Though I’m sure no one will read them, I’m doing it anyway. It’s been one of those things that I wanted to complete.

Whether I continue it after the story of the trip is over, we shall see.

Hong Kong isn’t a city to try to and see in a day.

I knew this when I planned my trip. Originally my flight plan would have included an eight hour layover in Hong Kong, but I decided that was just crazy, so I extended it for a day just to get a chance to walk around a bit. I had no intention of spending the time necessary to really get to know Hong Kong, because it would have extended my trip quite a bit. My logic in the planning phases was something like this: I know I’m only going to be able to get a sample of Australia in six weeks, and just a taste of New Zealand in two, so unless I am going to rethink the trip into a more comprehensive adventure, all I need is a whiff of Hong Kong.

I had toyed with the idea of seeing Viet Nam, and Thailand, and traveling across India, but realized that I hadn’t done nearly enough preparation for anything like that, so this trip wasn’t going to incorporate SE Asia, or the Indian subcontinent. I felt that if I got the chance to walk around a bit in Hong Kong, I could get enough of a feel for it that I could use it as a jumping off point for another trip.

I wandered around for much of the day on foot. During that day, I missed what I regard as one of the better photo opportunities of the trip, just because I was too self-conscious to pull out my camera:

A city worker was watering a hedge that was shoulder high. The light was coming in at just the right angle and the droplets of spray were sparkling in the low morning sunlight against the shaded background, and her face was illuminated under her wide conical hat from the light reflected off of the green wet hedge between us.

I’ve got to learn to just stick the camera in people’s faces if I’m going to get the really good shots…

Incidentally, yes, they still do use bamboo scaffolding for construction.  The buildings in the background shrouded in green cloth are entirely covered in bamboo scaffolding as well.

I wandered the streets in search of markets. I had imagined being able to wander through markets that resembled a cross between the old Reading Terminal Market, and the street vendors in Blade Runner, where I could find everything from eel to electronics, but found nothing like that. The closest likenesses were a few scattered alley ways, divided by hanging grids and racks of sequined and rhinestone encrusted T-shirts, huge ugly sunglasses, vinyl hand bags and scarves that I couldn’t imagine going with anything.

I had expected that electronics might prove to be cheaper in Hong Kong, but such was not the case. I wandered into a book store and bought a couple of travel books on Amsterdam and Holland for tomorrow’s plane ride.

I managed to find a small park on my wanderings. It was really more of a path between two places that had a little waterfall, and some greenery, but no where to sit. I had expected to find a city geared towards pedestrian life, but I was mistaken. I mean, there were people walking everywhere, but none of them seemed to ever need a place to sit down, and none were provided.

A very long wait in a very long queue preceded a very short ride up the mountain in Hong Kong’s famous funicular. The floor of tram car was scalloped so that I could stand upright despite the steepness of the slope. The trees and greenery of the island occupy all of the land that is too steep to build, so the funicular made its way up the mountain with trees on either side. Apartment buildings that may have only had enough room for a few apartments on each floor, stood many stories high, and poked up at the sky like pencils.

It’s really amazing. Once you get off of the tram car, you are forced to walk up through several floors of kitschy souvenirs in order to look outside from the roof. Picture a rest stop or airport gift shop anywhere in the world. Out of every 100 items for sale there, what fraction of them are made in China? If anyone can do tacky gift shop merchandise it’s China. The gaudy-meter broke on my camera, so I was unable to photograph the evidence, but rest assured that no one is going to top the shopping experience waiting for you at the top of Hong Kong’s hottest tourist attraction.

There were a couple of restaurants on the outer edges of the gift shops, and I’m sure they had great views when the weather was good.

Once out on the roof I looked down on the city below. It was impressive. The haze from the pollution was incredible. I’m sure the view would have been more impressive if I could have actually seen more of it, but what stuck in my mind was the brown haze. I could see across to the mainland which looked like it was just across the river, but it was like looking through, well, haze.

I decided that I would hang around for a little while and let the sun go down so that I could see the city with its lights ablaze. It definitely got chilly, and windy, and several times I wandered around inside the kitsch mall on the mountain top just to get warm.

A few of the buildings had neon lights on them that changed color, and I did what I could to take a few shots without a tripod. There were photographers with tripods and on-camera flashes charging for pictures of couples against the backdrop of city lights. I wandered around a few of the shops inside again, and came back down the mountain feeling hungry.

I slowly made my way to a restaurant recommended by Roger. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that they were known for their dim sum and that that was traditionally served early in the day. Once I ordered it took about two hours for food to show up. Apparently, they are too accustomed to doing dim sum, and have no sense of bringing food to the table, or service of any kind in fact. If tipping were the custom there I wouldn’t have left one, and I have worked in restaurants for years. After a dessert of squid ink pudding, I wandered around the streets of Hong Kong, and got lost in a maze of malls that seemed to go everywhere, with most of their shops closed up for the night.

Eventually, I did manage to find my way back to my room, and went to bed. (In hindsight, it is possible that I may have been bitten by a spider during the night.)

The next morning I got up and got on the bus to the airport. The airport was not quite as vacant as it was when I went through it headed to Perth, but it still seemed relatively empty.

Upon take off, I had a view of the port from the air. Hong Kong is perhaps the largest port on the planet. There were an impressive amount of shipping containers below. I’ve never really hung out at a port, so I have nothing to compare it to, but it was definitely a large port with LOTS of containers (each the size of a semi- trailer).

I left Hong Kong behind in a trail of jet fumes, headed to Holland; the last leg of the trip.

I found that the bus ride to Auckland reminded me a lot of the landscape of the high plateau of the Pacific Northwest, Eastern Washington and Oregon, maybe even as far east as Montana. Here’s a picture, so that you can see what I mean.

26th
Approaching Auckland felt a little like taking the bus into the Bay Area from the Sierras. I arrived back at the hostel in the late afternoon. There was no sign of the mail containing my ticket from Hong Kong to Amsterdam. The friendly fellow behind the desk was a really big guy who looked like he was at least part Maori, but didn’t find anything for me. He said he’d have a look around, and told me to check in later. So I headed out into the streets of Auckland, with no particular goal in mind. I thought maybe I’d find a gift or two while I was at it.

I returned later in the evening, and still no luck. The big guy behind the desk suggested I come back in the morning to see if anything had turned up.

In the morning I returned, and there was a woman behind the desk. I asked her to have a look. She rummaged around for a bit, and said that she didn’t see anything, and suggested I come back in a while because she was really busy, and there were a couple of other places she could look when she had a moment.

So things didn’t look that promising. Where was the ticket? I had to come up with an alternative.
With my plane for Hong Kong leaving at 1:30, I still had no ticket from there to Amsterdam. Trouble is, Hong Kong won’t let you in without a ticket out. I had a lot of things to do.

My first task was to find the KLM office since they were handling the flight from Hong Kong to Amsterdam. Luckily it was within walking distance. (Of course, having walked roughly 45km in one day on a previous visit to Aukland, by that standard, most of Aukland is within walking distance.) I went to the KLM office and explained that it didn’t look like my ticket had ever been delivered. The clerk was helpful, but told me that since a paper ticket was printed, I would have to cancel it and reissue a ticket if I couldn’t find it. If it had been an electronic ticket it wouldn’t have been an issue. So, back to the hostel I went. Lo and behold they had found my ticket, wahoo! Beginning to feel a little like a human yo-yo, I went back to KLM to tell them the good news. In the meantime, the clerk had been helpful, and canceled the ticket that I had just recovered, and had issued me another.

Ah, first problem solved, and it was only noon, so I still had time to make my flight. Figured I’d double check that I had everything… bags: yep; ticket: yep, er wait, what’s this? My flight left at 11:00?
Ok, well, next problem: Can I get a reissued ticket for a missed flight?
I guess there could be worse places to be stuck than Aukland, New Zealand

First, track down the Cathay Pacific office… again, luckily, it was within walking distance.
The Cathay Pacific office was located in a swanky looking hotel, and the clerk was dressed very formally in a dark maroon-purple collarless jacket.

Lucky for me there was another flight later that day, and I walked out with another reissued ticket.
Back at the hostel, the shuttles to the airport ran every hour, and cost something on the order of $15.
Another traveler was also headed to the airport, and we split a $20 cab fare to get there instead of waiting around.

Each airport I visited I would notice network jacks in the walls. Like all of the other airports, Auckland’s had them too. Unfortunately, the only ones I found to be working at any point during my trip, were the ones in New York’s airport.

The flight to Hong Kong wasn’t very eventful, but one doesn’t want flights to be eventful, really. I managed to call ahead, and find a small single room to stay in. I rode a bus, and walked a couple of blocks, checked in, then went to bed.

Here’s a shot taken as the ferry enters the strait headed towards Wellington.  In the background you can see the reason the Maori name for New Zealand (Aotearoa) translates to “Land of the Long White Cloud.”

I found a hostel close to the Wellington train terminal, and settled in. A glass of wine from the hostel’s bar and a few rounds of darts later, and I’d met a few of the residents, and began a long evening of playing pool.

Residents seemed to be divided into two groups: the travelers, and the “locals.” The travelers, myself included, were just passing through, and viewed the hostel as a place to stay along the way. The locals lived in the hostel, but were originally from all over, primarily British Commonwealth nations. They had long term jobs in and around Wellington, and used the hostel as home.

After a few games of pool with assorted folks, one wanted to keep playing, just because she loved the game.  Erin would be considered one of the locals, who had recently arrived, but I don’t think she had landed a long term job yet. Her pool skills weren’t great, but she was good company and conversation. I tried to help her with a few tips on form and strategy. We played game after game, and she kept improving, to the point where she was winning about as often as I was. Perhaps the amount of wine consumed had something to do with that. Eventually, sometime around 3 or 4 the hostel bar shut down, and we went our separate ways.

On the 25th I woke, and given the time of my rising, realized that there was no way I was going to catch a bus all the way to Aukland, and find a place to stay on Christmas day. I had noticed in the last couple of hostels signs indicating that there would be no check-ins or check-outs on the 25th. So that meant that I was staying put.

The hostel was nearly empty with the exception of the locals, and I was invited to join in their Holiday dinner. They cooked up a storm and all I could do was help move the tables and chairs around to get everyone a space. Turkey, several different stuffings, potatoes, mashed and baked, pasta, beans… It was a huge and yummy feast. There must have been thirty people there. I should have taken pictures.

Good food, good people, that’s what holidays are all about.

The next day I headed out early on the bus back to Aukland.

The town of Franz-Joseph was a bit more substantial than Fox Glacier, and there were a few of stops around town after the first one at the hotel. Tony and I were pleasantly surprised that one of the stops added a couple of familiar faces to the passenger list: Tabea and Sabine. They had also gone for a glacier hike the day before, but they didn’t give as glowing a review as I would have of my trek, so I felt glad that I had chosen Fox Glacier over Franz Joseph.

The ride was pleasant, and the landscape slowly changed from temperate mountain rainforest to warm temperate rainforest as we reached the coast and moved north. We stopped briefly at a place called pancake rocks, which is pretty aptly named, as you can see from the photo below.

We made a stop in a jade factory. There was a storage area stocked with jade that had been harvested decades ago, and a guy in the back sculpting a small piece. I talked with him a bit about the process of making some of the pieces so prevalent in New Zealand’s jewelry stores. I bought a small unfinished rectangular piece of stone that I thought I might try my hand at working with later.

Tony made his scheduled departure in Greymouth. He emailed me later to say Greymouth wasn’t as exciting as he had hoped, and wished he’d stayed on the bus to Nelson, but he was headed east across the beautiful Arthur’s Pass to Christchurch on the last leg of his journey. Incidentally, he said that he really enjoyed his stay in Christchurch.

We continued north along the coastline on a winding road that reminded me of a cross between Highway 1 in California and… maybe some portions of Hawaii. The rainfall here supported more lush looking vegetation than is present along California’s coast; certainly more broad leafed plants.

Eventually we reached Nelson, where I shared a cab with Tabea and Sabine to one of the hostels. The hostel was a combined motel, and traditional hostel sitting almost side by side. I stayed in the hostel, Tabea and Sabine had a room reserved in the motel section. I jogged into the center of town and had thai food for a late dinner, then headed back to the hostel, which had a pool, and seemed quite the party scene. I loaded and edited photos, did a few website updates, and scheduled my bus travel for the next morning, then headed to bed.

Twelve of us piled into a couple of shuttles and headed up to the glacier; Jørrin and Lee included.

After de-bussing in the parking area, our guide Tamara took us over to check out the stream of glacial melt nearby. It was a milky gray color, but tasted fine. The glacier didn’t look that big, but we were still a long ways off, and the apparent size of things here in New Zealand is often deceiving. In order to get onto the glacier, we would eventually have to hike up along the steep forested slopes to the left in the photo below.

If you look closely, you can see people on the path that leads toward the glacier among the rocks in the center of the photo.

Fox Glacier is one of the few glaciers in the world that is currently growing. This may be because wind patterns have shifted, and New Zealand gets hit with the air coming from Antarctica. There’s no land between them to shelter them from the cold air. Snow that falls at the top of the mountain fills in a large basin. Since it’s too high and cold to melt, it just accumulates. Each year, more and more snow builds up and presses down on the snow that’s below it. The layer of snow that fell seven years ago has been compressed into ice by the weight of the snow in the years since, and more snow continues to fall. This weight pushes the ice down the valley, and as it moves down the valley it acts like a fluid, only in slow motion. Cracks form to relieve stress, and allow some areas to move more quickly than others. It is a river of ice.

Just as weight compresses snow into ice, there are thousands of tons of ice moving downslope, which grinds away at the stone that forms the walls and floor of the valley. This process creates the characteristic U-shaped valleys we saw in Milford Sound.

Of course the ice also melts, and that water tunnels and flows through, around and under the glacier. Eventually, it comes out below the glacier. The area where it exits the glacier often melts quicker than the other ice at the front, so there is often a cave at the base of the glacier. The front edge of the glacier is very unstable, and large chunks of ice fall off without warning. Here you can see that the entire cave mouth collapsed, and there are some hikers in the foreground for scale. Keep in mind that the hikers are still a long way from reaching the front of the glacier.

There were a number of places along the trail with signs saying “NO STOPPING NEXT 300m.” Looking uphill, we could see why; valleys filled with loose rock funneled directly at that section of path. Tamara showed us a boulder below us on the valley floor, and the divot next to our path that it had left when it “bounced” on its way down last year. Considering that the rock was about twice the size of a refrigerator, and you could park a Mini Cooper in the hole it made, I decided that I’d keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious activity up hill. The path continued up, and eventually entered the rain forest.

Fox Glacier is also one of the only places on earth that glacier meets rain forest. Of course it’s a temperate rain forest, rather than tropical, but on this day, I was comfortable in shorts, and a long sleeve shirt, and the sun was still shining which was apparently unusual.

The path was only about a couple of feet wide in most parts and for a while there was a very steep drop on one side. A chain had been anchored into the cliff side that we were told to hold onto as we made our way along this section. There was a short stretch in the forest which was directly downslope from a very unstable section of rock. A system had been set up to warn us if rock began to break loose and come tumbling down toward us. We had to pass through this section only four at a time. Tamara was watching the sensor. Her instructions were simple, “If I say run, RUN!” In other words, “There’s a freight train of big rocks coming straight at you, and you don’t want to be in its way.”

After about an hour of uphill hiking, we were along side the lowest section of the glacier. Looking down we could see how the ice had cracked to relieve stress as it was pushed down the valley. Pulverized rock dusted the surface near the shore of the ice river beneath us.

To give you a sense of the size of what you are looking at, you can see a set of stairs that have been cut into the glacier for hiking access. They stand out against the rock dust in the lower portion of the photo, and the black mark at the top of the stairs are two people beginning to descend. There is also a group of people out on the glacier in the distance, just right of the center of the photo. (Note: the current banner photo is a detail of this group) This is about as far up the glacier as you would want to go. Above the group you can see what looks like a wall of ice. This is an enormous ice fall, a giant step in the valley floor, and the ice moving down the valley from above falls over it. Of course, unlike in a waterfall, it does that very slowly, chunk by building-sized chunk. As you get closer to the icefall, the terrain gets more and more difficult to navigate, and this is where we were headed.

To get from the stairs to the location of the group, it took us about three hours, with a stop for lunch.

We made our way down to the edge of the glacier, strapped crampons to our boots, and started up the set of stairs that had been chopped into the ice by the guides. The stairway needed to be maintained by every guide, or it would slowly melt, or be washed away by the tiny flow of water that followed along beside it in a trough. Up we went, with Tamara hacking way with her pick; fixing this, leveling that, making sure the water was flowing in the channel. The terrain leveled off, and it was easier hiking. Tamara led the way, cutting a few steps whenever we came to a steep incline or footing was questionable. We followed a meandering path across the glacier, and settled down for lunch on a patch of rocks sitting on top of the ice. Black rocks in the sun, even if they are sitting on ice, make a warmer seat than bare ice.

Tamara was really pleased about the weather. Apparently, she only gets a day like this once every two months or so. It’s usually cloudy, windy, chilly, raining, or all of the above. As you can see we’re on the far side of the glacier relative to the previous photo.

After lunch, we regrouped and started off up the glacier towards the ice fall. After a couple of hours we were at the limit of reasonable progress, so we stopped for a group photo, then started back.

To give you an idea of how far we came, here’s a view looking down into the valley. Although the stream is the same stream in the first photo, you can’t see around the corner to where it was taken.

Fox Glacier, like all glaciers is subject to climate change. In the late 1800′s the glacier was much larger. It filled up the valley as high as the small ridge that is about even with the right side Tamara’s hat, and what is now valley floor was under hundreds of meters of ice. In fact the small wooden shack that acted as a base camp for hiking the glacier is still up there, but watch out for that first step off the porch! The valley floor is a long way down.

I’m really glad the weather was so nice. It was much better to have rain in Auckland and sun in Fox Glacier, than the other way around.

We hiked back down to valley floor, without getting crushed by runaway rocks, then out to the shuttle. It was a long day of hiking, and I was ready for some food. So the market was my first stop after handing in my gear at the Glacier Center. Between the market and the hostel, I met a woman named Ruth from South Africa. We made dinner and shared a beer. She headed off to her room to shower and bed, because she had to catch an early bus. I edited photos.

Waking early I checked out of the hostel and waited for the bus. If it wasn’t drizzling, it was at least overcast, and threatening to rain. The bus got under way, and I was seated next to a fellow from Australia named Tony who was also headed to Fox Glacier. Across the aisle from us were two very attractive German women (Tabea and Sabine) who were headed further north, beyond Fox Glacier, to Franz Joseph Glacier.

Recipe for making New Zealand:
Take the Pacific Northwest (the weather and the progressive culture), fill with a few Napa Valleys (including the earthquakes), drop in Switzerland’s peaks topped with Montana’s Glaciers, add on part of Norway’s coastline fjords (I’d say Iceland, but I haven’t been there yet), and part of Hawaii’s tropical coast, and a few of the fiery bits as well (which I didn’t get the chance to visit), garnish with plenty of clouds, and serve with several million legs of mutton, on two islands of less than 3/4 the land area of California, and you’d have a start. The long and short of it is that if you drive for an hour, you are bound to encounter at least two different ecosystems, and land uses. This was a stark contrast to my travels across the Australian Outback, which did have some variation, but was still essentially scrub brush desert.

After skirting a few mountain lakes that had been scooped out by glaciers to a depth of over 300m (the bottom of the lake was below sea level), we followed a river down out of the mountains into wine country. The bus stopped at a farmer’s market, and I bought some fresh kiwis, nuts, and dried fruit.

We arrived in the town of Fox Glacier to discover that it was a quaint little town consisting of a couple of hostels, a couple of pubs, a couple of restaurants, a hotel built in the 1920′s. The hub of the town was the Galcier info center, which sold gear, gave out info, and was the base for all tours leading onto the glacier.

Tony and I went to the general store, bought some veggies and pasta, and headed back to the hostel. Apparently at nearby Lake (…) was a view into the mountains over a sheltered lake that was often so still that it acted like a mirror reflecting the view. It was a 45 minute hike around the lake, so we figured it sounded like it might be a good sunset activity.

An older fellow with a van made his living shuttling people to and from the various scenic locations around town; the glacier, the lake, the airport (skydiving was big here too). We hired him to take us to the lake and pick us up an hour or so later. It was a nice hike. We met a few of the people staying at the same hostel we were. Everyone was stopped on one side of the lake waiting for the lake to get still before the sun went down. It got fairly still, but there was still a light breeze out on the lake, and a few ducks decided that this was a good time to dive for dinner nearby. Needless to say, the lake wasn’t as calm as it could have been, but I took a few shots.

We headed back to the hostel and cooked up the pasta and veggies. Tony went to bed because he was scheduled to take an early hike on the glacier. Earlier in the day I had noticed a small park close to the hostel dedicated to glow worms. I had to check it out. The worms were tiny cellophane noodles, so tiny that we had a really hard time finding them at all with a few flashlights. They lived beneath natural overhangs and seeemed to spin netlike webs. In the dark, the tip of one end glowed in the dark. The light they produced was not the day-glow yellow-green of fireflies, but more like star-light, and there were so many of them that that was the effect when we turned off the headlamps.

I stayed up and played cards with some of the folks we met at the lake. If I could remember all of their names I’d include them, but two of them joined me on a full day hike the next day: Jørrin, a neurologist from Utrecht, NL and Lee, from Israel. We stayed up fairly late, playing a fascinating game called Set, and of course, the travelers’ standard: “Sh*thead.”

The shuttle bus picked me up from the hostel. True to form, it was raining, and I piled in, we picked up a couple more folks at various hostels and left town. It was the tour driver’s last day on the job, and he was in a great mood.

Most of the bus was filled with Japanese tourists who didn’t seem to speak any english, or if they did, they didn’t really respond to his questions and comments. “Quiet bunch; that’s the way it goes on some trips.” he said. I was riding shotgun; most of the trip we listened to Bob Marley, and chatted about life in New Zealand. I feel terrible that I didn’t write down his name, and I’ve forgotten it.

The driver was worried with the weather and low clouds that we wouldn’t be able to see much, but what could we do? The weather was going to be what it was going to be. We made a few stops to check out waterfalls, a reflecting pool, crystal clear streams of snow melt, and even a swimming hole,but given the rain and nip to the air, sticking my foot in was as close as anyone on the bus got to going for a dip. The rain occasionally slowed a bit, but view of anything taller than several hundred meters was obscured by clouds.

We went through a tunnel, cut through the mountain, and found less rain on the other side. By the time we arrived in Milford Sound, the rain had stopped, and blue sky seemed to be approaching from the coast.

Milford Sound is actually a fjord, rather than a sound, but the name has just stuck, and no one seems interested in changing it.

Sound:
a narrow stretch of water forming an inlet or connecting two wider areas of water such as two seas, or a sea and a lake.

Fjord:
a long narrow deep inlet of the sea between high cliffs, as in Norway and Iceland, typically formed by submergence of a glaciated valley.

Valleys cut by glaciers hava a characteristic U-shape. The walls of the fjord dwarfed the tour boats that cruised out to sea and back. Earlier rain, and melting snows combined to create waterfalls that poured out of valleys and over cliffs down to sea level in thundering rumbles and crystal mists. Because the walls of the fjord which rose straight up out of the water continued almost vertically below the water, the boat could get within a few meters of the walls, drenshing us in the spray.

The boat moved along one wall of the fjord all the way out to the ocean, then returned following the opposite wall back to shore. My jaw was tired by the end of the day from dropping open so many times.

The “small” boat that you see just to the right of the waterfall is roughly the size of a three or four story building.

We drove back through temperate rainforests, sheep pastures, lupine fields, and marshy farmland to Queenstown. My evening was spent playing pool at one of the local pubs. Just a heads up to fellow travelers: New Zealand rules, English rules and US rules are all different with regards to scratches / fouls.

I commented on the cost of shorts, and she agreed that they were pricey. She bought most of her clothes second hand. She also offered some advice. When she moved here, the one thing she brought with her was her gear. Apparently, any camping/climbing/outdoor gear is quite a bit more expensive than in the US.

She pointed me towards one of the thrift stores in town, and suggested that when I go up the mountain to ride the luge, that I take a few friends, so that I could race them down. I headed back to the hostel to try to recruit a couple of folks, but couldn’t get anyone to come along.

The luge course was above the gondola, so there was a second lift that took you to the top. The cost included round trip rides on the gondola. It was something like $17 for two rides or $20 for seven. That seemed like a no brainer to me, and I prepared myself for an afternoon of speed.

Here’s a view from the chair lift looking NE towards the town of Arthur’s Point:

I wasn’t ready to jump out of an airplane with a parachute, or off of a bridge with a giant rubber band tied to my ankles. Shooting down the inside of a concrete pipe twisting down the mountain, sounded like it could be pretty thrilling, so I decided to try riding the luge. Besides, I knew the trip to the top would provide some great views of town, the lake, the Remarkables, and valleys that stretched in a few directions.

After the gondola I rode the chair lift to the top of the luge course. I was disappointed that it wasn’t the concrete tube I had imagined, and that the luge sleds didn’t seem to be very speed oriented, but figured I’d give it a go, and see what kind of fun I could have with it.

Surprisingly, the first ride down was more hair raising than I had expected. There were a number of times I felt that I could have flown right off the mountain if I hadn’t braked hard enough, so I took it pretty slow. By the seventh ride however, I was racing down the course, leaving little tourist kids in my wake.

Before heading down into town, I decided to take advantage of the altitude, and hiked up from the top of the luge run, over into the next valley to see what I could see.

Back in town at the hostel I met two dutch women, a german fellow, as well as a Texan guy (from whom I immediately tried to disassociate myself).
We talked about their experiences traveling, skydiving, bungie jumping, and all of the other extreme activities that make Queenstown so famous.

The moment you step off the plane you are greeted by a ridge of awe-inspiring peaks called “The Remarkables.” Much like the Flatirons in Boulder, Colorado, only feeling much bigger and not quite as close, their presence is a constant in Queenstown.

I walked out of the airport to see the bus into town pulling away, so I set my bags at the bus stop, then wandered a little ways to take a photo. I turned around to see the bus pulling away without my bags, or me, on board. I decided to walk the 8 or 9km into town. It was during this walk that I became fully committed to reducing the size and weight of my pack on the next trip. How exactly this will be acheived is still being debated, but camera gear and laptop are being examined with a critical eye.
I bought a bag of cherries from a couple folks selling them out of the back of their truck along the road, and began working my way through the bag as I walked. The sidewalk became a path that left the streets and meandered along the edge of the lake offering views of the Remarkables.

(Here’s one view from along the path. The airport is in the valley just between the near hill and the Remarkables)

Along the walk I met a fellow from Spain who had been working on various farms in New Zealand for the last year or two. (I would run into him a few days later and pick his brain on what the work calendar was like for the fruit industry). I checked into a hostel in the middle of town and went on a walk to get some groceries. On the way back I bumped into Billy and he and Jen gave me a lift back to the hostel in the rental car. They had plans to head out the next day, and I was just getting adjusted, and figuring out my travel plans. I was even toying with the idea of going skydiving, so I planned to hang out in Queenstown for at least a day.