The One Longest Day

As I slipped and slid down the dirt mountainside following Naomi to check out the looming plunge ahead I was thinking to myself, “This chick wants me to RIDE MY BIKE DOWN THIS?!? IS SHE NUTS?!?” Then, as I clamored back up the hill to my bike and pulled myself into position to drop, my question change to, “I’M GOING TO RIDE DOWN THIS?!? AM I FREAKING NUTS?!?”

Guess so.

At nearly 10PM the sun is still refusing to succumb to the surrounding mountains, marking the longest day of the year here in New Zealand. Taking full advantage of the summer solstice, a group of kick-ass locals decided to ride the Wynyard Downhill track – and somehow I managed to get an invite.

I had spent the morning leisurely waking up to the warming sun cascading upon Arrowtown – a small town on the South Island, and without a doubt, one of the most beautiful area’s I’ve ever seen. Nestled between several breathtaking mountain ranges, Arrowtown boasts a historical downtown that lies parallel to a quaint river that at the moment is host to thousands of beautiful wildflowers.

Adam and Gary had stayed the night (after we all stayed up watched a hilariously scary horror movie) at the house I was housesitting. Delighted to be hosting my first sleepover in months, I quickly set-to making apple-cinnamon pancakes and eggs…dyed blue and green just for fun! After the boys showed me how to eat properly with my knife and fork, the three of us spent a lazy afternoon in the sun before heading back to Queenstown.

After dropping the boys off I packed up my bike and headed to Wynyard. The five ladies joining me had varying levels of experience (i.e. Naomi -internationally ranked pro, Pip -a newbie like me). Despite never riding an expert-level downhill track, I excitedly followed the ladies as they charged down the street toward the beginning of the track. I didn’t even make it 10 feet past the dirt before realizing I had popped my tire on a silly curb of all things!

Not to be out-done, another rider named Sal had suffered the same misfortune. So the two of us patiently waited for a car-ride back down to make repairs. Never having done anything beyond putting a chain back on, I listened as Sal walked me through how to fix my tire. A quick drive to get new tubes and several laughs later, we were headed back up to the top of the course.

I spent one terrifying run on my own bike (suitable for some pretty mean cross country riding but not advanced downhill courses) before the girls took pity on me and began letting me demo their own bikes each run. I learned that a few thousand dollars makes a world of difference when riding sheer rock faces and rutted-out burms! I cautiously followed - trying not fall as Indra, Naomi and the others hit jumps and wood rails at speeds I only hope to reach someday.

A few runs down Naomi, whether on purpose or by mistake, led us into a section of the trail with three options:

A- go down a really steep 15 ft. drop followed by huge ruts.

B- go down a suuuper steep 15ft. drop followed by smoother ruts.

C- go down a steep, really technical 20 ft. drop full of lots of ruts.

I chose option B and somehow, through sheer determination not to chicken-out, made it down without crashing. At least the first time through!

After a few gloriously adrenaline-pumping runs (and not too many crashes by yours truly) the girls decided to call it a day. Not a bad end to the longest one of the year.

FUN FACT: If you ever feel like complaining about gas prices, come to New Zealand. Petrol (as they call it) can be priced at over $8.00 a gallon!!!

The One Hundred and Ninety Dollar Key

“You know the chances of us finding this thing are like one in a billion right?”

“At least.

Finding keys on the side of a mountain is not unlike trying to find a needle in a haystack. Only a haystack doesn’t have heart-attack rendering peaks and overgrown razor-sharp bushes. My morning had been a challenging one already. Jess, a fellow American rugger had accompanied me on a 16K hilly bike ride that had brought us to the Roaring Meg Reserve; a scenic campsite/picnic area clustered next to two distinctly different, yet beautiful rivers. The Kawaru (ka-wa-row) River runs ashy blue through a canyon of jutting rocks and dangerous rapids. The Roaring Meg River is more picturesque with its mountain-fed clear waters pouring over boulders and fallen trees. But enough about water – lets get back to the seemingly impossible task Jess and I were tackling.

Our mission had begun, inadvertently, almost 24 hours before we found ourselves huffing and puffing up steep ridges. Having two days off of work, I had taken Jess up on her offer to visit Cromwell, a small agricultural township close to Queenstown. On my way to Cromwell I decided to hike the Roaring Meg Track. Once I realized the track was really just a road for the most part, I opted for the challenge of “free-hiking” up a random mountain. Free hiking is essentially picking an area to hike and going in that direction, often without the aide of trails. So up I went, sometimes following sheep trails, but mostly picking a path that avoided the thorns of the brush covering the mountainside. Two sweat-filled hours later I reached the summit. I was pleasantly surprised to find a grassy meadow appear amidst the havoc of rough terrain.

After a few pictures and a snack I began the tumultuous trek downward. Loose rocks and dirt sent me flying several times; one spill in particular must have dislodged my only set of car keys. Oblivious to the loss, I continued down the mountain until finally, thirsty and worn-out, I arrived at the car. Reaching into my backpack, it took me 4 or 5 pocket checks before I determined my keys were not in my possession. Just to make sure, I emptied my entire car out (after breaking in) and then literally ran the first 20 minutes of the trail looking frantically for the tiny key hooked on a very well camouflaged grey lanyard.

An hour later I had given up and called Jess to come rescue me. In the meantime I befriended four wonderfully nice (and good looking!) young men from the Czech Republic. Only two of them spoke English well enough for a conversation, but Peter entertained us all with his newly learned “hello! My name is Peter” and “you are such a beautiful lady”. About a half hour later Jess arrived and we bid farewell to our Czech friends.

A relaxing night ensued followed by morning plans of a mission to recover my missing keys. Jess and I geared up early and headed out with an optimistic and enthusiastic outlook about finding the keys (keep in mind the keys were lost somewhere in unmarked wilderness). About halfway up the mountain, with dark clouds descending upon us I kicked into survival mode and practically ran (okay, jogged - BUT UP A STEEP FREAKING MOUNTAIN) to the summit. A thorough search by both of us came up empty-handed. Until that moment we were both confident that the keys would be where I had last set my backpack down. Looking down the mountain at the seemingly endless and indistinct square mile of brush and rocks we realized the odds of finding the keys now had drastically plunged.

Slipping and at times crawling our way down, we were unsuccessful at recovering anything but new sand fly bites. Four hours later, feeling exhausted and rather dejected, we hitchhiked back to Jess’ house and laid out plans for our next hopefully more successful “mission”: teaching Kiwi’s how to play beer pong. I won’t recount all the glorious details of that night, but lets just say it was highly entertaining and that Kiwi’s are naturally VERY good at drinking games (in fact, they are very good at drinking in general…coincidence perhaps?).

With work looming ahead, I woke up, made my East Coast rugby hosts breakfast (my Dad’s recipe of yummy apple cinnamon pancakes), and called the locksmith. Within a few short hours Gary, the locksmith, had a new key made and my car was up and running. With Kiwi hospitality, Gary led me back to town where he made me two more keys, helped me fix the window I had broken, and then gave me a discount on his original quoted price (even though he had done way more work than I had originally asked). Before announcing the financial damage my carelessness would cost me, Gary informed me that, had I made a spare key BEFORE losing the original, it would’ve been a whopping $5. The final damage? $190. Lesson learned folks….

Fun Fact: The crime rate here is so low that there are only 6 officers on-duty to police 7 townships! So why is it that my locked bike got stolen across the street from the police station? Funny eh?

The One Bicycle Thief

It was a Team Bauer 24-speed front suspension mountain bike with disc brakes, shimano gears, brand new tires and custom pedals. It clicked slightly when peddling uphill in 14^th gear and my dear friend Stu had even switched the brakes to the American style so I didn’t hurl myself over the handlebars (too often). Its unique paint job included gold painted-on zippers and the seat liked to randomly swivel to the right. My helmet matched my teal and black gloves which, oddly enough, matched a 2-inch stripe of teal on the front of the bike frame. I told myself all this matching wasn’t just mere coincidence, and that the bike was destined to be mine.

But none of this matters anymore, because my beloved bike has been maliciously stolen…

[[[Fade from black]]]

It was a dark and stormy night in windy Queenstown, the ominous weather a precursor of the misfortune that was to befall the unsuspecting victims as they furiously peddled their bikes through the throngs of tourist…

Okay, really it was a warm and fair-weathered evening with a beautiful sunset and hardly any tourist – Adam would never hack it at peddling anywhere close to a “furious” pace, so lets just say we were cruising. As we wheeled up to Starbucks we waved through the window at the crew inside who longingly looked at us as if they wished that they too could be off work and embarking on an evening out. Adam hopped off his bike, leaning it against his usual pillar, then motioned for me to bring my bike over to lock up. Once securely locking both bikes, we headed to Monty’s – one of our favorite pubs.

Several hours later, holding a large pizza, French fries, and several movies, Adam and I both agreed that an attempt to bike home in our condition would be suicide for the pizza. So we walked home – sneaking slices on the way. An evening of vampire movies ensued, and before long, Adam was snoring loudly (in a very Welsh way). I bid adieu to the unconscious Adam and went to sleep myself.

The next morning Adam, on his way to work, walked outside before abruptly returning. “Where did we put the bikes?” he asked. I told him that we had left them at work and saw a small light go on in his head as he finally remembered. About a half hour later I got a text that no bike owner ever wants to receive.

ARE YOU SURE WE LEFT OUR BIKES OUTSIDE STARBUCKS LAST NIGHT?

I pieced the prior evening together from start to finish before responding with a definite YES. I was half hoping that Adam was playing a joke on me, but when he called from the police station to get a description of my bike, my hope vanished. Sulking to work, I immediately noticed the bare pillar where my bike had once been only hours before. Adam hugged me as we mourned the loss of our mutually favorite possessions and we reassured each other that the bikes would turn up eventually.

But boy am I looking forward to tackling the $%*# out of the poor guy who stole my bike when I find him! And I will find him…

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Ben Harper (singer extraordinaire) came into my work today and ordered a latte. Even famous people need coffee!

The One Where I Jump Off a Bridge

The wind was howling as Patrick and I crouched behind a tool box listening to people screaming as they fell. “Are you scared?” Patrick asked me. I thought about how cold I was and replied, “Nope.”. Truth is – I was a tiny itsy bitsy bit worried. But damned if I was going to let anyone see that I wasn't %100 ready to jump off a bridge suspended over hundreds of feet of canyon rock and water.

The group of jumpers dwindled until it was finally our turn to strap in. A nice guy named Jace made small chat as he wrapped towels around our legs and secured ropes to our bodies. I was thoroughly impressed that for close to $200, clients were fastened into navy blue towels before willingly jumping at heights that could kill – how technologically advanced! Patrick looked like he might throw up at any moment and I was increasingly becoming aware that I was minutes away from launching myself from a bridge into icy cold rushing water.

My cool demeanor quickly eroded as the bungy guy kept asking me to shuffle closer and closer to the edge of the platform. Patrick, already standing at the ledge and hanging onto a side rail for dear life, had become mute in his fear. Faint memories of waving at camera’s come to mind before the dreaded countdown began. (I was stupid enough to look down, which sent my heart racing and suddenly this whole idea sounded insane…how could I have ever thought this would be fun?! )Whether Jace started at 3 or 5 I have no idea, because suddenly I remember thinking Oh BLEEP! Patrick is jumping!!! And I half-jumped, half-fell screaming along with him.

The two seconds it took us to hit the water were beyond exhilarating. Patrick, in a panic, wrapped his arms around me and we began spinning mid-air before slamming into the icy water. Suddenly the rushing wind stopped and I couldn’t hear anything for a split second, then we were bouncing upward, soaking wet, laughing and whooping hysterically. Patrick turned to me and said “We did it! Give me a kiss!”, and so I obliged with a big kiss for my little gay friend.

I think we laughed for a good 3 minutes straight before the boat guy was able to rope us in and lower us down for unharnessing. A few high fives were in order before we, in our newly created adrenaline rush, ran up to see our video and pictures. As soon as a figure out how, they will be up for all to see!

Jumping from the world’s first bungy jump? CHECK!

-Ashley

Fun fact: The oldest person to bungy at the Kawarau Bridge Bungy is 94. The youngest? Last week a young man, strapped securely to his parents, celebrated his first birthday by jumping off the same bridge!

The One With The Car Manual…In Japanese

Tonight was one of those once in a blue moon nights where the strangest things happen.

It all began toward closing time when a very Irish woman with a very colorful vocabulary ordered a latte then asked, “Do I look like someone who has AIDS?”. Really though?! Who asks that??? And not only did she ask a perfect stranger a very awkward question, but she said it as casually as someone would ask if we could add extra shots of espresso to drinks.

Three hours later I found myself with my two mates Meghan (a Canadian) and Patrick (my hilariously gay Kiwi friend) outside of Ferburger –a world famous burger joint that caters to all the drunken tourists until the wee hours of the morning. Only tonight, there weren’t actually any burgers to be had. What kind of burger joint (and a supposed world famous one at that) doesn’t have their main entrée? I settled for a bag of french-fries, then proceeded to help the poor girl working the front counter yell out order numbers to the drunken lot stumbling around shouting incoherent things at one another. For my troubles she rewarded me with a tiny cup of ketchup – enough for about six fries, which had I paid for, would’ve cost me 50 CENTS (an entire bottle of ketchup costs $1.40 here)!

After our non-burger Ferburgers, I had the brilliant idea of putting transmission fluid into my car (keep in mind it is close to midnight at this point). The three of us debated which container to pour the fluid into for about twenty minutes, and then tried enlisting the help of four or five very unhelpful young men before finally consulting the car manual. “Does anyone speak Japanese?” I asked while flipping through the booklet written in several languages – all of them beyond my comprehension. Patrick, ever politically correct said, “I think someone at Ferburger speaks Asian.” I didn’t bother embarrassing myself enough to ask if someone spoke “Asian” inside the beefless burger bar.

Finally, I lucked out enough to have two extremely helpful taxi drivers come and save the day! I was astonished by how amazingly sincere and obliging the two were. Within a few minutes my transmission was raring to go and the Taxi man had run back to his car to give me wet wipes to clean up my hands. What a gentleman! Just another example of why I love Kiwi’s!

After getting to Meghan’s house well past midnight the three of us agreed to have a sleepover. As I began emptying things from my pockets, I noticed something in the extra cargo pocket. Throwing a confused look at Meghan I pulled out what turned out to be a car key. Who’s car key I have no idea, and I’m even more clueless as to how it got into my shorts pocket. Too tired to do anything but laugh about it, I proclaimed we would turn the case into Unsolved Mysteries and wait out the owner.

-Ashley

FUN FACT: Flight of the Concords – a New Zealand produced comedy, is the best show created since Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Check it out and be prepared to laugh! "You're so beautiful, you could be a part-time model!"

The One On A Mission

When my native Kiwi friends Alli and Nikki asked me to join them on a mission, I envisioned an afternoon spent on some stealth, yet high-risk and fun assignment. What I had in mind was far from the Kiwi meaning of “mission”. Apparently crawling on hands and knees up cliffs of rocks and through thorny underbrush while following tiny goat tracks for hours is what the girls meant by a “mission” (AKA a lengthy and challenging adventure).

Cut-up, sunburned, bruised, thirsty, and slightly bleeding I reached the summit of some unnamed peak with Alli and Nikki at my side…resting next to a mineral colored pond, we took in the incredible view, which was more gratifying considering the insane three hours we had spent scrambling up cliff sides and literally following goats to get there. In fact, I have a much deeper appreciation for the athletic abilities of goats now that I’ve walked (or staggered) in their footsteps.

We headed “just over the next hill” about six times while following the directions of Nikki who – as a professional snowboard instructor and mountaineering guide, seemed trust-worthy. Finally (just as Alli whispered to me “how many times are we going over one more hill before we’re lost?”) we spotted our destination on the horizon – a rarely used mountain shack built alongside running spring water!

A few minutes later and we were strategizing where to find the best drinking water. I followed Nikki’s example and took my turn scooping handfuls of water into my parched mouth. After the third thirst-quenching scoop I began examining the water beneath me. A funny shaped stick caught me attention, and upon further inspection I realized it wasn’t a stick, but an animal bone with a hoof attached!

Thinking to myself “that’s gross…where is the rest of it?” I made the mistake of looking upstream. About two feet above Nikki’s so carefully selected watering hole, submerged halfway in the water, was a partially decomposed GOAT CARCASS! Like a sissy little girl I squealed “EWWWWW!!!” and then spit a few times (as if it would do anything to help the fact that I had just drank carcass water)!

After berating my less-than-perceptive guide for leading me straight to carcass water, we all enjoyed a good laugh and then headed back toward civilization on a winding dirt road. Exhausted but feeling accomplished, we reached Alli’s house just in time to find her roommate, and my favorite Starbucks co-worker, Tommy enjoying a full two hours of action packed live performances from none other than the wonderfully talented Celine Dion! What a way to end the day…

-Ashley

Fun fact: Due to ozone depletion, the intensity of the sun in New Zealand can burn someone in as little as 8 minutes –believe me, I’ve accidentally tested this theory!

The One Where They Call Me Superman

The cloud of dust settled around me as I assessed the damage. I could breath – that was good. Stand up? With a little (okay, a lot of) pain, yes. Blood? Nothing that would require a transfusion. “Are you okay?” my biking cohort Miyu asked. I looked myself over, taking note of the dirt now covering the entire right side of my body and the road rash lying beneath it all, “I feel like I used to after rugby games, so I think I’ll be alright.” With that I grabbed my bike –which after flying over my head, had landed several feet away in the bushes. A few tentative and painful steps brought me back on the trail and we were off to finish the evening’s ride.

Once we caught back up with the main group (a hodge-podge group of riders ranging from borderline professional to beginner – AKA me) Alex, the best rider out of the girls took one look at me and laughed. “Took a spill?” I explained how after hitting the third roller (a rounded mound that resembles a jump) on the trail I had misjudged my speed and caught way too much air, after my front wheel touched the ground I ended up flying over my handlebars headfirst before somersaulting to a stop. “So you’re trying to be Superman huh?” she teased. I enquired as to why, on my first attempt at mountain biking, I had been taken to an obviously advanced course that careened down a highly technical track. “That’s what Stu does to beginners,” Alex explained, “he likes to take ‘em up here and see what they got.”

Nice Stu.

After several more less-impressive spills, I found myself back on the lakefront enjoying a beer and the gorgeous view with my fellow riders as the sun faded and the air cooled. Taking the advice of other riders, I have invested in bigger tires and a pair of protective gloves for my next outing, which I am about to embark on in a few hours.

I may have just found my new sport of choice in mountain biking– and I can’t wait to see how far my new wheels take me.

-Ashley

Fun Fact: New slang words I have picked up and found myself using…

• Sweet As: meaning “cool” among other things, and yes, it was inevitable I would start saying this popular Kiwi phrase.
• Keen: finding something favorable or wanting to do something as in, "You can come to the movies if you're keen"
• Legend: a hip way of saying “thanks”
• Proper: used in conjunction with another word to legitimize it as in “are we going to throw the rugby ball around or play a proper match?” or “are you having a snack or a proper meal?”
• Skull: replacing the American phrase “chug” as in “skull your drink!”
• Chips: French fries
• Brilliant: excellent, great, wonderful “he was brilliant on the guitar”
• Car Park: parking lot
• Lift: elevator
• Dodgy: bad, undreliable
• Eh: (pronounced as the letter “a”, but slightly different than the Canadian “aye”) often used at the end of a sentence when expecting a response “the weather was a bit dodgy today eh?”
• Knackered: utterly exhausted

The One Tourist, Two Hippies, and Three Germans

Disclaimer: To mom and my ‘other moms’, I promise not to be so stupid the next time I hike. Alright, now you can read on…

I was beginning to wonder how brilliant my idea was to hike 6 hours of cold exposed mountains by myself when I saw two people in the distance. At least I wasn’t alone and if I fell down a cliff (there were moment’s where I came a little too close for comfort) they might hear me yelling. I picked up my pace to catch up with them, and after about 20 minutes, found myself surprised to hear them talking perfectly normal whilst I was huffing and puffing my way up the mountainside. I was even more surprised when the young bucks I was expecting to catch up with turned out to be an extremely fit couple old enough to be my parents. The hikers might also qualify as the two biggest hippies living outside of Humboldt County.

Not wanting to intrude on the couple’s day out, I continued on my way alone. The 20-mile bike ride I had undertaken the day before was not helping my legs as the gentle slope of the mountain’s base began to increasingly become steeper, rockier, and more snow covered. At one point, due to the cloud cover, the visibility I had was 15 feet in any direction. My legs kept punching through the snow- causing me to lurch forward and use my bare hands in the icy snow to pull myself out. Out of nowhere a few German boys came into view, I asked how the summit was before finding out they had given up and were turning back. Probably a smart idea, but I was feeling adventurous. I mean, I was a Girlscout after all, and I figured that counted for something!

The last half mile of the hike I was frantically hoping the indentations in the snow I was following were actually footprints, otherwise I was wandering aimlessly and completely S.O.L. if I couldn’t find my way back. Just as I was getting ready to throw in the towel, the clouds cleared enough for me to see another steep rise just ahead. With the wind howling, I decided to climb that peak, and if the trail (or lack thereof) continued I would still relinquish my attempt and try to summit another day. Lucky for me, the 15 minutes of slipping and stumbling my way up was rewarded with the apex of the Ben Loman Track! If I could see father than a few feet, I’m sure the view would’ve been breathtaking

What really mattered is that I had conquered several hours of intense hiking and overcome my own doubts to reach my goal (without killing myself or getting lost). Within minutes those pansies from Germany showed up –having following my footsteps (literally) and obviously not wanting to be outdone by a scrawny American girl. We were making more formal introductions when the hippies, appearing from the mist, joined our soiree.

It turns out Phil and Lorraine (aka hippies) are Americans who moved to New Zealand nearly 20 years ago. On the hike down I listened (trying to swallow laughter at times) as they told me their life philosophies. I endured over 2 hours of bashing the war in Iraq, voicing embarrassment over George Bush (shocking- I know), informed me that western societies poison themselves daily with things like sunscreen and cleaning products, and described how using worms is the only responsible way to dispose of food. Then came tales of the neighbors. Phil and Lorrraine lucked into a house that now lies smack in the center of prime vacation real estate in Queenstown…the lush property value doesn’t diminish the number of crazies in the area.

There is the obsessive compulsive who is married to a chain-smoking alcoholic. A few doors down a manic bi-polar genius. Across the way is a multimillionaire grandma who owns 7 or so houses around the world but, for unknown reasons, chooses to live in a modest 2 bedroom that desperately needs a renovation. Lorraine’s favorite neighbor though is a paranoid schizophrenic who involves the whole neighborhood in his bizarre schemes, while Phil rather enjoys razzing the swindling accountant who married into big money and is now spending the family fortune on several $5 million dollar mansions (among other vain investments). By the time we reached town the three of us were fast friends and I’d penciled in a dinner to meet the rest of the family.

Whether hippies or squares, I seriously love the locals.

-Ashley

Fun Fact: A few nights ago during a toga party, a couple was caught on security cameras doing the ‘deed’ in the darkly lit theater room.

Rather than dealing with it quietly, the hostel printed the most provocative of the images and posted them everywhere. They then spent two days announcing (on the hour) how many YouTube hits the video had received so far.

Whenever the offending girl or guy leaves or enters a room, everyone breaks out in chants of “TOGA TOGA TOGA!”

Only in New Zealand folks…

The One On A South Island Road Trip

Alright, if you didn't have to read this screen I would be telling you to close your eyes right now so you could fully imagine how incredible what I'm about to describe really is. Maybe you could read and then close them?

So imagine a road that winds its way from picturesque rolling countryside before beginning a gentle climb up a mountainside. Sprinkle in tree's, starting with a cluster here and there and then growing until the hillside is thick with greenery and glistening with recent rains. Come around a bend in the road and suddenly the mountainside ends abruptly, flattening out into a golden yellow valley streaming with sunlight. Another two minutes of driving and the mighty mountainside of sheer rock and shrubs return, waterfalls cascading down, the water gliding thousands of feet from the snow capped peaks and into to small meandering streams. Then suddenly, in the midst of mountains and waterfalls and snow and greenery, the most breathtaking view comes upon the horizon: Milford Sound.

It seems nearly impossible for anything this incredible to get...well, more incredible. But when calm and clear blue ocean waters flood into tropical snow capped mountains, it is literally breathtaking. Without a doubt, I witnessed one of the true natural wonders of the world yesterday, and I can't wait to go back and hike it's world-renowned tracks!

After the spectacular trip to Milford Sound, I didn't expect anything else to come close to impressing me.


Little did I know what surprises were in store: whilst ambling down onto the cold beach of Waipapa Point, I almost literally stumbled upon an endangered species! Jumping from the trail onto the sand, I was admiring the rocks leading into the ocean, when one of the rocks about 8 feet away from me popped its head up! And what a massive head! The New Zealand Seal Lion was not too happy to be woken up from its nap, and when Steve (a young Canadian who still succumbs to his boyish ways) decided to get as close as possible, the giant animal bellowed, barred its teeth, and began to charge! Not wanting to see if the locals were telling the truth about the pain caused by Seal Lion bites, we ran! The big guy eventually lumbered back into the ocean and we then headed to the van to discover more of the South Island.

After a few misguided turns, and about 30,000 sheep (no, I'm not exaggerating guys!), we came upon a trail leading to McLean Falls. A short and gorgeous 20 minute hike through damp tropical forests led to several impressive falls. The first few were 6-8 foot drops but upon further exploration, a waterfall pouring from 40-50 feet above us came crashing into a shallow pool surrounded by moss-covered rocks. Ever the adventurers, Steve and myself climbed a muddy mountainside, squeezed through some huge boulders, and waded freezing waters to find ourselves on the edge of the top of the falls. A few pictures and several vertigo-inducing moments later we were back on the trail and smiling ear-to-ear about how awesome our day had been so far.

Throwing itineraries to the wind, the van (including Brits Rachel, Bec, Rich, and Jeremy, and Canadians Tara and Steve) decided "what the heck?" and drove onward to the college town of Dunedin. So a few hundred kilometers and a handful of memories later, I'm on the East Coast of the South Island and getting ready to bed-down before a big day of sight-seeing and driving back to Queenstown.

I still pinch myself every once in a while to make sure this isn't all a dream, but it's not, and I'm so thankful to have the opportunity to meet such wonderful unique people and experience some of the most incredible natural wonders this amazing country has to offer!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: New Zealand is home to the longest place name in the world- Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipikimaungahoronukupokaiwenuakitanatahua. The Maori name translates to "the place where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, who slid, climbed and swallowed mountains, known as Landeater, played his flute to his loved one."

The One On A Mountain

When you’ve had free time 24 hours a day for the past two months, waking up at 7:00 AM is not the norm. But this day was different. I was climbing mountains! Literally.

By 7:45 I was at the base of a trail that winds its way through dense forests until finally reaching the summit, and a 220-degree view so spectacular, it is one of the top attractions of the whole of New Zealand. I craned my neck upwards to take in just how impressive the 1,500 feet of mountain I was about to climb really was. After a few deep breaths of cold air, I headed up the first of many steep ravines to come.

About halfway up, just as the trail (FINALLY) leveled out, I came upon an opening in the giant wall of rock I had been walking along. Not sure if it was just an indentation in the rocks or an awesome cave, I decided to check it out. Half crawling half sliding, I got about a third of my body into the hole (which opened up quiet a bit a few feet in) when I heard a sound all-too familiar. My brand new camera had slipped out of a small side pocket in my backpack and was crashing and smashing its way into a black hole of jagged rocks. As if to tell me, “Hey I’m down here!” the camera let off one last flash then settled into darkness.

Now, because I know my mom reads this, I cannot type specifically what came out of my mouth upon realizing two things: one, I was an idiot for not zipping my backpack pocket fully shut and two, I now had to figure out a way to crawl down into the pitch-black (without a flashlight) and feel around for my camera. Reminding myself that there are no poisonous snakes, spiders, or predatory animals in New Zealand did not calm the intense fear that overcame me, caused by the thought of descending all alone into a pitch-black cave…but I overcame and triumphed! (((Fade-in superhero music here)))

After clamoring around for a few minutes I was back in full-daylight inspecting the damage. Entire portions of my camera’s lens were gone, and even the playback feature refused to work, I was depressed, to say the least, that I would have no way of recording the rest of my incredible climb and that now I have to figure out how to get my camera fixed while a few thousand miles away from home.

I spent the next two hours climbing up to the summit (the views were everything they were chalked up to be and more) and then ambled my way back down to civilization. The trail back followed a rusty and moss covered old pipeline that used to bring water into Queenstown. It meanders along a crystal clear stream of water, passing waterfalls and fern groves before ending a half-mile from the center of town. I was in awe by how picturesque the hike was, and am now more excited than ever to explore the rest of New Zealand’s many hiking trails. Despite the cave eating my camera, and my legs feeling like I just finished playing in a two-day rugby tournament, I loved every minute of carefree exploration!

-Ashley

Fun fact: When traveling, it is common to hear a multitude of languages and accents. Upon discussing this with friends (from all over the world) we all came to the consensus that German is in fact, the ugliest sounding language and accent of them all, with Irish being the hardest to understand (I wonder if they are even speaking English most of the time), and Italian and French being amongst the sexiest. 

The One In A Van Down By The River

Alright, technically the "river" I'm cozied up next to is a small stream and the "van" i'm living in came off the assembly line two months premature- causing it to be slightly smaller and less fantastic than the minivans of my childhood. Needless to say, I cannot change the fact that my accommodations scarily resemble those described by Chris Farley in his Saturday Night Live skit of the late 90's.

On a good note, I wake up every morning facing an immaculate rugby pitch and am surrounded by some of the most breathtaking mountains i've ever seen. A five minute walk leads to the edge of Lake Wakatipu, with crystal clear glacier waters and numerous world-renowned adventure water activities. My life is packed into a backpack, duffle bag, and large box containing food...I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Now officially on my traveler's budget (I spent 1/3 of my year's budget already on my miniaturized minivan and some other travel necessities) I've begun to find myself doing things in the name of saving money that I otherwise wouldn't dare. For example: After slaving over the stove, I produced a wonderful grilled-cheese and salami sandwich...my fourth of the day. On my way out of the kitchen I noticed someone had left a jar of pasta sauce on the "free food" shelf. Like a kid after a piñata breaks, I rushed toward the treat and poured the contents on my sandwich. At this point I began making my way to my van/home while still munching down my new creation. When stepping off the curb, a perfectly good slice of salami slid out of the sandwich and rolled (much like a quarter) down a driveway and under a car. I looked quickly around me to make sure no one was watching, retrieved the salami, blew on it twice (for good measure), inspected it for dirt (it was pitch-black so I don't know why i bothered) then popped it into my mouth. 

I know what you're thinking (GROSS!!!) but after a few years of seeing children eating food off the ground (and dating a certain someone who's name we will not mention but whom has appalling eating habits), this practice doesn't seem as dangerous or dirty as the average person would think. 

I have also learned that, instead of brewing a second cup of tea for a caffeine boost, I just add three or four extra spoonfuls of sugar to my first cup and get the same effect. Also, expiration dates are just a number, its the smell that counts. Adding rice to any meal doubles the amount of food intake without costing much more, and walking is a wonderful mode of transportation. 

Until next time...

-Ashley

Fun Fact: The film Willow, my favorite movie of ALL TIME, was mainly filmed in two locations- Northern California and QUEENSTOWN NZ!! (no wonder I liked it so much!)

The One Where I Lead a Rebellion

Cleaning rooms and toilets isn’t all that bad...really. I can handle the entire bag of potatoes chips the group of KISS impersonators threw all over the floor, the remains of someone’s KFC that didn’t quite stay down after a long night of drinking, and can even stomach picking up the newspaper that a rugby player decided to use for a toilet (thanks to 9 years of changing diapers).

BUT… working for inept and grouchy managers who hate their jobs and decide to take it out on their cleaners is a major problem for me.

My work life the past few weeks has begun to resemble one of those dreaded math problems I struggled to solve in basic algebra my freshman year of high school. It goes something like this:

Ashley lives in New Zealand and works in exchange for accommodation. Minimum wage in New Zealand is $12.50 an hour. If Ashley works for 3.5 hours a day and accommodation is $22 a night, how many extra unnecessary hours is Ashley being forced to work?

Now I’m not a math genius, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been working almost double the equivalent of the cost of my accommodation. This may shock some of you, but I actually figured that math out on the first day I was here. I stayed because the location was nice, I really enjoyed my co-workers, and the free perks were enough to make it worthwhile. So why, might you be asking, have I been leading rebellions?

It began yesterday when, several staff members short, I led a team in cleaning almost double the amount of beds we had usually had. By noon it was clear the job was not going to get done on time. I stayed on cleaning for another two and a half hours because I sincerely wanted to help Corolla (the head cleaner on duty who is AWESOME) get done on time so she could go home to her kids. Thinking the management would appreciate the fact that I had saved them nearly $100 in having to pay Corolla overtime, I figured that asking for compensation for my crew’s 5-hour workday was not too much to ask. Boy was I mistaken…

In a professional and undemanding tone, I asked our cleaning and general manager if we could negotiate some sort of repayment. Immediately my manager scoffed at my suggestion that we had a high number of checkouts, pulled up the numbers on the computer (suggesting to me that I was a dimwit unable to comprehend the complex nature of checkouts), then offensively told me my claims were “bullshit” and I should have been able to easily finish the 150 checkouts on time.

Being slightly peeved but trying to keep my composer, I told her that I wasn’t a slacker or an idiot and that my crew had honestly been trying to finish as quickly as possible. I then reminded her that young travelers typically would rather spend their days exploring rather than cleaning toilets for 5 hours and, didn’t it make sense that maybe it really would’ve taken that long to finish if the rooms were unusually messy and we were understaffed?

She then had the ridiculous notion to suggest that my hour and a half of overtime was just making up for the days I got off early. So I said to her, “You mean the two days I worked for three hours instead of three and a half? Isn’t that still the equivalent of being paid 37 dollars in minimum wage? How much does it cost to stay here again? I forgot?”

She did not like me having the college-educated brains to outsmart her corrupt slave driving ways. After an angry and agitated retort to my question I smiled nicely, realizing this was a lost cause, said “thank you”, and walked upstairs. Entering into the staff quarters I turned on the light and said, “Boys, wake-up…we need to talk.”

It took me all of 45 seconds to have them enthusiastically agreeing to leave. So now together, the Band of Brothers (for some reason they’ve begun calling me LaBron so I guess that makes me one of the boys) are headed to Queenstown for bigger and better things. This whole cleaning ordeal has been extremely humbling for me. After years of working for wonderful employers I’ve now had the unpleasant experience of being mistreated, overworked, underpaid and having no legal rights to do anything about it (I am an immigrant here after all)! I appreciate more than ever my good fortune of awesome jobs in the past, am proud that I refused to tolerate criminal work conditions, and am impressed that I dealt with the situation so calmly and professionally. Despite the setback I STILL LOVE BEING IN NEW ZEALAND!

Lets just hope that my next job endeavor is a better reflection of New Zealand’s employers and work conditions!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Some interesting signs/names i've seen around-

"Pills for Thrills" (Store name)

"Anyone becoming intoxicated will be removed from the premises" (sign at a BAR)

"We serve tap water, and its FREE" (also at a bar)

"Cycles and Mowers" (a bicycle shop that doubles as a lawnmower retailer...odd combo)

"Shag Point" (a place name)

The One About My Mates

One could say that its not necessarily the places you visit that make or break a vacation, but often its the people you meet while traveling that make the trip worthwhile. I´ve met some pretty interesting people in the last few months. Some came and went already, a few have stuck around, and a small number will stay with me forever. Allow me to introduce them...


Paul, my teddy bear of a roommate, is a handsome Irishman in his late twenties. Three years ago, a recently divorced Paul decided to take a six-week vacation to New Zealand. He has never left. In his still thick Irish accent (he says fill-um instead of film), Paul will tell you anything and everything you want to know about Christchurch, or New Zealand for that matter. To my surprise, i found out that Paul has spent the past 18 months living in the staff dorms of Base Backpackers. He is one of the managers of Saints and Sinners (located directly beneath our room), a pub hailed as one of the best in Christchurch and often the favorite place Dan Carter (All Blacks superstar) likes to go to for a pint.

Pablo and Diego are lifelong best friends that hail from Argentina and Uruguay respectively. Pablo´s scrawny legs and near bald head are a deceptive indicators of his huge heart and wonderfully giving personality. Diego, the more Rico Suave-desk of the two, is a self-proclaimed gambling and cigarette addict who spends nearly all of his free time religiously watching the sporting events he has spent his life savings betting on. He is also a savvy smart alec and one of the most caring friends i´ve ever met.

Sophia is a reserved Frenchwoman who´s quiet but intelligent demeanor makes her the perfect mate to hang out with during any occasion. Sophia helped me get my bearings when I arrived in Christchurch (a huge blessing!) before leaving me for a month while having her own grand adventures. Not to worry, she comes back Friday and I fully intend on recruiting her for one of my own roadtrips.

Natalie and Jenny both graduated from University in England and have set out to save the world, one building at a time. Both aspiring architects, they recently finished a greenhouse project in South America for a school of impoverished kids. After their current short trip in Australia they will be flying to Thailand to make playgrounds out of recycled materials in some of the poorest neighborhoods in the world. Not only are they inspiring, but both Natalie and Jenny are natural comedians. Between the two of them they can impersonate accents from dozens of areas around England and the world (their Texas cowboy impersonation was spot-on)! After spending only a short two weeks with them I have no doubt they will be lifelong friends!

Nikki failed to mention she has a fun little medical condition called epilepsy when she joined our cleaning crew. It wasn´t until she had a series of seizures that lasted through the night that we found out that little tidbit of info about her. Aside from a terrifying trip to the ER, Nikki has kept things interesting in many other ways. Nikki hails from a little place I like to call Holland. She is nearly 6ft tall but says she is short compared to most Dutch women. Always game for a joke, Nikki dishes out plenty of jabs toward Pablo, Diego, and myself but we always get her back and come out on top. I mean, she´s dutch...what more do we need to tease her about?

Amanda is probably the eldest of my group of mates but you wouldn´t know it from looking at her or hearing about her life. Born in Italy to the head of a well known mafia family, Amanda has spent the past 18 years living my dream life in New Zealand. From working at a white-water rafting company to bartending at a ski resort in Queenstown Amanda has nearly done it all.

Riki and Andre are two brothers who have the most incredible smiles and impeccable taste in fashion. Native Kiwi´s (both are full-blooded Maori and can speak the language fluently) they are two of the most delightful young men i´ve met on my travels. Riki will soon be on his way to San Fransisco on a prestigious dancing scholarship while Andre can only boast being on New Zealand´s National Netball Team (a sport only surpassed by ruby and cricket in popularity). Ever the helpful locals, both have agreed to put together a team for Christchurch´s inaugural American sloshball game!

Tasman is by far the most fun local i´ve met so far. A Pacific Islander native to Hawaii, Tasman has lived in New Zealand for quite sometime. She is very close with Riki and Andre and they all consider each other family. Tasman also has a huge extended family, all of whom play or coach rugby; which is hysterical because Tasman is the most ultra-feminine-i-hate-anything-athletic-besides-dancing girl i´ve ever been friends with. Tasman and I spend a few nights a week harassing Paul while he works at the bar in between discussions about the romantic lives of our co-workers.


Margie, a 50-something year old Canadian who grew up in New Zealand, should be named the Patron Saint of Hospitality. A random encounter at a sports club led to Margi lending me a bike worth almost as much as the car I just bought, taking me on a wonderful hiking trip, and making me an incredible dinner with her entire extended family before she headed to Australia to compete in the World Triathlon Championships. Of course, due to the fact that I only surround myself with the best of athletes, Margie ran away with the Gold Medal and is now officially a World Champion Triathlete!


There are dozens of others worth mentioning but I do not have the time or patience to write about them all! Needless to say, the world is full of some incredible and wonderful people! I strongly suggest that if you haven´t already, buy a plane ticket and go meet some of them!

Roadtrips begin next week! Stay tuned for the details!


-Ashley

FUN FACT: Policemen in New Zealand do not carry firearms between the hours 6AM and 6PM. Their vehicles also resemble checker boards with intimidating patterns of blue and orange.

The One Where I Clean Things

$20-$30 dollars a night for a bed adds up pretty quick. So when given the opportunity to work in exchange for free accommodation, I grabbed some cleaning gloves and threw myself into my newest working adventure...

"Natalie, tell Jenni to wake up."
"No. I want to sleep."
"Augh. Jenni, its time to wake up."
"I don't want to make beds!"

I literally roll out of bed and throw on the same clothes I've been wearing every morning for the past week. Knowing the girls will eventually rouse themselves, I check my reflection in the mirror, adjust my ponytail, and swing the door open. As I head downstairs to the bar that doubles as a breakfast buffet in the morning, I notice the hallways are eerily similar to the dorms I once called home Freshman year of college. The smell of bacon and the sound of The Beatles direct me to breakfast.

Francesca, always bright and cheery despite only 2-4 hours of sleep, begins making me a sandwich of bacon, toast, and barbecue sauce as I make myself the first of three cups of tea. I haven't brought myself to try the New Zealand's version of peanut butter- a salty thick brown sludge called marmite, on my toast. The boss ladies (as they are called) meander in and I zone out for a few minutes watching the silent TV as music blasts from the bar speakers. Natalie and Jenni finally troop in and we are sent to work.

Depending on who you are partnered with (and how well they speak English), making beds can be very entertaining. One girl spent half an hour hilariously describing how her mother has been debating face-lifts and has gone as far as to stretch her skin back with rubber bands slung around her face to see how she would look with tighter skin - the secret was out when a neighbor stopped by unexpectedly and the mom hasn't lived it down since. When entering empty rooms, a feeling that can only be described as Christmas (but not as exciting) comes over me. Every once and a while we score goodies like shampoo and unopened toothpaste from careless travellers and, on a good day, we get to keep things like straighteners and clothes. If the Gods are really happy with our work, they leave unused beverages and food strewn about the cupboards and fridge.

Once the rooms are finished (anywhere from 80-150 beds) we head to the bathrooms. Bathroom cleaning, despite my initial reaction, is really not all that bad. Everything is stainless steel so I twist the spray nozzle to full power and have fun spraying the whole room down from as far away as 10-12 feet. I've even nailed a toilet bowl from over the top of a stall. Little "surprises" are left for us to flush, and we often debate on exactly what created the fun shapes left in the toilet bowls.

The grand finale of our cleaning spree includes 4 flights of stairs, heavy bags of sheets, and enough fun to make the past 3 hours worthwhile . My roommates and I have created a game called "people bowling" in which one of us stands at the bottom of the stairwell and the others heave the bags as fast as they can down the flight of stairs in hopes of catching the recipient off-guard. You would be amazed by the ramming speed of 12 sets of sheets and a few wet towels balled into a sturdy bag. The laundry gets packed away, and alas, we are finished!

The crew, having paid for a night's accommodation, heads off for showers, food, and a full afternoon of playing around the streets and parks of Christchurch.

The One About Christchurch

"Do I buy the canned tuna in water or the one in olive oil, or how about spicy Thai chili tuna, lemon pepper tuna, sun dried tomato tuna, tomato and onion tuna, dill and lemon tuna, or just forget the whole idea of a simple tuna fish sandwich and buy more cheese?"

I bought the cheese.

Shopping here is an adventure in itself. There are about 7,000 brands that I don't recognize, multiple varieties of food that scare me (Vegemite anyone?), and the vast majority of the supermarket is beyond my price range ($6.50 for a small bundle of celery!). But don't worry mom, I'm still getting my veggies and protein despite the heartbreak it causes me to spend my adventure money on broccoli.

I've been in Christchurch for well over a week now and I must say, the city is growing on me. There is a middle aged man, with what I can only assume is tourette's syndrom, who stands on a bench and plays a recorder while singing Irish folk songs...often in Spanish. If you stand anywhere long enough, and I mean anywhere, you are bound to overhear a heated discussion about the All Blacks. There are beautiful buildings made of centuries-old brick and stone, mostly churches, every block or so. I made the mistake of ordering a "hot dog" and ended up, to my dismay, with a deep-fried Kiwi attempt at a corn-dog. But best of all, the people here are awesome...and they sound cool too.

I was swimming laps at a local gym getting my rear kicked by a 50+ aged woman. We got out of the pool at the same time and, feeling outspoken and slightly jealous, I commented (in a non-creepy way) that her perfectly toned muscles were impressive. Turns out she's a Canadian-Kiwi who grew up around here and is in town on her way to a competition for the National Canadian Triathlon Team. Not only is she one of the top triathletes in the world, she is also a great guide.

Margie, after knowing me for about three minutes, offered to show me around Christchurch during her free time. Did I mention Margie is also a doctor? So the doctor-triathlete and I headed into the hills and wound up on a blustery hike to see some of the most amazing views of Christchurch and its surrounding suburbs. Sheep toddled around us as we tried not to get blown over by the wind gusts. Our trek ended at the ocean where Margie and I had coffee and watched waves fight the wind in their race for shore. What an amazing day!

Upon returning to town, I decided to make an extra effort to be as frugal as possible in an attempt to travel as much as my bank account will allow. So 8 days into my dream vacation, I got a job. From 9-12ish I make beds and attempt to learn Spanish from Carla, my cleaning partner. For being the worlds best bed maker I get free accommodation, as well as all the goodies people leave behind - and you wouldn't believe the stuff people leave! Cell phones, perfectly good food, jackets, shoes, the list is endless! So I'm not quite living the trip of my dreams yet, but give it a few weeks and some warmer weather and I'll be jumping out of planes and going head-first down white water rapids before you know it!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: No part of New Zealand is more than 70 miles from the ocean.

The One on a French Keyboard

Internet is expensive here so when my dorm mate and dear new friend Sophia offered her computer for me to use, I decided to overcome the French keyboard and update my blog.

I've been in Christchurch almost a week and sadly, do not have a whole lot to report. I got very sick in Aussie-land and, upon arriving in New Zealand, went almost directly to the ER. Several days and many, many hours of sleep later, i finally felt up to going outdoors for more than an hour or two.

I headed to the park yesterday in hopes of catching a game (Saturday is a rugby day here too) and was delighted at stumbling across a game of hard hitting, big play making, incredibly intense rugby - did I mention the players were all about six or seven-years-old? I looked on as the sole little girl playing against all boys grabbed an opposing team members jersey and socked him in the face for kicking her...i decided right then and there that i will, without a doubt, be raising my future children in New Zealand!

I've started to mingle amongst the hostels here and have made a few friends. The other night at dinner i was amazed to have practically the whole world at my table... Sophia from France, Nicole from Germany, Paul from Ireland, Mia from Australia, Francesca from Chile, and little 'ol me from California. So far i havn't made any solid traveling plans, but i tentitivly may be road-tripping with a 4'8 hairdresser from Australia who doesn't care for sports and dislikes the outdoors... we'll see how that goes!

The One That's Awesome!

(Sunday 5PM)
Okay, don't panic! I thought to myself as the road I had been walking along for over an hour suddenly turned into gravel. I literally was out in the middle of no-mans-land, by myself, and it was getting dark...this was not the right way to town.

(Friday)
When Natasha enthusiastically told me "you have to do Spit to Manly" my reaction was she wants me to spit on who? I later figured out that what Tash had meant was that the Spit Bridge to Manly Harbour bush walk was amongst the best in New South Wales. I gladly took her suggestion. About an hour and a half into the hike my cheeks started hurting from smiling so much. It was as if i couldn't stop. Every corner brought about even more spectacular views of the pristine white sand converging with clear blue ocean waters. I wasn't even annoyed when a party boat blasting very bad techno music decided to anchor in on one of the harbors i had stopped at to admire.

I got so caught up in my walk that i was almost two hours late meeting up with some fellows at the Gordon Social Club. Andi (rugger extraordinaire) had made a few phone calls for me, and all of the sudden, i feel like I'm VIP at this posh rugby club. Did i mention rugby teams here are big business? They had a dress code and a receptionist at their two story clubhouse for God's-sake! So like any proper rugby player, I proceed to get pissed with the rugby boys (and by boys I mean the men aged 25-75 that were ordering me drink after drink. I was savvy enough to figure out their evening objective was to get me hammered, so I played my cards accordingly). I won't go too far into the details, but lets just say it was fun enough to sustain a two-day hangover.

(Saturday)
Around 6 o'clock I finally managed to choke down a meat pie. It was, well, meaty. The delicious indigenous Australian dish was almost as good a hangover cure as an Aca Taco burrito...almost. By the time i checked into my hostel - which smelled of fresh up-chuck and dirty laundry, it was time for me to immediately head out to the WALLABIES VS ALL BLACKS RUBY MATCH!!! I had no idea how to get to the Olympic Stadium, where the match was being held, and so followed the throngs of mildly to highly intoxicated folks sporting yellow and black rugby jerseys. Once on the train, i spent a half hour being entertained by a dozen or so Kiwis (some of whom had flown in from New Zealand just for the game) singing rugby ballads and rock songs I'd never hear of; I enjoyed this immensely.

The sound of 80,000 people singing, in perfect unison, Australia's national anthem would have been eerie had it not been so incredibly moving. What was even more amazing was the deafening roar in the stadium as both the All Blacks and Wallabies took to the pitch. The spine-tingling sound and intense feeling will never be properly captured on television. The game was brilliant. I got a slightly humorous personal commentary as announced by the 8-year-old sitting behind me that knew every possible thing you could know about both teams and the game of rugby. The match, a 19-18 thriller, ended in the Wallabies falling just short of scoring a winning try in the last seconds of the game. The All Blacks, of course, came out victorious. It was a sporting event that i will never forget. The athleticism displayed by both teams, the intense rivalry, how sexy Dan Carter and Matt Giteau are, and the sheer magnitude of an Olympic stadium filled to near-maximum capacity with die-hard fans was just incredible.

(Sunday)
After a three hour bus and train ride, I finally arrived in Katoobma around midday. A short 20-minute walk brought me to the entrance of Blue Mountains National Park and a spectacular view of the World Heritage listed Three Sisters Rocks. I enjoyed a beautiful 180 degree view of the immense park (which actually looks blue) before heading out on the hiking trails. What began as pleasant boardwalks eventually tuned into more strenuous trails followed by hundreds upon hundreds of stairs headed straight down a steep ravine. I eventually stumbled into a quaint mining area that had been revamped as a major tourist site (complete with the worlds steepest train to get the less enthusiastic outdoorsmen down there). I passed through the area on my way to more challenging trails and zoomed by a funny sign involving a stick figure falling off a cliff. Little did i know i was about to tackle trails that made even the hardest hikes of Upper Bidwell Park seem like a piece of cake. There were points where i was making my way through cliffs of sheer rocks hoping that i was still actually on the trail.

(Sunday 4PM)
Too exhausted to actually hike back, i grudgingly forked out the money to take the worlds steepest train back to civilization. It was the scariest 5-minute ride of my life! No safety measures were provided other than a measly rail to hold onto as you speed up the mountain almost vertically (praying that you don't slip and fall out). Not ready to get on anything else that moved, I decided to take the short walk back into town. Apparently I mixed up the directions and ended up meandering down Cliff Drive rather than Cliff Street (which led into town). But really, who (besides Chico) would put two roads with almost the same name in a tourist area?! By the time it was getting dark (two hours later) i made it to a paved road and picked the direction that all the cars were coming from and prayed that it led to town. Bingo.

I will officially be sorer than i've been in months in perfect time to sit on a plane and do nothing on my way to New Zealand. I only hope everything continues to be so adventurous!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: MacDonald's is the it place to be around here. Only its not called McDonald's or Mickey D's even...its referred to as Maw-kays.

The One About Me and Rich People.

I passed Emily and Liam's house four times before I realized their building was not, in fact, a luxury hotel. I buzzed myself in and met a young gentlemen sitting behind a giant marble front desk who directed me to the proper elevator for my floor. Getting to the apartment, I was expecting things to taper off (they were two college kids, how nice could their place really be?). When Liam opened the door I was shocked, to say the least, by the grandiose view of the park from the balcony, leather furniture, top-of-the-line electronics, and a master bedroom/bath...just for me. I must say, this couch surfing thing is awesome!

I've enjoyed myself the past three days just wandering leisurely around the city. Emily took me on a wonderful walk along the harbor where she pointed out Russell Crow's house, Nichole Kidman's house, and several other gorgeous 10 million dollar+ estates. We witnessed (and took part in) the catching of an octopus, strolled through several adorable residential parks, and furthered my education about coffee and tea here in New South Wales. Both Liam and Emily have great taste in music and movies, so I spent several quiet evenings basically recovering from Japan and enjoying my short-term flatmates.

The harbors here are beautiful. They don't quite have the beaches beat, but the parks surrounding the harbors are as good as, if not better than, any i've been to (I still love you Bidwell Park!). There is this indescribable calm that occurs when you step into the Royal Botanical Gardens. The acres of perfectly tended rolling grass, plants, and ponds -all looking out on the ocean and the Sydney Opera House, paint a good enough picture to sit an view for hours. While at the parks i've noticed how active Aussie's here are. I even asked my newest couch surfing host, who is a good bit older than me, how active she was and then listened as she listed off a different activity for almost every day of the week!

And people don't just throw any old thing on to work-out. There is an unspoken rule of thumb that your running top must fit the shorts/pants you are wearing in brand (and color) and the shoes must match the color of the outfit. I was intrigued by this and stepped into a sports store (okay, I searched relentlessly for over an hour to find a store ) to check out this must-have gear. I found a wall of running shoes and had to ask the guy who worked there if the prices were written correctly. This due to the pair of Aisics, that had only cost me $50.00, which were priced at $249.00!!! For the exact same pair of shoes!!! On the upside, rugby gear here takes up half the store. You can find shorts and boots in every color imaginable. Not to mention the selection of jersey's from every pro, semi-pro, local, regional, and national rugby union and league team.

I almost forgot, the whole reason why I titled my post about rich folks. Last night I met up with Deb, my new couch surfing host, and she took me to meet up with friends for drinks. Being the budget-conscious traveler that I am, i figured i'de socialize and sip on water. When the sixth bottle of wine was brought over, along with another round of beer, I quietly asked Deb what everyone with us did for a living. Random House, the French National Bank, professional cyclist...these were just a few of the jobs thrown out there. I must say, for a bunch of bloody rich people, they were all tremendously friendly and funny.

I leave you with a conversation I overheard while in line for the loo between a British woman and her daughter...

(use a British accent when reading)
"Oooh look Mum! They have disposable toilet covers!"
"Disposable what?"
"Look above you mum."
"Well, by god, they do...how do you suppose I get it on me seat?"
"There's directions mum."
"I do suppose there are... (Pause for several seconds) mines not working deary."
"Unfold it mum."
"There we are!"
....
"Its not disposing itself love. Bloody hell...I don't know why we need to cover our bum with this contraption."
"Give it a shove mum"
"They want me to keep me bum clean but then expect me to stick me bloody hand down the toilet!?"
"Use your foot."
"Ahhh! Thanks love!"

-Ashley

The One With Natasha and Liesl...

I had been in Australia for roughly 35 minutes when I began crying uncontrollably.

Let me explain.

My jumbo-jet experience from Tokyo to Sydney was not quiet as wonderful as the first leg of my trip. I was being kicked constantly by the little bugger sitting behind me, and for some reason, I got incredibly nauseous about halfway through the flight. I then spent the remainder of the flight sleeplessly debating whether or not to wake the two young men next to me so I could go upchuck in those tiny little airplane bathrooms. I burped a lot and got over it.

On the upside, I experienced the most extraordinary sunrise i've ever seen in my life. While flying 30,000 feet in the air, I watched the sky turn from a starry blue with a low sliver of red brushing the horizon into the most gorgeous array of reds, oranges, yellows, blues and violets. The stars were just beginning to fade into daylight when we descended into Sydney. The whole experience was breathtaking.

Once I arrived at the airport I breezed through customs and purchased a ticket to take a $15 shuttle into the center of the city. I got switched from one shuttle van to another several times before finally settling into a seat. Once everyone was situated, the driver demanded that I give him my ticket, despite the fact that I had already given my ticket to the initial shuttle I was supposed to take. A string of curses flew from his mouth as I tried to explain the situation to him. He then thrust his iPhone at me where I got belittled by the original driver who called me a "feckin' liar" and then hung up. On the verge of tears I was rudely escorted out of the van while watching my baggage being thrown onto the sidewalk.

I held it together for a good 5 minutes until I returned to the ticket window to explain how my ticket had been misplaced and began bawling at the poor ticket woman. I was exhausted, hungry, still nauseous, embarrassed, and hugely disappointed with my first experience in Australia. Luckily she was understanding and remembered me so I got on another shuttle without incident. After almost two hours of trying to find the persons house Im staying at, I finally gave up and began looking for coffee (I now know that addresses are backwards here with the apartment number first followed by the street number). Little did I know I would be stumbling across two of the coolest people on earth!

Natasha was sitting quietly reading, minding her own business, when I asked how the whole getting coffee thing works here (they have the strangest words for things such as coffee). Within minutes we were chatting away like old friends and she generously offered to take me with her on a walk around the beaches. I'm quickly learning to love spur of the moment decisions so I graciously agreed to go. Thats when Liesl (yes, like the girl from The Sound of Music) showed up. She was just as incredibly awesome as Natasha.

The three of us spent over an hour hiking around the bluest beaches I've ever seen. I saw pods of dolphins, a homeless man's shanty on a cliff overlooking the water (that he's been living in for 10 years! Talk about prime real estate!), and some of the most incredible rock formations that had been carved out from the ocean! We hiked for over an hour before heading to meet up with more Australians for lunch. I ate kangaroo (i'm serious), which tasted a bit like venison, and enjoyed a pleasant afternoon learning more about Australia. The whole day (minus the shuttle fiasco) couldn't have been more perfect!

I've now arrived at my couch surfing buddy Emily's penthouse, er, i mean, apartment and am headed to bed early to catch up on some sleep!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Rugby is everywhere here. Instead of throwing baseballs and frisbees, the kids (and super hot muscular young men) throw rugby balls around while at the beach!

The One With a Lot of Different Things

Everyone is going to have to please bare with me on the novella im about to write. A lot has happened in the last few days (and I arrived at the airport 5 hours early) so here comes a mega-update!

Last night I found myself dancing enthusiastically on a bench while screaming the lyrics to that awful, overplayed, "I Like Big Butts" song at 2 in the morning with six of my new SCOA camp friends...this was by far the culminating moment to a hectic but incredible three days in Tokyo! We finally arrived in Tokyo after a long and draining day of bus and train rides from camp. Our camp director was nice enough to provide us with ungodly amounts of alcohol before we headed to the most delicious 9 course dinner i've ever eaten. Our friend Nagi (a very friendly and helpful Japanese cheerleader from camp) knew some people, as she does almost every place we went to, and got us a great deal on a really fun and low-key night out.

Day two consisted of visiting a really beautiful sacred shrine and Tokyo Tower. The shrine was surrounded by a blocks upon blocks of small stores and restaurants (you cannot escape either of these anywhere in Tokyo). After wading through the crowds, I made it inside the shrine and took a few moments to observe people praying and wafting incense all over themselves sort-of like a shower of smoke instead of water. I resisted the urge to buy everything in sight (shocking, i know) and instead took a stroll through a quaint park alongside a large river that runs through the middle of the city. That night Nagi (the best tour guide ever) met up with us at Tokyo Tower and pulled some sort of string to get us VIP status at a wonderfully delightful Irish pub. We became fast friends with the owner, an Irish man named Neill, after he put on Michael Jackson and poured all 10 of us any drink we asked for, free of charge.

A drink or two (or three or four) into things I started talking to a Brit and his girlfriend, who was refusing a perfectly good shot of tequila. She begged me to take the shot for her and I obliged; but not before getting the insane idea to show the unknowing couple what a tequila suicide was. I poured an enormous amount of salt on my hand, snorted it, took the shot, then squeezed the lime not into my mouth, but into my eye. It was brilliantly awesome. For a minute there I thought I was blind, and my left nostril has been burning for two days...the incident further convinced me that snorting anything (of any kind) is has been, and always will be, a horrible idea!

The next day (burning nose and all) I headed to the emperors palace for a tour of its world-famous gardens. Unfortunately for our group, the gardens are closed on Fridays and seeing as we all had lost track of what day it was about two weeks ago, we arrived the very day it was closed. Not to worry, Nagi directed us to a shopping district called Shibuya with promises of seeing the biggest pedestrian street crossing in the world. She wasn't kidding. I can't describe adequately enough the hordes of hundreds of people scurrying from one side of the 6 way intersection to the other. When I get the chance to upload the pictures and video you'll get to see for yourselves. I wont go ito the details of Shibuya for the sake of your eyes, but just imagine a fashion show crammed into thousands of stores that are full of thousands of people that are 8 and 9 stories high...I was overwhelmed to say the least!

That brings us full circle to karaoke last night. We were all dead-tired but were told karaoke is the IT thing to do in Tokyo so at 1 AM we dragged ourselves out and gave it a try. I was appalled that it cost $80 for our room, but shortly after our group's rendition of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" I changed my mind. I'm boarding my flight soon but promised Fitz to tell you all about how things are different here in Japan. So here goes...

* Trashcans are impossible to find. Despite this, everything here is kept spotlessly clean.
* Homeless people are hard to find too. They are very hygienic and therefore blend in well...
* Every few blocks there is a square marked on the ground or a small glass enclosing- these are designated smoking areas. Despite this courtesy, people still smoke inside buildings...
* While on an escalator, you stand on the left in a straight line so others can walk or run by on the right. This is strictly enforced.
* Bikes are EVERYWHERE. Many of them are not locked because theft (and crime in general) is not common here.
* Five people were murdered...in the entire country...in the last 12 months!
* 98% of the women i've seen are wearing at least 1-inch heels.
* I feel under dressed all the time. Fashion is a lifestyle here.
* Women rarely pay for drinks and its incredibly safe to walk alone almost anywhere.
* Do NOT talk to others while using the toilet. This is taboo and one of my 12-year-old campers scolded me and my friend for talking across the bathroom at one another.
* Talking (anything above a strong whisper) is not socially acceptable in public places. Especially the trains and in restaurants.
* Typically you dont get napkins with meals. The Japanese are very tidy eaters and like to slurp.
* Lifting a bowl/plate to your face and shoveling food into your mouth occurs regularly.
* You can buy alcohol out of vending machines (along with everything else).
* Coins are used A LOT here. I wish I had brought a coin-purse.
* When you pay for things you place your money on a tray and the cashier gives you your change back on a tray so that the money doesn't touch their hands.
* Cars drive on the opposite side of the road.
* There are machines that lift cars up in parking lots so that other cars can fit underneath.
* Technology here is light years ahead of the US. Especially cell-phones.
* I never did find a nail salon.
* Eggs and bacon are undercooked on purpose (which should be a crime).

Gotta catch my flight! Cheers!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Read above.