After copious amounts of Diet Coke and a handsome helping of New Zealand's finest Blue Cod fish and chips, smothered in much needed salt and vinegar, I managed to shake off the ill-feeling attached to the night previous. Before the motion of the bus got a little too much for my fragile shell, we veered up on to a stony pathway at the Rainforest Retreat in Franz Josef. With an upwards glance towards the mountainside you could just about make out the crystal ice of the august glacier, cradling the moraine and peering lucidly towards the Waiho river trickling beyond its reach.
Once James and Jill had successfully bullied me into joining the advanced group of the hike, phrased loosely as the adventurous and slightly more extreme version of the expedition, we were introduced swiftly to our tour guide, a laid back Canadian by the name of Cat (or Kitty Kat as James was fond of whispering to him). We encountered a small problem within the camp as an elephantine gentleman from the depths of Lancashire appeared to believe that he knew more about ice features than our trained guide and spent much of the morning advising the group as to the safest routes to take as well as relaying any information that he had heard in passing on to us as if his very own. We christened him #2 / Gareth Keenan - Assistant to the Hike Guide, due to his lamentable attitude, and were in raptures when his true colours finally became apparent as he pathetically wimped out of taking on a steep and sheer cave feature with the rest of the team and instead recoiled in fear as he lumbered his heavy torso to the recess of the battery.
Franz Josef Glacier Hike
Afterwards, in reward for our pursuits over crystal blue mountain sculptures and arms heavy from pick axing (well, holding a pick axe briefly for the pursuit of an heroic photograph), a few of us decided to saunter down the road from our hostel towards the only Indian restaurant in town, Priya Tandoori. The meal was affective, soothing the roars from our lurching stomachs. On our dining table included the melancholic faces of Canadian Zoe and Anthony, whose morning skydive over Franz Josef (apparently one of the most scenic in the world, behind the $30,000 Everest dive) had earlier been cancelled due to the thick onset of cloud that dampened the mood and spirit of our two thrill seekers who had consequently missed their only chance for the day's glacier hike. James, Josepha (a young lady from Clapham who revealed foolishly to us that her middle name was 'Totten' in homage to her father's favoured football club) and I spent much time ribbing the pair and embellishing on the magnetism of the trips that they had missed out on.
We had a day in reserve, in between arriving farther South of the Island. On a gloomy and forgettable day the tyres from the coach halted abruptly at the sleepy town of Makarora, with its bustling population estimated at around fifty people, that we effectively doubled on arrival. The locals certainly knew how to entertain the travellers, and that was with the open palms of a karaoke competition. Anthony's eyes grew wide at the prospect of sharing his unique talent to the group, and roped me into serenading the hall with a rendition of Billie Joel's Uptown Girl that would have made Jeff Buckley swoon. By swoon, I of course mean retch violently in the current of Wolf River Harbour. An energetic girl from Michigan stole the limelight and won a prize of a pub crawl ticket in Queenstown, although she was pushed hard for the victory by a teenage school boy with a floppy blond fringe named Rhys, who broke hearts with his rousing version of Enrique Iglesias's warbling Latina ballad, Hero.
On the darkened voyage back towards our tee pee shaped huts after the singalong, I checked my flip flops for a troublesome stone. On seeing my arched back, Michigan Caroline, still reeling from her victory, ran up behind me and mounted me as if it was an opportune time for a piggy-back ride. Having lost a few lb's in muscle due to the trip, I buckled illustriously under the strain, Caroline crashing on the footpath head first, culminating in two chipped teeth and a bruised grill. Fortunately her burgeoning singer songwriting career was not to be in jeopardy by our clumsy endeavor and her black and blue features paled by comparison to my notoriety within the tour as the violent woman beater.
On to Wanaka, situated on the southern tip of the peaceful lake of the same name. We'd decided to break up the journey on to Queenstown and save some energy at our relaxing hippy commune of the Matterhorn South Hostel, complete with sprouting herbs in the indifferent garden and a library cannon featuring such literary gems as 'The 70's General Knowledge Quiz' which we spent unsatisfactory minutes guessing answers to questions ranging from Idi Amin's terror reign in Uganda and the members of the ECC.
Mountain Biking over tricky terrain in Wanaka
The girls take a hike over a steady trail
l-r: Caroline, A-bomb, Zoe, Totten, Kate, Jill and Sophie
On our second day, the girls spent their day on an 18km hike, joined confusingly by Anthony who was scared to embark on the daring and adrenaline infused mountain biking haul that James and I had signed up to. After the four hour tour de force towards Albert Town and with calves strained from peddling frantically in between gears to remedy the on rushing headwinds, we gingerly clambered off our bikes to find Anthony and the girls watching Dirty Dancing back in the Hostel.
Next stop, Queenstown.
Once James and Jill had successfully bullied me into joining the advanced group of the hike, phrased loosely as the adventurous and slightly more extreme version of the expedition, we were introduced swiftly to our tour guide, a laid back Canadian by the name of Cat (or Kitty Kat as James was fond of whispering to him). We encountered a small problem within the camp as an elephantine gentleman from the depths of Lancashire appeared to believe that he knew more about ice features than our trained guide and spent much of the morning advising the group as to the safest routes to take as well as relaying any information that he had heard in passing on to us as if his very own. We christened him #2 / Gareth Keenan - Assistant to the Hike Guide, due to his lamentable attitude, and were in raptures when his true colours finally became apparent as he pathetically wimped out of taking on a steep and sheer cave feature with the rest of the team and instead recoiled in fear as he lumbered his heavy torso to the recess of the battery.
Franz Josef Glacier Hike
Afterwards, in reward for our pursuits over crystal blue mountain sculptures and arms heavy from pick axing (well, holding a pick axe briefly for the pursuit of an heroic photograph), a few of us decided to saunter down the road from our hostel towards the only Indian restaurant in town, Priya Tandoori. The meal was affective, soothing the roars from our lurching stomachs. On our dining table included the melancholic faces of Canadian Zoe and Anthony, whose morning skydive over Franz Josef (apparently one of the most scenic in the world, behind the $30,000 Everest dive) had earlier been cancelled due to the thick onset of cloud that dampened the mood and spirit of our two thrill seekers who had consequently missed their only chance for the day's glacier hike. James, Josepha (a young lady from Clapham who revealed foolishly to us that her middle name was 'Totten' in homage to her father's favoured football club) and I spent much time ribbing the pair and embellishing on the magnetism of the trips that they had missed out on.
We had a day in reserve, in between arriving farther South of the Island. On a gloomy and forgettable day the tyres from the coach halted abruptly at the sleepy town of Makarora, with its bustling population estimated at around fifty people, that we effectively doubled on arrival. The locals certainly knew how to entertain the travellers, and that was with the open palms of a karaoke competition. Anthony's eyes grew wide at the prospect of sharing his unique talent to the group, and roped me into serenading the hall with a rendition of Billie Joel's Uptown Girl that would have made Jeff Buckley swoon. By swoon, I of course mean retch violently in the current of Wolf River Harbour. An energetic girl from Michigan stole the limelight and won a prize of a pub crawl ticket in Queenstown, although she was pushed hard for the victory by a teenage school boy with a floppy blond fringe named Rhys, who broke hearts with his rousing version of Enrique Iglesias's warbling Latina ballad, Hero.
On the darkened voyage back towards our tee pee shaped huts after the singalong, I checked my flip flops for a troublesome stone. On seeing my arched back, Michigan Caroline, still reeling from her victory, ran up behind me and mounted me as if it was an opportune time for a piggy-back ride. Having lost a few lb's in muscle due to the trip, I buckled illustriously under the strain, Caroline crashing on the footpath head first, culminating in two chipped teeth and a bruised grill. Fortunately her burgeoning singer songwriting career was not to be in jeopardy by our clumsy endeavor and her black and blue features paled by comparison to my notoriety within the tour as the violent woman beater.
On to Wanaka, situated on the southern tip of the peaceful lake of the same name. We'd decided to break up the journey on to Queenstown and save some energy at our relaxing hippy commune of the Matterhorn South Hostel, complete with sprouting herbs in the indifferent garden and a library cannon featuring such literary gems as 'The 70's General Knowledge Quiz' which we spent unsatisfactory minutes guessing answers to questions ranging from Idi Amin's terror reign in Uganda and the members of the ECC.
Mountain Biking over tricky terrain in Wanaka
The girls take a hike over a steady trail
l-r: Caroline, A-bomb, Zoe, Totten, Kate, Jill and Sophie
On our second day, the girls spent their day on an 18km hike, joined confusingly by Anthony who was scared to embark on the daring and adrenaline infused mountain biking haul that James and I had signed up to. After the four hour tour de force towards Albert Town and with calves strained from peddling frantically in between gears to remedy the on rushing headwinds, we gingerly clambered off our bikes to find Anthony and the girls watching Dirty Dancing back in the Hostel.
Next stop, Queenstown.
i-Pod Song of the Day: Bob Dylan - Just Like A Woman
I've actually only got Nina Simone's version on my walkman, but big bad Bob's original is far superior due to the evocative harmonica that frames the song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucu-ObHdf-w
Nobody feels any pain / Tonight as I stand inside the rain / Everybody knows / That Baby's got new clothes / But lately I see her ribbons and her bows / Have fallen from her curls.
She takes just like a woman / She makes love just like a woman / And she aches just like a woman / But she breaks just like a little girl.
She takes just like a woman / She makes love just like a woman / And she aches just like a woman / But she breaks just like a little girl.
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