Simply Fjord-geous

"This is Major Tom to ground control, I'm stepping through the door.  And I'm floating in the most peculiar way". - David Bowie

Though we would love to have you believe that as the door of the tiny plane slid open, we had the composure to run an appropriate song through our heads, that is simply untrue.  At 12,000 feet, with jagged fangs of rock clawing towards us from below and the wind from the open hatch roaring over the whine of the single propeller, our reptilian brains were fully in command.  There were no words of inspiration dancing in our heads - all focus was fixed on normally mundane tasks such as breathing and keeping the flying monkeys in our stomachs from being released as vomit.  How did we end up hanging out the side of this plane with nothing but two miles of sky between us and the unforgiving ground?

Well, there is no sense in skipping ahead, so just be patient and we will find out if there is a rational answer to that question.

New Zealand's biggest draw, when we dreamt up this trip many moons ago, was the expansive Middle Earth terrain and the many highly regarded hikes that amble through it.  The country is known for their world-class trail system ("tramps" along the "tracks" in kiwi speak) and since the limited permits sell out rapidly, we reserved our slots in July 2009.  Our first tramp was the three day, two night Routeburn Track, which dazzled us with rugged mountain scenery over 20 spectacular miles. 

Following the trek, a fortuitously efficient two-day hitchhiking adventure put us back in the role of thumb-wagging passengers to reconnect with our acrid car.  In our best coup yet, Ben was scooped up by a gaggle of South Korean girls and provided a guided tour of the area (in Korean).

Our second tramp was the Milford track, boastfully dubbed "The Finest Walk in the World".  This four day, three night excursion winds gently over 33 miles from a massive inland lake to the fjordland, terminating in the spectacular Milford Sound.  Both tramps were luxurious by our standards, with bunkhouses for sleeping and common rooms for cooking and killing time.  These  way stations injected an enjoyable human element to the treks, inspiring rapid comraderie with out fellow trampers, especially David, John, Diane, and the Flying Dutchman.  We settled into a fantastic routine of strolling the picturesque trails by day, playing cards and slogging through a dehydrated meal in the evening, and listening to the old men in our bunkrooms rock the Casbah with their snoring through the night.  In general, the sun joined us on the trail, but even our rainy days were rewarding, lavishing us with endless waterfalls dangling down the cliff faces like the silver silken threads of so many spider webs. 

Unfortunately for the blood-thirsty sand flies, our days in the wilderness soon reached an end and we continued south to spend some time with Carolyn's family friends, Peter and Linda Seed.  These two globetrotters gave us the royal treatment, with home-cooked meals, a guided tour of Dunedin, and a lifetime supply of British songs to sing, courtesy of the pomp-inflated evening of Queen worship at "The Proms".  Did you know New Zealand is still a vassal state to the British monarchy?  Neither did we, but now you know....and knowing is half the battle.

Our waning days on the Enchanted Isles were spent visiting the country's highest point, the towering Mt. Cook.  This ice-sheathed giant dwarfs its surrounding brethren in the Southern Alps and has provided fertile training ground for some of the globe's most celebrated mountaineers.  With time running short, we went for a short hike to a glacier-fed lake and settled for risking our lives needlessly in other ways.

From the beginning of our trip, our hearts were set on bungy jumping in Queenstown where the "sport" was born.  However, upon coming face to face with the prices, we found the idea of paying $30/second for the experience scarier than the prospect of actually bungy jumping.  Instead, we shifted our focus to the lunacy of sky diving over the Remarkables mountain range and the other-worldly blue of Lake Wakatipu.  The free fall from the plane lasted an incredible 40 seconds, which felt eternal at the time, but is hard to recall at all in retrospect.  It seems that our brains were so overwhelmed by hurtling towards the ground at 120 mph that memories ceased recording during the plummet.  We can easily say that the wind was fierce enough to knock the screams (very manly, confident screams in Ben's case) from our throats.  We bent the budget for the day and sprung for a concurrently diving cameraman to capture Carolyn's jump on film, so her mother could see it for herself at long last.  The five minute parachute float earthward was Carolyn's highlight.  Our tandem masters were able to maneuver our chutes to within shouting distance so we could relish the moment together.  Touchdown brought with it lots of high fives and hugs, knowing we now had more ammo with which to someday convince our kids that we used to be cool.

Our time in New Zealand ended on a high note, with Ben's unforeseen second place finish (and accompanying $10 prize) in a beauty contest while playing Monopoly!

P.S. If you were considering filling you water bottle in the urinal at the Sydney airport, we advise against it.  You have been warned.

And...a few extra pics.