The One Where I ERUPT (not literally)

*Click on the underlined words for links!

Sticking to my newfound lifestyle choice of doing things completely on a whim, I found myself driving with my mate Nicky to a city called Taupo, located smack dab in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand. Why? To spend hundreds of hours volunteering at a festival in which I knew nothing about. I was told something about “art and performance” and thought to myself, sounds like it could be cool…lets do it!

On our way to the festival, I got a few more details out of Nicky, who was almost equally as clueless about what we would be doing the next eleven days. Halfway through the ERUPT festival I have found the answer: absolutely everything!

We have made excel spreadsheets, taken out the trash, gone on coffee runs, moved furniture, played chauffer to famous Kiwis, answered phone calls, administered surveys, made more cups of tea than I care to count, offered input on dance performances, written reviews, updated websites, taken photographs, picked up dinner, become part of the stage crew, gotten beer/food/water/candy for artists, have made festival buttons, distributed programs, arranged restaurant tables, acted as liaisons with local businesses, set-up promotional materials, vacuumed, picked-up office supplies, escorted VIPs, and basically been the towns busiest go-getters! Of course the wonderful festival staff (including Coordinator Nicole, and PR Manager Olivia) haven’t let us just work work work, there has been plenty of opportunities to experience the festival itself!

My emersion into all things Kiwi got started with a last-minute invite to see the premiere of a site-specific show called SALON (performed at an actual hair salon). Literally running to the performance in our pajamas, Nicky and I arrived breathless and excited to see the play that was the talk of the festival. We weren’t disappointed! The show was superb and so life-like that a few times I forgot I was watching a play and had to remind myself I wasn’t just waiting for my hair appointment! Next came a moving and culturally educational play called Mark Twain and Me in Maoriland. See the write-up on my Facebook profile to find out how it went! Within a few hours I was back in the theater watching Joe Salom’s Gadgets, a pseudo street/circus-performance meets technology-driven entertainment. Amidst all the fire juggling, music, and disappearing tricks was Joe’s trusty side-kick, a hysterical villain with a strange love-affair with his own…errr, man bits: Eric the Dog!

Then there was the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra and a surprise performance by local 14-year-old musical sensation Ruby Solly. This quirky group is far too weird and fantastically entertaining for me to accurately depict in a blog. Check out their covers of songs you love, songs you hate, and songs you never really noticed before! Speaking of quirky, I also got to attend a concert put on by Karen Hunter, a poet/cabaret singer who is partial to scatting and women. It only took me nine months, but I finally found a lesbian in New Zealand! Then there was Wilson Dixon, a cowboy who claims to hail from the rocky mountains of Colorado and who has a rather unique take on American life on the range. His jovial songs, hailing from his debut album "Wilson Dixon's Greatest Hits" shed light on things like life (its like Titanic... long... and you know how it ends) and philosophy (its really just thinking about thinking).  

Another man of questionable nature is Te Radar, host of the hit Kiwi TV show Under the Radar and his festival show Eating the Dog. Never have I learned so much important history in such a short amount of time, and never have I almost wee’d myself laughing about it! Radar, a comedic genius used Powerpoint and mini-skits to inform the crowd about New Zealands most important figures in history including a general who lost his pants and almost an entire platoon, a group of bandits that should be made into a comic strip, and an explorer who, lost, starving, and sick, resorted to eating his best friends dog to survive (sorry dog-lovers, it was funny)! Who knew history could be so entertaining?

Many events are still to come (wih a blog post to boot!), and I will take this opportunity to thank Nicky for letting me tag-along to the ERUPT festival and to Nicole for entrusting complete strangers with being her assistants!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: There are 25 dormant volcanoes in New Zealand making it one of the most active geothermal areas in the world!

Fun Fact #2: I went to get the oil changed in my car today and found out two new uniquely kiwi things - that an oil change is expensive (at $100, instead of the usual US price of about $35-$40, the shock of everything being insanely over-priced in this country has still not worn off), and that mechanics are incredibly friendly. When I told the mechanic I couldn't leave my car because I needed to get back to work he said "No worries mate, here are the keys to my ute (truck). Just bring 'er back by 5 and everything should be tip-top."

So I drove around Taupo in the local mechanic's manual truck...and didn't even stall it once! 

The One in a Dark Scary Cave!

It was the first clear-blue warm sunny day I had seen in weeks and I found myself looking down a hole into the cold darkness of an underground network of caves I was about to disappear into. Great planning Ashley. But when my gumboot-clad feet splashed down from my 88-foot drop my thoughts quickly changed to, that was awesome!

Its been 280 days since I found myself leaving on a jet plane to face the big scary world out there and I’m still in awe of all the not so scary but incredibly fun things I’ve been lucky enough to do! Playing underground in the Waitomo Caves has definitely been a highlight of those adventures!

Nicky, initially scared out of her mind to abseil into the cave, was waiting for me, grinning ear to ear, as I reached the bottom of my descent. I let out a triumphant “WOOHOO!” as I reached the rest of the group: a worried mother and her unruffled 12-year-old daughter from England, Nicky my mate from Queenstown, and a hilariously awkward half-bald German dude. We all matched in our oh-so-stylish head to toe outfits of helmets, headlamps, wetsuits, and gumboots. Our instructor Brendon, a former NZ Army soldier and survival guide specialist (think of the TV show Joe vs. Wild), easily slid down into the cave and then distributed our blackwater rafting inner tubes.

Brendon, while fearlessly splashing into the depths of the cave, dished out his rehearsed lines along with jokes that sometimes got a laugh. We trudged through the cold water, eventually walking into complete darkness. The mom barraged Brendon with endlessly useless questions about anything and everything between calls to her daughter of “Lola are you okay?” followed by annoyed replies of “Yes Mom, I’m fine.”

I frantically searched the water for eels.

We came to a cavern with a mini-beach formed by the s-shaped river where we were told to sit down. Next, Brendon has us all turn off our headlamps and quite suddenly; we were surrounded by the starry lights of thousands of glowworms. If I didn’t know I was in a cave I would have sworn I was lying under a night sky. Nicky and I lay back and took in nature’s constellation of bugs as the English mom asked questions and Brendon made jokes.

After a few minutes of the bug-produced light show, we turned our headlamps back on and floated as a unit back to the cave opening. Passing our get-in point, we tubed down a few dam created rapids and floated through an even more impressive section of the cave. At one point Brendon (I swear only for his own entertainment) suggested we jump from a rock back into the water whilst trying to land on our tubes. Seizing an opportunity to jump off of something, I clambered up the rocks and launched myself gracefully into the water. Nicky apprehensively came next, followed by the German. Boy was he hilarious! Awkwardly landing sideways, he bounced face-first into the water and for some reason beyond my comprehension, held onto the tube while his feet flailed in the air in an impossible attempt to right himself. Finally realizing that in order to breath he would have to let-go of the tube, the German popped out of the water with a shocked look on his face! Nicky and I tried to be polite, but could not contain our laughter as he failed miserably in trying to get back onto the tube, each attempt funnier than the last!

Ten minutes passed before everyone was ready to continue downriver. After another few minutes of floating, we ditched the tubes and half waded, half climbed our way down further into the cave. Giant stalagmite and stalactite (bubbly looking rock) pillars rose and fell from the walls and huge rock-formed bowls scattered the river bed and cave walls. We stopped to have a warm drink and a chocolate treat before squeezing through a network of holes and passageways back to our tubes. Turning our headlamps off, we used the lights of the glowworms to guide us back to the entrance of the cave. A daunting cliffside forced us to rock climb out of the cave and, reaching level ground again, we found ourselves in near-darkness, as night had fallen during our 5-hour epic adventure underground.

Score for the day…

Bocast (and Nicky): 1

The World: 0

       -Ashley

Fun Fact: Just to further prove how lax New Zealand is- most café’s (and some restaurants) position their restrooms in the back of their building. Customers must trek straight through the business’s kitchen to make it to the toilet! The truly astonishing thing: the chef’s don’t so much as blink as complete strangers walk right past their stainless steel counter’s exhibiting freshly-made scones and soup! 

The One Daycare Reunion

“So are you excited to see your mate?” Nicky asks me.

With an ear-to-ear grin I excitedly respond with an affirmative, “Yes!” After pausing for a moment the smile fades and I ask, “Why do the addresses run from 446 then jump to 450? Where the heck is Spencer’s house?”

We had been driving for 25 minutes up and down and around every major road in Albany (a small suburb of the nations biggest city Auckland) in search of Spencer’s apartment complex. I had never met the kid officially, but he was seriously dating my longtime friend Brianna and she had flown over for a visit during his semester abroad. It took us another drive-by before Nicky asked incredulously, “That can’t possibly be it there? That tiny tiny sign and hidden driveway that you can only see coming from this direction? There’s not even a turning lane for it!” No wonder we had passed the place two or three times…

Hopping barefoot out of the van, I walked toward apartment #26. My knock was promptly followed by footsteps and Brianna opening the door. It was an incredibly surreal moment seeing someone I’ve known since the diaper days standing in front of me in a country on the other side of the world

“HI!!!” We both exclaimed between hugs. I introduced Brianna to my travel buddy Nicky and then got down to business. “I’m sure you can smell us, can I be really cheecky and ask for a shower before we head out?” Brianna obliged.

A glorious shower and three surprise packets of Good N Plenty candy later, (Brianna you absolutely ROCK for bringing those for me!) we were on our way. Leaving the city behind us after a brief lunch and shopping spree, we drove toward the beautiful Coromandal Peninsula whilst Brianna filled me in on rapid-fire questions about home. Farm country began blending with mountainsides and peaks of ocean bays the further we drove.

By early evening we pulled into a beachside campsite (that was shockingly not a total rip-off). After setting up camp, we headed to the beach for some chill time and to watch the sunset. I hounded Nicky about not spending the whole time collecting shells (if there were an actual occupation for beach-shell collecting, Nicky would be a highly sought after professional) and instead we had an impromptu photo shoot. Amidst a beautiful sunset we waded out a hundred yards into the shallow receding waters to take it all in. A delicious veggie dinner preceded a night of drinking games with a rather hilarious couple from Auckland.

Brianna, ever the responsible one, sat and watched most of the night while the rest of us proceeded to drink ourselves into a guarantee hangover. Sleep came quick and morning came even faster. By dawn we were up busying ourselves with apple-cinnamon pancakes and tea. After breakfast we packed up and headed out for the rest of our short adventure.

Winding roads did not help our hangover cause, as Nicky and I complained relentlessly and Brianna probably had a good inner laugh at our expense. We arrived mid-afternoon at the trailhead to Cathedral Cove just as everyone began to perk up. A half-hour hike, including Brianna and I relentlessly gabbing about Chico (poor Nicky), brought us to a beach of fine white sand and crystal blue aqua waters. Amongst it all jutted dramatic rock formations and cliffs with haphazard groups of sunbathing tourists.

Nicky and I swam, Brianna waded, and we all marinated in the warm sun. An excursion through the hollowed archway brought us through to another beach where, while casually walking, a black blob in the water caught our attention. Upon closer inspection we realized it was a huge stingray! The graceful creature glided toward us, as if to say hello and show off for our rapidly clicking cameras, before heading back out to sea. We all stood smiling and practically dumbfounded by our luck! What a special moment to see such a beautiful animal in its natural environment.

Tanned and tired we headed back to the car for our trek back to the city. As if we hadn’t beaten the subject to death already, Brianna and I passed three more hours talking about home, daycare, and high school dramas. I soaked up every word. After a Herculean effort to get gas and find our way back to the freeway (whatever madman thought up Auckland’s street system should move to Chico and have to share a jail cell with the creators of Walmart’s parking lot) we made it back to Spencer’s pad. All three of us were exhausted and could barely keep our eyes open.

An early night to bed followed by another early morning brought my daycare reunion to an end. Hugging Brianna and thanking Spencer for his wonderful hospitality, we grudgingly bid farewell. The childhood reunion had been brief, but had me dealing with a fresh wave of homesickness. Brianna’s lovable nature and jovial stories reminded me of how incredible so many of my friends and family back at home are. She was a near perfect ambassador for everything I missed and craved from home and her visit, along with meeting Spencer, will undoubtedly be one of the highlights of my travels in this faraway place.

Thanks Bree.

-Ashley

Fun Fact: A little lesson in Kiwi pronunciation (or Maori technically). The combination wh makes the "fa" sound whilst r's are rolled (whenever you pronounce an "r" make a "d" sound instead). So try pronouncing city names like Whangerei, Wharekauri, and Whakatane. Freaking hard right? No wonder they all think the tourists sound like idiots. 

The One Where Freedom Camping Isn't "Free"

Forty bucks will buy you a patch in the grass, a kitchen with no pots, pans, utensils, cups, plates, or bowls, a stove with one setting (burn everything), a refrigerator that you can unlock with a $2 coin, dish soap that you sheepishly borrow from a high school kid, showers that will put you another $2-5 in debt, internet access (for an extra $12 an hour), bathrooms impossibly far from your sleeping quarters, and a bunch of screaming kids. Sounds appealing right?

With “freedom camping” increasingly becoming a problem with the locals around New Zealand, my friend Nicky and I decided tonight to be polite law-abiding tourists and pay for a campsite in the small surf city of Raglan rather than quietly slipping to the side of the road and bedding down for the night. Normally we would park somewhere unobtrusive, cook dinner in the back of the van, find a public toilet to do our business, be in bed around eight, and be quietly asleep by nine. In the morning we pack up our things (sometimes taking other people’s discarded trash with us) and head out for a cuppa and some shopping. So how do we get acknowledged for our low-impact sleeping and economy boosting spending? Threats of a $200 fine and a big ‘get the hell out and don’t come back’. It’s almost worth it when compared to absurdly priced “camp sites” up the road.

It is understandable that locals have become frustrated with campers parking on private property, ditching rubbish, and leaving behind appalling poo poo’s (and the accompanying toilet paper)… and I can easily see why freedom camping is losing support. But not every Yank in a van is going to live up to the stereotype that a handful of tourists have unfortunately given the rest of us. I really don’t understand how someone can have the mentality of ‘lets head to this beautiful country and give the locals a big thanks by chucking out our garbage on the side of the road and taking a big crap next to that lovely tree’. What’s even more atrocious: meeting those tourist and watching first-hand how they toss aside their plastic packaging and beer can along with their cigarette butts. Their response when confronted? Generally a shrug and a helpful reassurance that ‘Someone will pick it up’ or that, ‘we’re leaving so it doesn’t really matter’.

Excuse me while I puke.

If someone can shed light on this mentality (in today’s age when we have constant reminders of our carbon footprint etc) please e-mail me! So while I hate to disrespect the people and government of this stunning country – I equally cannot subject myself to being ripped off of forty hard-earned dollars for a ‘proper’ campsite. So RESPONSIBLE freedom camping – here we come!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Want to check out with your own eyes how adorable Raglan is? Rent the movie The Endless Summer, shot on location in the tiny New Zealand town amongst its’ world-class surf. 

The One Weekend of Trying New Things

One. Two. Three. Where the hell is my rescue??? Four. Is that a kayak? No, damn…it’s a rock! Five. Six. Don’t panic… Seven. Was that a bump? Eight. Oh my God! Kayak! Grab it! Nine. My lungs are exploding; take a breath…CRAP that was only water! Ten. Drown or swim? Screw it. I’m swimming.

There is a saying when one comes close to death that goes something like, “your life flashes before your eyes”; well, I wasn’t exactly close to death, but my life was definitely flashing before my eyes. Ten seconds is a relatively short time to hold your breath, but when you are upside down emerged in freezing water, drifting into rocks with half your body uselessly lodged into a piece of plastic, ten seconds is a very very long time. Here I was, not twenty minutes into my first trip kayaking down a river and already I had flipped on a pathetically calm rapid. Yanking my legs from the overturned kayak, I shot toward the surface with wild and panicked determination. Gasping for air in between heaving coughs of water, I felt myself being pulled by my lifejacket onto the bow of an instructors kayak.

“Had a nice swim did we?”

Cough. “Ye-,” cough “-s”.

“Told you not to lean away from the rocks”

Cough. “I’ll definitely,” cough, cough, “remember that now.”

Two weeks ago I had no intentions of learning how to whitewater kayak in the next…maybe ever. But when a cheery Kiwi university student gives a completely random invite to go on a practically free three-day whitewater adventure, it would be stupid to pass up such an opportunity. So here I was, sputtering and shivering half submerged in the Mohaka River trying to figure out how the heck I was supposed to get back in the kayak.

One of my Instructors on an earlier trip. 

Luckily I was surrounded by several very helpful and experienced instructors including CJ (Canadian Jen), Obi, and Magnum (a slightly serious but very fun older gentleman). CJ held my paddle while Obi emptied the water out of my boat. Finally Mag steadied me while I wedged my legs back into place and unsteadily tested my balance. Within a few minutes we were headed downriver again and maneuvering through one set of rapids after another. Three more swims and two t-rescues (when a kayaker flips and uses another kayak to upright themselves) later, I had completed the day’s run. Cold, wet, hungry, and exhausted, I wouldn’t exactly say I was thrilled at the idea of two more days on the river.

We managed to pack 10 people into Pip before shuttling back to camp where food, dry clothes, and a warm fire awaited us. Night fell as the haphazard members and friends of the Auckland University Canoe Club (AUCC) gathered around a massive bonfire. A giant redhead aptly nicknamed Big Red was quick to consume his drinks and begin the first of many songs of the night. Half playing his beloved didgeridoo and half singing, Big Red led all 60 of us in enthusiastic choruses of The Lion King’s Circle of Life and the crowd-favorite Hakuna Matata. I found it enormously entertaining to be singing Disney songs alongside several dozen full-fledged (and slightly if not incredibly drunk) adults!

Day two was apparently not meant to be a river-day. Outnumbered by club-members, my friend Caroline and myself were ousted out of our spots on the raft to run a grade 3 section of the river. Instead, we drove out of the mountains and toward the ocean for a relaxing day at the beach. My first real attempt at surfing was humorous if anything, and a rugby-related shoulder injury kept me from being able to paddle the waves for very long. After six or seven goes at catching a wave (followed by as many wipeouts) I called it a day and made my way to shore. Swapping a surfboard for driftwood, I began indulging in a favorite childhood past time and built a sweet beach fort!

By evening we were back at camp and had just settled in when a random girl came running toward us. She worriedly asked if we had cell phone reception before explaining that she needed to call 111 (the equivalent of 911) because one of the AUCC guys was really sick. I jumped up to follow her back toward the tents along with a fairly new kayak instructor named Ellie. We approached as light was fading and found a young man shivering and in a state of fevered delirium. Apparently the girl had just happened by the tent and heard the guy moaning. One look and it was obvious the poor kid was not in good shape. I quickly assessed his condition by asking him as many relevant questions as I could think of, while just feeling his forehead was enough to know he had a very high fever.  Ellie was careful to get very specific responses before grabbing someone and jetting off in a car to find cell phone reception.

In the 45 minutes it took Ellie to make the phone call, we had already begun moving Omar (in fear that his appendix had burst) onto a board in preparation of loading him into my van. The hospital was over an hour away and we had no idea if anyone had been able to make a phone call. As we were just about to move him, word reached us that the ambulance was on its way so we covered Omar in blankets, got him to drink a little water, and waited. The ambulance arrived nearly three hours into the ordeal. Omar was loaded in and driven away. Within minutes of his departure it was as if nothing had happened and everyone began gathering for dinner and the nights unruly festivities. *Omar is still in the hospital with a virus or something but will be okay.

Morning came quickly on Easter Sunday and soon the lot of us, sleepy and now on our third day of showerless camping, began readying ourselves for yet another day on the river. Once arranged into kayaking and rafting groups, the newbies (including myself) were sent on a frenzied Easter hunt for a chocolate rabbit amongst the beached kayaks. I came up short of a chocolate treat but was rewarded with a bag of Goon (the inside container of boxed wine) to drink on the river instead. Because there weren’t enough instructors (most had left earlier to kayak a gnarly Grade 4 section of the river) seven of us were put into a raft with Obi as our guide. Obi, not happy to be guiding a raft down a measly Grade 2 river, brought with him chips, beer, and magazines and situated himself smack in the middle of the raft.

“Who’s rafted before?”

Three of us raised our hands.

“Alright, you” (pointing at a clueless looking shaggy-haired freshman) “you are guiding us first. If the boat starts going out of control I’ll tell you what to do.”

And that’s how the raft went down the river on Easter Sunday.

Perfectly content to sit on the raft and chill down the river all day, my time on the boat was short-lived. While bumping our way down the first rapid, we noticed a group of kayakers on the side of the river with several standing on the shore. Once we got close enough, the instructor Victoria cheerfully asked for a volunteer to kayak in place of a girl who had spent the last ten minutes swirling around half-drowning in an eddy. No one looked very interested so I took a big swig of Goon, high-fived Obi, and jumped into the water.

Day two on the kayak was phenomenal. The girl who I switched with had a kayak that was a hundred times easier to stay upright in than the topsy-turvy contraption I had paddled two days before. I smashed through the rapids and was able to maneuver around obstacles without fear of rolling with every splash. Only swimming once (I rolled trying to avoid another kayaker who had already flipped) my second attempt left me wanting more. Once back at camp, buzzing from the excitement of a successful day on the river, I noticed a girl named Lou walking by her motorcycles.

“Hey Lou! Can I try riding one of those?”

“Hell ya girlfriend!”

Sweet as.

I somehow managed to get the dirt bike started on my first attempt, into gear on my first attempt, and took off in an attempt to brake. I got the bike to stop but didn’t realize how heavy it was and found myself leaping over the handlebars as the bike fell to its side. Laughing, Lou ran over to help me upright it before I jumped back on and started the process over. This time I was able to stop and go several yards before Lou shouted at me to let ‘er rip. I did! Much to the annoyance of other campers, I zoomed up and down the campsite testing my speed with each pass. It was brilliant! I got hooked to the adrenaline rush before I even got off the bike; it was like mountain biking without all the effort!

What an epic weekend of firsts…Now I just have to figure out how to do it all again!

The One Week of Beautiful Chaos

As I’m writing this, I haven’t showered in 5 days. My hair has hit a whole new level of glossy, I refuse to put on clean clothes for fear of getting them dirty the second they hit my skin, I think I found traces of seaweed in my sportsbra a few minutes ago, and Atown and I have been heavily debating over who smells the most. For those of you who know me well enough, you are probably shocked to hear I’ve gone more than 8 hours without a shower. But when you are driving 800 miles, hiking 52k, and crossing an ocean in less than a work-week, it’s hard to find time to stop for a rinse (not to mention the predicament of finding a warm and free shower)!

So what, you might be wondering, has kept me and my travel mate so busy?

A whole lotta beautiful chaos.

Leaving Queenstown roughly four hours behind schedule, Atown and myself headed out into the sunset thus officially beginning our road trip. We made a quick stop an hour away in Wanaka to pick up last minute gear before driving into the night to get as far as possible and eventually finding a place to sleep. Having been around the South Island of New Zealand long enough, I knew that the countryside Kiwi’s don’t appreciate “freedom campers”; I found a discreet spot next to a field to pull over for the night. Tired and ready to catch some Zzz’s, I was kept awake by a sandfly that had made its way into the van. For those of you who’ve never experienced sandflies, imagine a tiny gnat-sized bug that sucks blood and leaves a bite that itches bad and long enough to make mosquitos look like your best friend. After three hours of trying to swat the sandfly to death, I was too awake to fall asleep and decided I might as well be driving. By turning the headlights on, I illuminated the inside of the car enough to see DOZENS of sandflies buzzing all around. No wonder I couldn’t kill the dang thing! Freezing and out for vengeance, I rolled down the windows and drove 100K letting the wind rid me of my nighttime pests. But alas, if its not sandflies ruining your night, the opossums want in on the fun. Unlike North American opossums, these kiwi cousins are as cute and cuddly as a kitten. Unfortunately for them, they are nocturnal, overpopulated, and not bright enough to stay off the roads. Three hours and three roadkills later I had had enough bloodshed for the night and finally pulled over for some shuteye.

Waking up feeling refreshed despite very little sleep, Atown and I drove another 2k to the Fox Glacier. The glacier was massive, jutting out of the mountainside in mammoth sheets of blue ice and rock debris. At the base, a river gushed from the core with enough force to move bus sized icebergs and boulders. And all this ice was amidst a subtropical rainforest! Driving onward, we made our way through one tiny hick-town after another, surrounded by some of the most stunning mountain scenery I’ve ever witnessed. Stopping only long enough to see the crystal-clear reflection of Mt Cook in the picturesque waters of Lake Matheson, we made it to Greymouth just in time to catch a few high school boys doing an impromptu haka (traditional Maori dance) in front of the schoolyard. Stocking up on food, beverages, and more last-minute gear, we continued onward to see the pancake-shaped Pukanaki rocks and blowholes amongst a breathtaking oceanside drive.

A seaside dinner at a picnic site led to a fight with some local weka birds over who was taking home our recent purchases. Chasing down apples and grocery bags, Atown at one point was under a bush playing tug-a-war with a weka over our toilet paper. Coming out victorious, we packed up Pip (the van), took in a beautiful sunset on the beach, and drove on further north. Sleeping on the side of the road in some unknown town, we woke up early (and by “we” I mean that I woke up and drove while Atown continued sleeping for a few more hours) so we could get a decent start on our trek through Abel Tasman National Park.

Atown made new friends while I packed our rucksacks and soon we were off with Stephen, our newfound mate who happened to live 20 minutes away from where Atown grew up! The first leg of the hike was pretty, but slightly monotonous with a mostly uphill trek in and then steep decent onto the beach. Once at camp, Atown wandered while I set up the tent and then wandered some more while I made dinner. We then played gin rummy (I kicked Atown’s butt!) and at dusk settled in for a near sleepless night on the rock-hard freezing ground. I woke up to watch in awe as a couple from Alaska, using only the few items they carried in with them, created a breakfast worthy of any 5-star hotel! Atown and I thoroughly enjoyed our oatmeal (which I cooked) and spent the morning on the beach before heading out to our next campsite 8 hours away.

Accidentally missing low-tide, we made an attempt at crossing Torrent Bay before we realized we were literally going to be in over our heads and turned back for the high-tide route. Luckily this route brought us to a near-perfect creek that meandered through tropical forests before spilling into the teal blue waters of the Tasman sea. Onward we pushed past golden beaches and breathtaking lookouts until we came upon a second crossing. At first the fast-running receding tide was fun to traverse, but soon the water became more stagnant and our feet were sinking through nasty mud and onto the sharp points of millions of tiny shells. Yelping and laughing our way to shore, we put our shoes back on and continued through the subtropical forests of the park.

Having accidentally gotten both pairs of my shoes wet, I spent a few hours rotating footwear to avoid blisters before giving up and walking jesus-style (barefoot) until the path became too rocky for my already sore and now raw feet to handle. When I began to feel like the hike was becoming unbearably long, we came upon a group of merry trampers who, having hiked a few hours less than us, provided a much-needed pickup until we arrived at the campsite. The group, consisting of a hot Canadian guy (they do exist!), a hilariously outgoing girl from England, a Swedish girl who spoke with a pseudo American accent, and an adorably sweet girl from France who was constantly working on her English vocabulary.

Day three began at sunrise with yet another tidal crossing. We walked a quarter-mile across sand, thousands of shells, and tidal streams before trekking back into a tropical forest of ferns. Two more hours of beaches, hill climbs, and beautiful ocean scenery brought us to the end of our tramping journey and the beginning of a new adventure: getting back to the car that was parked 35 miles away.

At 10AM park rangers informed us that just getting to the main road involved walking 12K up a mountain. Undaunted, we decided to walk until we found a ride…we made it about a 2K up the road before fatigue set in and we threw ourselves on top of our bags to sit and wait. An hour (and several passing cars) later, we were still on the side of the road bathing in dust as each car passed us. Finally giving up, we began our walk back to the information center to hail an expensive water taxi back to the car. But before we got there, a van of two hippie Brits pulled over and offered to give us a ride almost all the way back to our car!

We hopped in, excited to finally be done walking…or so we thought. Before getting out of the mountainside, Paul and Izzy asked if we minded stopping to see a waterfall. Not wanting to be rude and slightly interested in seeing more nature (after 7 days straight of the stuff), we agreed. We spent 45 minutes walking up and down a path to what turned out to be a gorgeous waterfall; including crossing a petrifying swing bridge only wide and stable enough for one person to cross at a time.

Back on the road, we pulled over every few minutes to make some sort of mechanical repairs before continuing on. Heading up a massive hill, Atown slept as I made small chat until suddenly, the front of the van began filling with smoke. I thought, we should’ve paid for the water taxi, as Paul pulled over and began even more repairs. On a time-constraint to make our ferry to Wellington, we wished Paul and Izzy the best, grabbed our gear, and hitched out our thumbs. It wasn’t long before an equally substandard van pulled over to give us a lift. Inside, two young Mexican women and a VERY smelly German entertained me while Atown slept some more. Getting dropped off only a few miles from our final destination, I said “adios” to our southern sisters whilst Atown shouted an Italian “ciao!” at the girls.

It had been over five hours since completing our tramp, and we needed the luck of at least one more ride to make it back to the car. Luck came in the form of a multicolored polka-dotted Subaru with a Spaniard driving. I didn’t catch the guy’s name, but his car smelled of kettle-corn and he was headed to Takaka. Atown and I both exchanged knowing glances and stayed quiet about the fact that the poor guy (whilst driving us closer to our destination), was driving in the opposite direction of Takaka. Arriving at the trailhead of Abel Tasman, we both gave him a big thank-you for the lift, and another “ciao!” was added from Atown. We had finally made it back to my beloved Pip and alas; our epic and beautiful three-day tramp was over! We had enjoyed stunning scenery, some hilarious moments, the challenge of traversing the entire hike in three days, and most importantly- I had managed to keep Atown alive…barely!

Fun Fact: The national ice cream flavor here in Kiwiland is a delightful vanilla and caramel treat called Hokey Pokey.

The One Where a German Carpenter Saves the Perfect Day

Sunrises that turn the sky purple and the clouds brilliant shades of pink and orange, rivers so vibrantly teal and so clear that every pebble can be seen on the riverbed, forests thick with ferns and the tweeting of birds, lakes of water sitting impossibly high on the tops of mountains, the sweeping depths of golden yellow valley floors lined with crisscrossing blue streams, snowcapped peaks fighting the suns warmth, immensely huge cliffs with dozens of cascading waterfalls, stunning views of the sea blocked from advancing further by glacier cut mountains, clouds eerily in the distance moving as if alive and swallowing everything in its path, wooded mountainsides completely covered in a thick soft blanket of moss, and emerald green pools of water sitting amongst a meadow of lush grass... this isn't a fairy tale folks, this is the Routeburn Track.

Words don't do justice to the beauty of the 19-mile hike A-town and I undertook early Monday morning. Getting up at 4am, we double-checked our packs for food and emergency gear before filling up with water and heading on our way. The hour and a half drive in the pitch-black soon became lit enough to make out figures of sheep grazing and mountain peaks in the distance. Arriving at the Routeburn Shelter, we stripped down to running shorts and t-shirts, stretched, and then began our mission.

Crossing swing bridges and climbing rock-faces, we made our way jogging and walking briskly up a steep ascent to the first hut on the track; stopping once or twice for the some of the dozens of photos taken throughout the day. Pausing for a few minutes to catch our breath and to enjoy the sun that was finally up, we began running into other hikers, some on their second or third day of walking the track. Within minutes we were off again, carefully picking our steps over loose rocks and water as we ran. Stopping only for pictures and to navigate passing hikers, we arrived at the summit of the trail after two hours of an exhausting climb. Two elderly Kiwis provided a wonderful break and some much-needed encouragement before we continued on.

The path became more narrow, snaking along a mountainside with very little room for error. A slip in the wrong section would inevitably send you a few hundred meters down a very unforgiving rocky cliffside. Starting to feel the fatigue, and definitely the hunger, we both took our time descending to Lake Mackenzie while enjoying the clear skies and warm sun. An hour spent eating, napping, and having a hilarious impromptu photo shoot left us rested and energized for the last 7 miles of the trek.

The track leveled out (in comparison to the first half of up and down zig-zagging) enough for us to pick up the pace. Still careful to watch every step, we found ourselves racing through the forest until coming upon the base of a massive waterfall. Falling from 1,000 feet up, water crashed over jagged rocks before settling into a crystal clear pool of calm water. Snagging a few pictures before heading out, we were forced to slow down and climb massive boulders until the trail appeared again. Realizing we were way ahead of schedule, and both not particularly ready to start running again, we spent an hour walking and reliving the glory days of playing rugby and the crazy times with the crew at Chico State.

Mid-story I realized the trail had become extremely level and made the decision to run again, figuring it was unlikely we would have such a nice gradient for very long. Ever the typical American, A-town busted out her headphones and picked a "sick beat" on her iPhone to keep pace with. Her beats must've been pretty sick because I found myself in a sprint just to keep up. Literally leaping over streams and banking off of rocks, I felt like we were in a video game and was very thankful for all the agility drills I had gone through playing rugby. Rocks aren't exactly as forgiving as cones and I quickly learned that looking up meant twisting my ankle and so kept my eyes to the ground.

Arriving at the last hut, thoroughly exhausted, we took in more water and set a goal -to run the last 2 miles in 20 minutes.

Then we turned the corner and saw the massive hill we had to climb.As we trudged to the top A-towns knee almost doubled in size and we both agreed it would be better for her to walk the rest of the way to the car. Ever the competitor, I figured that since I started the hike running, I was going to finish it running. Forgetting the ache in my legs and the pain in my ankles, I cruised to the car dodging tourists left and right. Finally at the parking lot, elated to have conquered 19-miles in 7 hours, I was far too quickly reminded of the one small error I had made that day- leaving the car keys at home.

Because the track goes in one direction, I had driven my coworker's car to one end and she had taken mine to the other. Being excited to have the opportunity to use one of my spare keys (that costs nearly $200 if you remember) I told her to lock my regular keys inside the car. Unfortunately the spare key was a few hours away still hanging out in the pocket of my jeans. A-town arrived as I was trying to wedge the door open with sticks. A few dozen broken sticks later, and with no cell phone reception, I had all but given up. Rock in hand, poised to smash a window, I looked up to see a campervan pull up. Weighing the fun of smashing a window against the cost of replacing it, I listened to A-town's suggestion and headed over to ask for help.

A van full of young hippie Germans is always promising! One stirring spoon and a carpenters measuring stick later, and presto, the car was unlocked! The Germans were surprisingly funny, and I spent a few minutes profusely thanking them and offering them gum as a reward. Thankful to have the lucky fortune of having a German carpenter save the day, A-town and I clamored into Pip (the van), high-fived ourselves to a job well done, and drove away smiling.

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Not only did I manage to lock the keys in the car that day, but an hour later I left the lights on and drained the entire battery. Luckily A-town has no qualm shouting at strangers, because we soon were rescued (for the second time in a day) by a drunk Virginian man with jumper cables!