through the water.
Darting through kelp forests, various species of fish sped away upon our sight (sadly, I don't know what any of the different species are called!). Several large fish even began to follow us, clustering around our bodies as we floated just below the surface, keeping as still as we possibly could.
But after about 45 minutes of underwater exploration, the temperature of the water proved to be too much. We pulled our freezing bodies onto the rocks, sitting in the sun and shivering for a good 20 minutes. Yes, undoubtedly it was worth it.
After changing into some warmer clothing, we decided to set off on the path towards Cathedral Cove, a fitting way to end what had been the best day of the trip.
Hardly a 40 minute walk, we soon completed the dirt path and were walking down the narrow stairs to the sands of the cove.
To our immediate left a large arch acted as the door to move beyond Cathedral Cove.
See the signs? The rope? Rock-fall hazard. Do not enter.
Disregarded (but no tsunami warning!).
Spreading out in the other direction, Cathedral Cove presented itself.
Completely enclosed, the beach ran from the water straight into rock and earth, as sheer walls guaranteed that the only entrance and exit from the cove came from the one staircase.
Not that we were in any hurry to leave.
One of the main things I hoped to do in New Zealand, Cathedral Cove did not disappoint. I only wish we had made it there during the summer, as the beach was absolutely pristine. To swim in the sea and then fall asleep on the sand at this spot would have been phenomenal.
Curiously observing, the birds certainly possessed little fear of humans. The allotted time for meeting the girls was rapidly approaching, and we reluctantly turned and walked back up the stairs. Chatting lightly, our spirits soared as we strolled at a relaxed pace.
And encountered some friends on the trail.
The little lamb was very scared of our passing and scurried to hide behind its mother. Precious, but totally ruined the photograph I was trying to take. Ugh, babies...
Rendezvousing with our female companions, the decision was made to pass on dinner for the moment and head straight to Auckland, completing the circuit of our trip.
After a hefty meal at Wendy's (oh, how I missed it) and some good conservation over some beers at a small tavern, we made for the home of a friend of Emily's family. Having stayed with her cousins in Massachusetts for some time in the past, he was gracious enough to allow us to stay at his flat, even driving us around so that we could see the entire city. Really a great guy, despite the fact that he happened to be a cop (some of the police's training techniques down here - absolutely awesome).
And so, after a week of traveling around the north island, we found ourselves returning our rental car and having to kill a few hours before heading to the airport for our flights to Christchurch.
It was at this point that something interesting happened.
I could not find my passport.
It was gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.
We inquired at the place we had stayed in Auckland previously - five nights ago. Slim chance, but sometimes these things work out. And this was one of them, because they happened to have found it!
Except it wasn't my passport.
The hotel had found another traveler's passport and turned it into the Auckland police. While on the phone with the police to ask about the whereabouts of "my" passport, they realized that the passport in the possession of the police was not mine; however, somebody, in a completely separate incident, had reported finding the passport and then turned it over to the police.
Only they were hundreds of kilometers from Auckland.
I had lost my passport the day of Waitomo after using it as I.D. in a liquor store on the way to Rotorua. It happened days before, yet I didn't realize it until two hours before my flight, and less than three weeks before I was supposed to leave the country.
F&*%
We retreated to a cafe to figure out what to do. Having gotten the number for the US Consulate, I gave them a call.
Yes, they had received notice that a US passport had been reported as lost. Turning up in the town of Otorohanga (??!?), it had been mailed to the US Consulate's office in Auckland.
Which just so happened to be the city I was in.
The address, where my passport sat waiting to be retrieved, was given to me as 23 Commerce Street.
Which was the same street I just so happened to be on.
Scrambling to the barista, I demanded to know the street number of the cafe.
40.
Bursting through the doors, I sprinted all of half of a block before arriving at 23 Commerce Street. Ringing the woman from the office, she was stunned at how quickly I had gotten there. Coming straight down, she returned the passport to me, smiled, and said:
"You're very lucky."
Yes. Yes, I am.
Just about an hour had passed since I realized that the passport had been lost (and had been so for days... in a tiny town hundreds of kilometers from Auckland) and when I returned to the cafe clutching it in my hands.
Sitting down while the others stared at the document in amazement, I let out a long sigh and shook my head.
Yes, I am very lucky.
I ordered a coffee and watched the clock tick away towards our flight.
The fourth weekend of the month a group traveled to Adrenaline Forest, an enormous ropes course not too far from campus. Tossing harnesses to everyone and giving them a five minute tutorial, visitors are turned loose on the park. Sadly, no pictures were taken at this event; we were too busy flying through the air on ziplines and swinging from ropes into giant nets 20 meters off of the ground.
This type of thing would never fly in the US.
We also managed to visit the International Antarctic Centre, an attraction that is part museum, zoo and entertainment park. Easily the most enjoyable part of the day were the hagglund rides (If you don't know what a hagglund is, google it). Those things can move and if you're not buckled up, you'll get tossed around. Good fun.
The final weekend in May marked the prelude to the final week of classes, which, understandably, meant a great deal of work had to be completed ahead of time. Most stayed in on this weekend.
But to make up for this lapse in our adventuring spirits, a plan was hatched. As the first week of June had been set aside as the "study week", our natural reaction was to book some plane tickets.
New Zealand is comprised of two islands, dubbed the north island and the south island. Brilliant.
Anyways, the south island had been rather thoroughly explored by this point; the north island, however, had not been seen by some since they connected in Auckland on the flight from the US. A ferry would have been possible, but the fare was very expensive (roughly $200-300). Plane tickets proved to be the more economical decision.
So from June 4 - June 11 the plan was to tour the north island, seeing as much as we could in the time that we had. If we followed through with our plan to rent a car (we did), then people could study in the car. And by that I mean the option was there. Interpret as you will.
Landing in Auckland on the afternoon of the 3rd, we walked around the city aimlessly, unsure of exactly what we were hoping to accomplish. But the weather was nice, and for some time we sat in a park, occasionally hopping up to enjoy the playground.
I only mention this because it's important to note that the weather was nice. This would not be a constant on the trip.
Staying the night in Auckland, we toured around more the following day, trying to absorb as much of the culture as possible. And just our luck! We happened to spot a Palestinian rally being carried out in the streets of the city. Unfortunately, this demonstration was a peaceful one, and no rioting or looting took place.
And only a handful of anti-American signs. Somewhat disappointing; people must be caring less about us these days.
Oh, and at lunch we were accosted by a homeless fellow. He screamed at a group of people on the street for a bit and was subsequently arrested. City life!
Really, Auckland is much like any American city. Large buildings and crowded sidewalks, endless rows of windows attempting to lure pedestrians, chaotic waves of congestion, desperate and talented street performers, beggars, prostitutes, blaring car horns and flashing lights, all set alight against the gray background of concrete walls.
Gorgeous night skyline, though.
By Sunday we had had enough. Renting a car (only automatics; disappointment) we turned our sights south, heading for one of New Zealand's prime tourist attractions, the Waitomo Caves.
Famous for the glowworms that exist within the cave, groups are guided through on inflatable tubes, gazing up at the glowing ceiling while slowly make their way through the cave.
And it delivered what it advertised. It was a tad bit shorter than we had hoped and there was more awkward walking than actual tubing, but overall it was still a very enjoyable experience.
We were provided with wetsuits, which turned out to be a very good thing, because that water was frigid. The hot shower we got to take afterward was an enormously gratifying feeling.
That night proved to be an interesting one.
Rotorua was chosen as the next city to be visited. This meant a fair amount of driving, not arriving until around 9pm. Stopping for a quick drink in a local bar, we debated about where a campground could be found. Remembering a picnic area we had passed about 15 kilometers outside of town, we headed in the direction we had just came.
It had begun pouring shortly after leaving Waitomo Caves, and though the intensity fluctuated, it picked up again as we were settling into the tents for the night. The wind caused the sides to ripple and shudder violently, but the water was not able to penetrate. We all drifted off to sleep and hoped the weather would be different in the morning.
However...
At 2:30am (and I know it was 2:30 because the first thing I did was check the time) I sat up, instantly awake. A car engine idled just outside the tent and a female's voice was heard clearly.
"This is the police. Please step out of the tent."
I complied. The night had cleared up, and eyes drifting towards the sky, stars could be seen. The voice returned.
"Is this your rental car?"
A reply in the affirmative.
"You should be careful storing your belongings inside of it."
A hesitant nod in agreement.
"Have a good night."
The female police officer and her male partner (who had been shining his flashlight through all of the car's windows) returned to their vehicle and drove away.
I crawled back in the tent and none of us fell back asleep before the sky had begun to lighten.
Getting up after a few puny hours of sleep, the weather remained shaky throughout the day. Trying to get in a round of miniature golf, the skies opened up. Deciding to complete the round, we were all soaking wet by the time the final ball sank into the hole of the 18th green.
The Waikite Hot Springs. These were the words of the kind women in the clubhouse, advising us that the springs were the best solution to warm up on such a dark and drizzly day. She didn't have to sell the idea very hard.
The springs, found about 20 kilometers outside of the heart of Rotorua, flow naturally at about 100 degrees centigrade. The water boiled and bubbled before our eyes as it flowed from one main pool downstream, steam rising as it went.
The hot springs themselves were a cross between a public pool and spa resort. There was little to do but sit and soak in the hot pools, staring out across the hills and letting the smell of sulfur become displaced in the breeze.
The hot springs also contained a campsite, and this is where we stayed for the night.
When we finally got back on the road the next day, the plan was to head north. The Coromandel Peninsula, known for its stunning coastline and sprawling rainforests, possessed several items needing to be checked off the New Zealand to-do list.
However, any particular activity was initially set aside upon our arrival at dusk, as we headed straight for the water.
This was the view from Hot Water Beach, which will be explained in greater detail shortly.
The second desired location was Cathedral Cove. Ever since hearing a local kiwi describe it as his "favorite spot in New Zealand" it had been a personal goal to get there.
Though we did not embark on the 40 minute walk to Cathedral Cove's beaches on this first night, we did sit and stare out across the sea from the edge of the trail's beginning.
Simply stunning.
So fixated were we that a sneaky photographer went completely unnoticed.
Dining while watching the sunset, the next day's plan began to materialize. Low tide was just before 10am; this meant Hot Water Beach to start the day.
Retiring to a very cozy hostel in town, we had a good night of sleep (indoors!) and were rested to start the next morning.
Returning to Hot Water Beach with a shovel borrowed from the manager of the hostel, we made our way down the coast.
Due to the thermal activity in the area, there are certain areas on this beach that naturally fill with hot water through the simple act of digging a hole in the sand. In some places the water that oozes up through the sand is so hot that it is near-scalding to stick your toes in.
Selecting the perfect spot (not too hot, not too cold...), we begun to dig. Well, some of us did anyways.
But the laborers enjoyed the fruits of their labor to the fullest.
As did everyone.
Despite the weather not being particularly warm, the group decision was made to throw ourselves into the various water activities available nearby. For the two girls, Kelsey and Emily, this meant sea-kayaking.
For Jon and myself, well, a braver option was pursued.
Snorkeling in water that was just over 10 degrees centigrade. Fortunately we had wetsuits, which prolonged the numbing effect of the water.
Making our way down to Gemstone Bay, an inlet just over from Cathedral Cove, we took the plunge. The water was relatively clear, with visibility up to about 10 meters. So that we didn't have to swim aimlessly around the large bay, the Department of Conservation had arranged a series of buoys, effectively making a "hiking" trail through the water.
Darting through kelp forests, various species of fish sped away upon our sight (sadly, I don't know what any of the different species are called!). Several large fish even began to follow us, clustering around our bodies as we floated just below the surface, keeping as still as we possibly could.
But after about 45 minutes of underwater exploration, the temperature of the water proved to be too much. We pulled our freezing bodies onto the rocks, sitting in the sun and shivering for a good 20 minutes. Yes, undoubtedly it was worth it.
After changing into some warmer clothing, we decided to set off on the path towards Cathedral Cove, a fitting way to end what had been the best day of the trip.
Hardly a 40 minute walk, we soon completed the dirt path and were walking down the narrow stairs to the sands of the cove.
To our immediate left a large arch acted as the door to move beyond Cathedral Cove.
See the signs? The rope? Rock-fall hazard. Do not enter.
Disregarded (but no tsunami warning!).
Spreading out in the other direction, Cathedral Cove presented itself.
Completely enclosed, the beach ran from the water straight into rock and earth, as sheer walls guaranteed that the only entrance and exit from the cove came from the one staircase.
Not that we were in any hurry to leave.
One of the main things I hoped to do in New Zealand, Cathedral Cove did not disappoint. I only wish we had made it there during the summer, as the beach was absolutely pristine. To swim in the sea and then fall asleep on the sand at this spot would have been phenomenal.
Curiously observing, the birds certainly possessed little fear of humans. The allotted time for meeting the girls was rapidly approaching, and we reluctantly turned and walked back up the stairs. Chatting lightly, our spirits soared as we strolled at a relaxed pace.
And encountered some friends on the trail.
The little lamb was very scared of our passing and scurried to hide behind its mother. Precious, but totally ruined the photograph I was trying to take. Ugh, babies...
Rendezvousing with our female companions, the decision was made to pass on dinner for the moment and head straight to Auckland, completing the circuit of our trip.
After a hefty meal at Wendy's (oh, how I missed it) and some good conservation over some beers at a small tavern, we made for the home of a friend of Emily's family. Having stayed with her cousins in Massachusetts for some time in the past, he was gracious enough to allow us to stay at his flat, even driving us around so that we could see the entire city. Really a great guy, despite the fact that he happened to be a cop (some of the police's training techniques down here - absolutely awesome).
And so, after a week of traveling around the north island, we found ourselves returning our rental car and having to kill a few hours before heading to the airport for our flights to Christchurch.
It was at this point that something interesting happened.
I could not find my passport.
It was gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.
We inquired at the place we had stayed in Auckland previously - five nights ago. Slim chance, but sometimes these things work out. And this was one of them, because they happened to have found it!
Except it wasn't my passport.
The hotel had found another traveler's passport and turned it into the Auckland police. While on the phone with the police to ask about the whereabouts of "my" passport, they realized that the passport in the possession of the police was not mine; however, somebody, in a completely separate incident, had reported finding the passport and then turned it over to the police.
Only they were hundreds of kilometers from Auckland.
I had lost my passport the day of Waitomo after using it as I.D. in a liquor store on the way to Rotorua. It happened days before, yet I didn't realize it until two hours before my flight, and less than three weeks before I was supposed to leave the country.
F&*%
We retreated to a cafe to figure out what to do. Having gotten the number for the US Consulate, I gave them a call.
Yes, they had received notice that a US passport had been reported as lost. Turning up in the town of Otorohanga (??!?), it had been mailed to the US Consulate's office in Auckland.
Which just so happened to be the city I was in.
The address, where my passport sat waiting to be retrieved, was given to me as 23 Commerce Street.
Which was the same street I just so happened to be on.
Scrambling to the barista, I demanded to know the street number of the cafe.
40.
Bursting through the doors, I sprinted all of half of a block before arriving at 23 Commerce Street. Ringing the woman from the office, she was stunned at how quickly I had gotten there. Coming straight down, she returned the passport to me, smiled, and said:
"You're very lucky."
Yes. Yes, I am.
Just about an hour had passed since I realized that the passport had been lost (and had been so for days... in a tiny town hundreds of kilometers from Auckland) and when I returned to the cafe clutching it in my hands.
Sitting down while the others stared at the document in amazement, I let out a long sigh and shook my head.
Yes, I am very lucky.
I ordered a coffee and watched the clock tick away towards our flight.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Crawling and Clawing Through Cave Stream
Classes resumed at the end of April. Midterms arrived. Essays were due. Freedom was restricted.
Traveling was put on hold. We entertained ourselves by going rock climbing on the weekends, an adventure all on its own.
By the middle of May, however, the lethargic nature of campus life had been tolerated long enough. There had been talk of a place called Cave Stream several hours in the direction of Arthur's Pass, but up until this point there had been little discussion of visiting.
Desperately needing to break the miserable cycle that comes as a result of being attentive to one's school work, on the third Saturday of May it was decided that Cave Stream would be taken on.
Less than two hour drive from Christchurch, the hills surrounding Cave Stream have boulders strewn about. There is almost something of Stonehenge-type feel as you look across the landscape.
The mountains remain present, of course, a central theme of New Zealand.
Being directed by a helpful sign, we walked down a path through the grass, eventually merging with a running stream. Following the moving water, the cave's entrance was discovered. The attraction's name now made sense; the stream ran swiftly through the cave.
Lots of faces in these photographs.
After pausing for the habitual group shot, we were off.
We knew that we would get wet. One thing that we failed to consider fully, however, was the temperature of the water. If you look closely, you can see Stephen expressing his displeasure as the full sensation finally hits him.
Needless to say, the cave was a very wet place. Struggling to adjust to the cold water, we did our best to avoid tripping as we stumbled across the rocky ground that existed beneath the surface.
The cave could have likely been moved through in little more than an hour; however, we had no intention of doing that.
Branching off of the main channel, there were many networks of tunnels and passageways. Generally requiring that the face of the rock walls be scaled in order to reach the opening, some were more accessible than others. We managed to explore every one that we came across.
Some were smaller than others, requiring a person to get on their stomachs and squeeze and crawl through a tiny crack in the stone, fighting to push your hips through and avoid being trapped, stuck in a moment of panic-inducing claustrophobia.
We managed.
Making our way through the unknown passages, we nearly crawled into a space coated in what appeared to be a white foam-like substance. Spiderweb, maybe? We turned and got out of there, pausing only to snap this.
Other than this one minor detour, we explored freely and happily.
And managed to take a break and prop ourselves against the cave walls...
...or wedge ourselves against them and keep our feet off the ground.
And to jam and wiggle...
and scramble on all fours...
...all for the sake of searching for something to discover.
Little of that cave was left unexplored.
And finally, we dropped back down into the stream and resumed our forward progress.
As we grew nearer to the end of the tunnel that was the cave, the water level began to rise steadily. Water just poured from everywhere; dripping from the ceiling, running down the walls - the power of the current increased as well.
Obviously undaunted, we persevered. After about thirty minutes of sloshing through waist-deep water that fought desperately against our every step - as Cave Stream is best accomplished by moving upstream - a ladder leading towards daylight was spotted.
Sitting at the top, remaining just inside the cave, we rested and talked about what we had just done, not quite ready to end the day. We were all thoroughly filthy; to be expected, I suppose, after crawling through the combination of sand and dirt that was found within the cave.
The smell of earth was very strong on all of us, especially in our clothing. Oh... that smell. Awful. Damp, heavy grossness. It took multiple washing to get that stench out.
And of course, more photographs of the conquerors.
One final group shot? Yes, why not?
Because more than just studying happened in the month of May.
And now we have proof.
Traveling was put on hold. We entertained ourselves by going rock climbing on the weekends, an adventure all on its own.
By the middle of May, however, the lethargic nature of campus life had been tolerated long enough. There had been talk of a place called Cave Stream several hours in the direction of Arthur's Pass, but up until this point there had been little discussion of visiting.
Desperately needing to break the miserable cycle that comes as a result of being attentive to one's school work, on the third Saturday of May it was decided that Cave Stream would be taken on.
Less than two hour drive from Christchurch, the hills surrounding Cave Stream have boulders strewn about. There is almost something of Stonehenge-type feel as you look across the landscape.
The mountains remain present, of course, a central theme of New Zealand.
Being directed by a helpful sign, we walked down a path through the grass, eventually merging with a running stream. Following the moving water, the cave's entrance was discovered. The attraction's name now made sense; the stream ran swiftly through the cave.
Lots of faces in these photographs.
After pausing for the habitual group shot, we were off.
We knew that we would get wet. One thing that we failed to consider fully, however, was the temperature of the water. If you look closely, you can see Stephen expressing his displeasure as the full sensation finally hits him.
Needless to say, the cave was a very wet place. Struggling to adjust to the cold water, we did our best to avoid tripping as we stumbled across the rocky ground that existed beneath the surface.
The cave could have likely been moved through in little more than an hour; however, we had no intention of doing that.
Branching off of the main channel, there were many networks of tunnels and passageways. Generally requiring that the face of the rock walls be scaled in order to reach the opening, some were more accessible than others. We managed to explore every one that we came across.
Some were smaller than others, requiring a person to get on their stomachs and squeeze and crawl through a tiny crack in the stone, fighting to push your hips through and avoid being trapped, stuck in a moment of panic-inducing claustrophobia.
We managed.
Making our way through the unknown passages, we nearly crawled into a space coated in what appeared to be a white foam-like substance. Spiderweb, maybe? We turned and got out of there, pausing only to snap this.
Other than this one minor detour, we explored freely and happily.
And managed to take a break and prop ourselves against the cave walls...
...or wedge ourselves against them and keep our feet off the ground.
And to jam and wiggle...
and scramble on all fours...
...all for the sake of searching for something to discover.
Little of that cave was left unexplored.
And finally, we dropped back down into the stream and resumed our forward progress.
As we grew nearer to the end of the tunnel that was the cave, the water level began to rise steadily. Water just poured from everywhere; dripping from the ceiling, running down the walls - the power of the current increased as well.
Obviously undaunted, we persevered. After about thirty minutes of sloshing through waist-deep water that fought desperately against our every step - as Cave Stream is best accomplished by moving upstream - a ladder leading towards daylight was spotted.
Sitting at the top, remaining just inside the cave, we rested and talked about what we had just done, not quite ready to end the day. We were all thoroughly filthy; to be expected, I suppose, after crawling through the combination of sand and dirt that was found within the cave.
The smell of earth was very strong on all of us, especially in our clothing. Oh... that smell. Awful. Damp, heavy grossness. It took multiple washing to get that stench out.
And of course, more photographs of the conquerors.
One final group shot? Yes, why not?
Because more than just studying happened in the month of May.
And now we have proof.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Cruising Through Milford Sound
As it happens, the great holiday eventually came to an end. On the 19th of April, the movement north along Fiordland National Park began, winding along the eastern outskirts of the park towards the small town of Te Anau.
Te Anau, a remote town located along the south island's largest lake (the aptly named Lake Te Anau), provides an important service to New Zealand's tourism industry. For those not taking a bus from Queenstown or some other distant town, Te Anau is the last stop on the road to Milford Sound, one of New Zealand's most sought out locations.
Only about 120 kilometers from Milford, it is the lone road that runs to and from the fjord, meaning that all visitors are strongly advised to fill up on petrol before proceeding. Though, if you are going to run out of gas, this might be an area where you'd want to do it; the drive alone is nearly as famous as Milford Sound itself.
Arriving in Te Anau late on the same day that the Green Lake adventure ended, we immediately indulged in some of the pleasures that civilization has to offer. Chocolate, soda, chips, steak sandwiches... it got a little out of hand. No regrets.
As night set in, it became time to find a place to camp for the evening. Following the standard procedure of searching for a hidden location to avoid paying for a campground, we discovered a narrow dirt road leading down towards the lake and set up on a large patch of grass. We (Jon) even managed to get a fire going that evening; very small, yet warm enough to feel good as we stuck our feet into the flames.
We awoke early the next morning and stumbled down to the water's edge.
After breakfast, it was time to make the drive to Milford Sound.
As I've already said, the drive was impressive. Though generally a group that thrives on making the best time (some of us more than others), the scenic outlooks offered alongside the highway could not be passed up.
Normally a firm believer in the notion that clouds only enhance photographs, they were very frustrating on this car ride, obscuring some of the most glorious views in the area.
Another highlight of the trip: the Homer Tunnel. A 1.2 kilometer (thanks, Wikipedia!) tunnel granting access to Milford Sound, it was rather narrow. Because of this, a stoplight system was put in place, decreasing the amount of traffic simultaneously flowing in opposite directions.
Below we wait for our turn in the tunnel.
Bursting out of the tunnel, Milford was not much farther, but again we were sidetracked by the surrounding landscapes.
We pulled over at a sign for "The Chasm" (how can you not be intrigued with a name like that?). It did not disappoint.
A huge waterfall that emptied into an... er... chasm-like opening in the earth. It was very loud, and very cool. We hung around and stared at the rushing water for a while, momentarily forgetting our final destination.
Finally collecting ourselves, we made the final push to Milford Sound. Stopping first at the only information center available, we booked our passage on a scenic cruise through the sound. Yes, an incredibly touristy thing to do, but in this case we didn't care.
Milford Sound is consistently ranked as one of the most desirable vacation spots across the world, and to really experience the full effect of its beauty, it is best to see it from the water.
Enormous mountain borders rising over 1000 meters in every direction, waterfalls poured down into the sound in every direction. Dense forests lined the walls of the sound, leaving one to constantly gaze upwards towards an unbroken wall of greenery.
The day itself was a relatively good one. Not exceptionally warm, the weather was clearer than had been predicted, meaning our views wouldn't be badly obstructed.
A big reason why we chose the particular cruise that we did? Free coffee and tea. I mean, after a few cups the ride practically pays for itself!!
Okay, not really, but still... sweet deal. Or so I thought. Turns out drinking hot coffee on a boat on a windy day is more difficult than anticipated.
That night we made the long drive back to Queenstown, deciding that an appropriate last meal should be enjoyed at Fergburger. Perhaps more glorious than before - or at the very least, just as good - we stuffed ourselves until it hurt to move.
Forcing ourselves out of our seats and into the car, we returned to the camping site where we had stayed a little less than a week before and set up the tents.
The next morning we slept late and hustled little. Racking our brains for ideas as to what we could to do extend the trip, we came up empty. A return to Christchurch seemed imminent.
A full day of driving, one hitch-hiker, and one near-fiasco (lesson: gas stations are very spread out in New Zealand) later, we pulled into the University of Canterbury parking lot.
Though there were still a few days remaining of the holiday, our great journey had come to an end. Sleep, laundry, showers, and real food replaced damp sleeping bags, dirt-covered and stinking shirts, dips in icy lakes, and ramen noodles. As the trip had just been concluded, it seemed like a nice trade-off.
But in reflection, we may have gained less than we thought by our return to organized society. There was something real and magical on that long road trip, and I know it's not something that can be captured by sitting inside or taking a walk just outside. Though we were hardly alone, it was wild and untamed, it was unknown and exciting. It was something that will be difficult to duplicate and maybe impossible to top.
I'm not sure if I will be able to think back on these experiences with pure happiness. There will always exist a sense of longing.
Oh, April. Oh, New Zealand. Why so bittersweet?
Te Anau, a remote town located along the south island's largest lake (the aptly named Lake Te Anau), provides an important service to New Zealand's tourism industry. For those not taking a bus from Queenstown or some other distant town, Te Anau is the last stop on the road to Milford Sound, one of New Zealand's most sought out locations.
Only about 120 kilometers from Milford, it is the lone road that runs to and from the fjord, meaning that all visitors are strongly advised to fill up on petrol before proceeding. Though, if you are going to run out of gas, this might be an area where you'd want to do it; the drive alone is nearly as famous as Milford Sound itself.
Arriving in Te Anau late on the same day that the Green Lake adventure ended, we immediately indulged in some of the pleasures that civilization has to offer. Chocolate, soda, chips, steak sandwiches... it got a little out of hand. No regrets.
As night set in, it became time to find a place to camp for the evening. Following the standard procedure of searching for a hidden location to avoid paying for a campground, we discovered a narrow dirt road leading down towards the lake and set up on a large patch of grass. We (Jon) even managed to get a fire going that evening; very small, yet warm enough to feel good as we stuck our feet into the flames.
We awoke early the next morning and stumbled down to the water's edge.
After breakfast, it was time to make the drive to Milford Sound.
As I've already said, the drive was impressive. Though generally a group that thrives on making the best time (some of us more than others), the scenic outlooks offered alongside the highway could not be passed up.
Normally a firm believer in the notion that clouds only enhance photographs, they were very frustrating on this car ride, obscuring some of the most glorious views in the area.
Another highlight of the trip: the Homer Tunnel. A 1.2 kilometer (thanks, Wikipedia!) tunnel granting access to Milford Sound, it was rather narrow. Because of this, a stoplight system was put in place, decreasing the amount of traffic simultaneously flowing in opposite directions.
Below we wait for our turn in the tunnel.
Bursting out of the tunnel, Milford was not much farther, but again we were sidetracked by the surrounding landscapes.
We pulled over at a sign for "The Chasm" (how can you not be intrigued with a name like that?). It did not disappoint.
A huge waterfall that emptied into an... er... chasm-like opening in the earth. It was very loud, and very cool. We hung around and stared at the rushing water for a while, momentarily forgetting our final destination.
Finally collecting ourselves, we made the final push to Milford Sound. Stopping first at the only information center available, we booked our passage on a scenic cruise through the sound. Yes, an incredibly touristy thing to do, but in this case we didn't care.
Milford Sound is consistently ranked as one of the most desirable vacation spots across the world, and to really experience the full effect of its beauty, it is best to see it from the water.
Enormous mountain borders rising over 1000 meters in every direction, waterfalls poured down into the sound in every direction. Dense forests lined the walls of the sound, leaving one to constantly gaze upwards towards an unbroken wall of greenery.
The day itself was a relatively good one. Not exceptionally warm, the weather was clearer than had been predicted, meaning our views wouldn't be badly obstructed.
A big reason why we chose the particular cruise that we did? Free coffee and tea. I mean, after a few cups the ride practically pays for itself!!
Okay, not really, but still... sweet deal. Or so I thought. Turns out drinking hot coffee on a boat on a windy day is more difficult than anticipated.
Whoops.
Fortunately, our captain was a daring one, and he quickly came up with a way to both entertain us and clean the ship.
Fortunately, our captain was a daring one, and he quickly came up with a way to both entertain us and clean the ship.
On an unrelated note, I don't know why "Oh shit!" is my go-to reaction when confronted with something exciting or visually stimulating. It must be subconscious. Annoying though, as every video I want to post has a sound byte of me screaming like an idiot. Obnoxious.
But - oh shit! - it was awesome. And we did drink the water in those cups. Clean and delicious.
For the next few hours we toured around on the ship, checking out Milford Sound from every angle and marveling at its splendor. Extending out to the Tasman Sea, the boat traveled to its edge before turning and heading back into the heart of the sound. It really is an incredible place; if ever in New Zealand, put it on the list of things to see. Do it now.
But - oh shit! - it was awesome. And we did drink the water in those cups. Clean and delicious.
For the next few hours we toured around on the ship, checking out Milford Sound from every angle and marveling at its splendor. Extending out to the Tasman Sea, the boat traveled to its edge before turning and heading back into the heart of the sound. It really is an incredible place; if ever in New Zealand, put it on the list of things to see. Do it now.
We even managed to glimpse a bunch of sea lions hanging out on some rocks, basking in the sun. These guys seemed content. Tough life, eh?
Waterfalls everywhere.
The group shot - should probably be expected at this point.
Though hard to tell from this angle, all of the walls are well over 1000 meters high. As such, base jumping is said to be a popular activity within Milford Sound, with thrill-seekers hurling themselves off of these sheer cliffs.
As the sun began to set, the boat had already started making its way back to the dock. But not too quickly; there was still plenty of time to gaze over the railing at the clouds, watching them being illuminated by the fading sunlight.
Disembarking from the ship, we took the subtle advice from our captain and sneaked down a wooden path, hopping several gates in the process. Only a few short minutes down the trail, we found what we were seeking.
The waterfall loomed large and loud, and as we were standing in an area that was supposedly prohibited, the view was ours to enjoy alone. And it was just as great in every direction.
This is the last photograph I took before heading down the path and over the fence, returning to our car and reluctantly turning our backs on Milford Sound for the indefinite future.
That night we made the long drive back to Queenstown, deciding that an appropriate last meal should be enjoyed at Fergburger. Perhaps more glorious than before - or at the very least, just as good - we stuffed ourselves until it hurt to move.
Forcing ourselves out of our seats and into the car, we returned to the camping site where we had stayed a little less than a week before and set up the tents.
The next morning we slept late and hustled little. Racking our brains for ideas as to what we could to do extend the trip, we came up empty. A return to Christchurch seemed imminent.
A full day of driving, one hitch-hiker, and one near-fiasco (lesson: gas stations are very spread out in New Zealand) later, we pulled into the University of Canterbury parking lot.
Though there were still a few days remaining of the holiday, our great journey had come to an end. Sleep, laundry, showers, and real food replaced damp sleeping bags, dirt-covered and stinking shirts, dips in icy lakes, and ramen noodles. As the trip had just been concluded, it seemed like a nice trade-off.
But in reflection, we may have gained less than we thought by our return to organized society. There was something real and magical on that long road trip, and I know it's not something that can be captured by sitting inside or taking a walk just outside. Though we were hardly alone, it was wild and untamed, it was unknown and exciting. It was something that will be difficult to duplicate and maybe impossible to top.
I'm not sure if I will be able to think back on these experiences with pure happiness. There will always exist a sense of longing.
Oh, April. Oh, New Zealand. Why so bittersweet?
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