The One with the Bus Trip Blues

I expected my exit from New Zealand to be at least a little dramatic. Tears? Yes. Forgetting important things? Check. Feeling suddenly unprepared for what lies in my immediate future? Uh-huh. What I didn’t plan for was the bus ride to Christchurch.

I was a bit suspicious when the first thing out of the bus driver’s mouth was ‘I’ve never driven this puppy before, so we’ll see how she goes!’ Boy were those ill-fated words.

Despite the bus being 30 minutes early, we left 5 minutes late due to a young 20-something’s inability to pry her face from a blonde-haired trendy looking guy who undoubtedly was a checkbox on her ‘things to do abroad’ list. Watching the long exchange of tears and saliva jump-started the inevitable queasiness that accompanies me on long windy roads. Once Romeo and Juliet had finally parted, the bus lurched and shook into gear as it pulled away from the adventurous ski town that had become my second home.

Promptly feeling overtly sick, I moved from the middle of the bus to the very front. This move did not make the frozen bus feel any warmer, but did help a smidgen with the motion sickness. Feeling tired and very sad to be leaving so many good mates and incredible people, I was not in the mood to listen as the guy behind me began singing aloud (in German?) to rap music spilling raucously from his headphones. His yammering was accompanied by a very elderly lady who continuously hacked and coughed her lungs halfway up her throat. To be fair I felt bad for the old grandma, but the Eminem wannabe? I could’ve strangled him!

By the time we arrived at our second stop in Wanaka the driver looked thoroughly stressed-out by the uncooperative gears. Half asleep, I was suddenly woken-up by the horrible stench of body odor and cigarettes. Peeking one eye open, I found the culprit sitting directly in front of me. He was oblivious to the fact that his odor could be bottled and used in germ warfare, but then again, aren’t the smelly ones always unaware that they are poisoning a 10 foot radius around themselves? The only thing that made sitting near him bearable was being able to inwardly laugh as Grandma decided to strike up a conversation with the obviously non-English speaking stinker. His inability to respond with anything but “yes” and looking bewildered and confused didn’t slow Grandma’s motor mouth down one bit! Smiling, I nibbled on my Maramite and mayo sandwich and enjoyed the show.

It was about twenty minutes post-sandwich when I realized we were moving exceptionally slow. The driver seemed to be frantically pushing and pulling at the gear shifter before giving up and pulling over. A frustrated sigh and short phone-call later and we were given the news: the clutch was out and we would have to wait for a replacement bus. Not in a rush to be anywhere, I quietly opened a book to pass the time. Mr. Gingerbeard from Australia and Supertourist Man from England had different ideas. The two responded with a string of curse words uncleverly directed toward the driver, the bus company, and New Zealand in general. They then heatedly (and loudly) debated on how unbearably long it would take for the new bus to arrive. After it was settled that it would be NO LESS THAN 3 BLEEPIN’ HOURS (!!!), Gingerbeard heavily paced the isle, slamming things in the overhead bin and muttering obscenities in a thick Aussie accent.

For the next 45 minutes I had the pleasure of listening as a girl (who had obviously spent hours in the early morning agonizing over her hair, makeup, and outfit before getting onto a bus full of hungover strangers) texted the contents of her entire iPhone contact list and probably updated her Facebook and Twitter profiles about our doomed bus status. If the tick-tick-tick of Paris Hilton wasn’t enough to distract me from my book, smelly dude busted out some fish-casserole lunch thing that nearly smelled worse than he did. Good grief. Would this ever end?

Over an hour later the new bus arrived. We all cheered before grabbing our gear and settling into our new abode for the next 8 hours. The fresh transport didn’t last long. After climbing through a particularly steep mountain pass the bus overheated and we were forced to wait (yet again) for a replacement. This time the wait wasn’t too arduous. Bus #3 arrived just as Gingerbeard was gearing up to launch into another tirade. It was smooth sailing from there. Kind of. A broken heater combined with an unsealed door created fridge-like temperatures while an unpleasant high-pitched alarm intermittently sounded from the dash. But hey, at least we were moving!

Arriving in Christchurch, my post-broken tailbone SCREAMING for pressure relief, I happily departed the bus. With the first leg of my trip to Asia in the bag, I can venture a guess that things will either get easier from here, or (more likely) I’ll be prepared for more of the same shenanigans!

-       Ash

Fun Fact: I just became the first person IN NEW ZEALAND to pay a parking fine at the new City Council Building in Christchurch. Got my receipt to prove it…even if the cute old lady did have to write it out on a hot pink post-it note! 

The One Early Morning Escapade

It’s pitch black, freezing, and for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to pedal a bike up a giant mountain and then climb up even higher - all for the sake of a sunrise. Guess every once in a while my ideas are, in fact, good ones!

With a pack full of water, snacks, and a camera (along with an incredibly stylish and not-at-all bulky head lamp) my mate Keri and I were on our way out the door at 5AM. At first the frozen grass and icy pathways were a sure-fire recipe for disaster, but luckily our lights were so dim I forgot about the frozen ground and instead spent the majority of my morning trying to avoid rocks, trees, and other semi-life-threatening objects. As twilight began to succumb to the morning sun Keri and I reached the Ben Lomond trailhead. The pathway became too steep and snow-filled for even the most avid bikers to continue up so we ditched our wheels and pressed onward.

Ben Lomond Peak in the background. First light.

Initially planning to watch sunrise from the saddle (the dip between two higher ridgelines), Keri and I quickly realized how much we had overestimated our fitness levels and decided the sun would rise well before we got to our planned destination. Turns out our poor planning worked to our advantage because, as we reached a lower lying crest called Bob’s Peak, the sky began changing colors. We figured out that the saddle faced North and that we would’ve missed the sunrise altogether had we ascended the extra hour (or been more fit)! A few low lying clouds made for a spectacular sunrise as Keri and I watched surrounded by the silence of a sleeping mountain.

When the brilliant colors finally faded into a grey-blue morning sky, we had a short debate about continuing up to the saddle. Despite our attire (or more appropriately Keri’s well-thought out skate shoes, complete with holes, and board shorts) we pressed on for more views and the challenge of an even bigger mission. Trudging through hard-packed snow and ignoring the increasing wind, we reached the saddle just as the sun washed over the valleys and peaks. With another awe-inspiring view to recharge our tiring bodies and waning motivation, we took a few glances at the Ben Lomond apex and couldn’t resist the temptation of a full-scale summit.

We made it!

On our way up through loose rock and icy snow, we chuckled over the ridiculousness of how unprepared we had been for what was turning into a huge undertaking. In the snow we could distinguish the prints of snowshoes, crampons, and the marks of hiking poles. I figured we both were stubborn enough to make it to the summit based on sheer willpower, despite our lack of gear. After scaling boulders and clamoring up the snow-covered face in our absurd outfits, we had a photo shoot and a laugh about how unnecessary most “high tech” outdoor gear really is. The daunting task of sliding and trudging back down the mountain was relieved by a welcomed break for breakkie and eventually, making it back to our bikes.

A short uphill pedal brought us to the beginning of a downhill mountain bike track aptly named Vertigo. Keri, riding a full suspension bike, screamed down the twisting path while I, lacking the fearlessness and suspension, jarringly followed behind her. One spill on my part and a whole lotta mud later, and we were safely back in town. Exhausted but buzzing from our morning escapade, I convinced Keri to ride down a massive flight of outdoor stairs before we called it a day. Muddy, sweaty, and ridiculously happy, I declared the morning a tremendous success. With incredible adventures like that one, I’m fairly sure that if I hadn’t already bought my plane tickets to travel onward, I’d be hard-pressed to leave this thrilling and remarkable country! 

So excited to be on flat solid ice-free ground! 

Fun Fact: The entire country of New Zealand is roughly 103,730 square miles. The state of California is 163,700... nothin' fancy, just a fun fact!