Gangsta Trippin

The entry in which I retell my fall break experience in meticulous detail, and which you should only read if you are extremely bored.

Thursday night was a late night for many of us on campus. It was the last night in which many of us would see each other for 2 weeks, as the next day we would be taking our holidays in separate locations throughout New Zealand and (gasp!) Australia. We all stayed up late, and I had an early start the next day. I served as a wake up call for 3 people, and even with the wake up call we had a late start. In addition, our group was split in 2 after much confusion. Off to a rough start. Céline, Yvan and I took the Pulsar (possibly the protagonist of this story) and landed in Dunedin approximately 5 hours later. Somewhere along the way we found alien type round boulders on a beach, and looked for penguins and pillow lava in Oumaru. Instead of unique birds and strange geographic formations (New Zealand in a nutshell folks) we stumbled upon a cranky sea lion that had decided to haul out on the foot path. It growled at us, and unwilling to contract TB from a curmudgeony marine mammal we headed back to the Pulsar and continued south. Upon finding the city center at Dunedin I was dragged into a movie theatre to see Ice Age 2. A quality film, I must admit.

So, that was it for Dunedin. We slept on a beach in Brighton that night, just outside the city. We resumed our drive south to Stewart Island, the true asshole of the world. I say that in a purely geographical sense. The island is, in fact, nothing like an asshole. We ferried across, meeting up with Nick and Dirk in the process. Upon arrival we immediately decided to stay an extra night and postponed our ferry back. Them 4 did the 3 day, 2 night Rakiura Track around a small part of Stewart Island. I did the first night, then walked back for Easter mass on Sunday. Twas bitchin, and I lazied about, walked around and kayaked a bit for the rest of my stay. At one point a kaka, the rarest parrot in the world, landed itself on my knee and attempted to steal my food. One of the most ridiculous moments in my life. There was a joyful reunion of the parties on Monday morning, and we ferried back across to Bluff.

I took it from Bluff. My first time driving on the left side of the road, which is, in fact, the right side of the road in New Zealand. The 200km from Bluff to Te Anau were piloted by me and were completely devoid of incident. In Te Anau we checked into our hostel and promptly ran into 10 people from Lincoln University. My grandparents (aka the most generous people in the world) had given quite a heap of cash with which to buy a nice meal for my friends for Easter. The crew and I managed to find a Chinese restaurant and gorged ourselves silly. The next day we walked a bit of the Kepler Track, which starts just outside Te Anau. At dusk we entered the glow worm caves and my mind exploded.

Next day we set sail for Milford Sound. The road to Milford is a tourist attraction in itself. Mountains rose up into the clouds all around us, and thousands of waterfalls fell down their rocky slopes. We arrived safely in Milford and took in the splendor of the fiord…for about 5 minutes before the sandflies drove us to near insanity. We took refuge in our hostel, and Till cooked a lovely dinner. The next morning Céline, Yvan and I hopped on a fiord cruise. The mountains of the fiord were amazing to say the least, and I saw the Tasman Sea for the first time in my life.


From there we headed to Queenstown. After eating some gourmet ice cream, the 3 of us bedded down for the night on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. We awoke to a lovely sunrise, then packed it up and headed back into town. Céline and I did a bit of white water rafting on the Shotover River, followed by a brief jump off a 47m ledge. Thank you AJ Hackett for throwing a harness and bungy chord on me before I made the leap.

We hauled off to the Routeburn Track the next day. We left the Pulsar at the Queenstown end of the track, and switched keys with Dirk, Nick and Till, who were traveling from Milford to Queenstown on the same track. Smart move on our part. The first day was short, although there was one nice climb in there. Yvan, being the insane Frenchmen that he is, decided that he wanted to be a real lumber jack and hike to the second hutt instead of staying in the one we reserved for the night. Céline and I packed his lunch, gave him a flashlight, tied his shoes, zipped up his jacket and sent him on his way. Like any mothers, we were a little worried about how he would be all alone in the wilderness, but he assured us that he grew up in the mountains. Or some such bullshit. We spent the night playing cards with 2 Americans at Routeburn Falls hutt. The next day we began our ascent up and over Harris Saddle, and ran into Yvan and Dirk on the way. He had made it to the second hutt and had hiked back with an empty bag to carry some of our stuff in. What a guy.

It rained all that day, and even with Yvan acting as our sherpa I still felt a nice challenge getting to Mackenzie Hutt. We arrived midafternoon and made a late lunch. There was some good laughter about the massive amount of food we brought on the track. No sir, this crew would not be starving anytime soon. We rolled out the next morning, and this time the rain clouds kept their ugly faces hidden. The track was easier and the weather was nice and we all enjoyed ourselves immensely.

We emerged at the Divide near Milford Sound in the early afternoon. After some lunch we jumped into Dirk’s car and I took the wheel. Now Dirk’s car has a bit more of a kick than the Pulsar (no offense to our white angel), and about halfway between Te Anau and Queenstown I landed a nice speeding ticket. I won’t go into details, but I will of course say that it was undeserved. The first ticket I’ve ever gotten in my life. Obviously a bummer. Spent the night in Queenstown and reunited with Dirk, Nick and Till. I was tired and depressed about my traffic ticket, so I hit the hay whilst the rest of the crew celebrated Till’s birthday.

Next morning was the start of the great journey up the West Coast to Abel Tasman National Park. Céline cracked her knuckles and manhandled the wheel. The West Coast is known for copious amounts of rainfall, and we were not let down. Céline tagged Yvan in and he continued driving well into the dark, wet night. West Coast driving is pretty wretched. To say the roads are poorly lit is a euphemism—they are not lit at all. It is all upwards or downwards, never level, and always winding. As the rain beat our windshield Céline announced that we would not be setting up the tent, because we would get wet in the process. Instead we pulled over near Punakaiki and scraped together some cold dinner inside the Pulsar, turned off the flashlight and pretended it really wasn’t so bad with 3 of us in a two door car along with all of our bags. I was in the back. Actually, it wasn’t so bad, but we agreed the next morning that we would never sleep in the Pulsar again.


Yvan hit the gas and we stopped in Punakaiki to eat pancakes next to the pancake rocks. Classic! Then we scratched our heads at yet another geographical oddity—the stacks of flat pancakey bluffs that move Punakaiki from a 1 horse town to a guaranteed gas stop with some cool rocks to boot. We moved on quickly, reaching Motueka in the early afternoon. Our hostel wasn’t ready for us yet, so we walked along the beach at Kaiteriteri, a nearby town. Yvan exercised his creative side while Céline and I laughed at his wacky antics. Oh la vache.

Vive le France and I concocted a perfect dinner that night at the hostel, and we enjoyed the privacy of a family sized room for the price of a dorm room. Céline and I shared a double bed and Yvan chose to pass up joining us and hit up a single sized bed. We awoke groaning early the next morning and headed back to Kaiteriteri to meet our kayaking company, the lovely Kaiteriteri Kayaks. They hooked us up with 2 kayaks, a double and a single. I rocked the single on the first day and Team Toulouse paddled in the double. After packing the kayaks and doing a bit of training we were pointed in the direction of Abel Tasman National Park and we began some leisurely paddling sans guide.

Around 2 in the afternoon we found ourselves near our campsite for the night. With nothing to do we decided to paddle to Tonga Island, at the edge of the paddling territory. As is often the case with our knuckleheaded posse, we neglected to plan ahead and found ourselves struggling to make it back to our campsite before sunset. We made it in the end, but not without a few worries and some hard paddling. We heated our dinner over a fire and zonked out before 9pm in our tent. The next day was less than lovely. While we had great weather the first day, the second day was rainy with winds that threatened to push our kayaks out to the Cook Straight. Yvan, being the romantic Frenchmen that he is, landed us in a bit of trouble when he insisted upon calling his girlfriend from the only phone in the park. He fell out of his kayak while landing on the beach, so Céline and I came in to try to help him out. The phone was for emergency use only, so we threw Yvan back into his kayak and pushed him back out. Céline and I got soaking wet while trying to get our double back out. After some bitter remarks about a certain overzealous boyfriend we continued our paddling through the rain.

After exploring a lagoon we began heading back to our launch site. Céline and I lagged behind Yvan. We caught up with him at a beach and while we were snacking and shivering in the rain a water taxi pulled up to tell us that Kaiteriteri Kayaks would be sending another water taxi to pick us up due to the inclement weather. We jumped and did a mid-air, three-way high 5, followed by some frantic unpacking of the kayaks. The water taxi that came to pick us up shortly thereafter was helpful and friendly. We had a nice ride back to Kaiteriteri and we quickly threw our wet gear and wetselves into the car, thanked the staff of Kaiteriteri Kayaks and stumbled into a coffee shop in Motueka. We had some FUNKY coffee and delicious food, as recommended by the Lonely Planet. After warming up we got back in the car and pushed it to Nelson.

In Nelson we dried our things in the hostel and walked around. The trip was winding down and I felt our time together was quickly running out. We watched The Piano (a Kiwi film) that night in the hostel’s sound proof TV room. Very classy. The next day we walked to the large market next door to the hostel and did some nice exploring. I was happy with my purchases. We walked to the port to see a pretty mural and discovered a few art galleries. Then, most importantly, we hiked up a hill to the official geographical centre of New Zealand. The real, unofficial, geographical centre of New Zealand is, in fact, in the ocean. But, no matter. We were more impressed with the nice view than the point marking the centre of the country. Having accomplished this objective we said goodbye to Nelson and I piloted the Pulsar to Picton.

At Picton we stayed at a delightful hostel called The Villa. For NZ$23 you get a dorm room, access to a hot tub, free ice cream and apple crumble, free breakfast, lovely grounds and all the other usual amenities that hostels have to offer. I highly recommend this hostel to those of your planning on passing through Picton. We cooked a delicious dinner and I forced the frogs to watch Moulin Rouge. We lounged by the fire that the hostel has going outside at night. I tried to work out a way to make the night last forever, but I fell asleep before I could work out all the details. It was a bittersweet last night.

The last day, Sunday, we drove the last stretch home to Lincoln. We stopped in Kaikoura so Yvan could finish collecting some data for a statistics project on fur seals. Céline and I nabbed his credit card and bought ourselves some bling. We ate our last meal together at the Why Not Café. I prayed for the car to break down, or for us to get lost, or for anything to stop us from getting home and ending the holidays. Unfortunately we made it without incident. We had a cheesey group hug and then I went sulking back to my room.

Here are my conclusions (the important part for those skimming this mental vomit). First, I will thank the Pulsar. I admit I had my doubts (as I’m sure we all did), but that little baby proved us all wrong. While she made some strange noises and gave us a couple of scares, the Pulsar “I think I can”-ed her way over hill and dale, across fiord and plain, under mountain and over ridiculous West Coast roads. We couldn’t have done it without her.

Next, I will thank The Lonely Planet. No tourist should be without one. It is the answer to all questions you have, and some you didn’t know to ask. Where should we eat today? Where should we sleep tonight? How much does sky diving cost? Where was that river crossing scene in Lord of the Rings taped? How do I get ride of these damn sandflies? (The Lonely Planet says there is no solution to this last predicament). Thank you Lonely Planet for making my travels that much smoother.

I must also thank Aotearoa—New Zealand. I’ve said it before, and yes, I will say it again: Kiwis know they are lucky people, and it’s true. The country is young (in more ways than one), and it’s teenage rebellion is reflected in its stunning landscapes and geology. I am head over heels in love with New Zealand.

Most importantly, all of my gratefulness goes out to Céline and Yvan. My fear of not making any genuine connections during my stay here has been alleviated, as I can now say I’ve found amazing friendships in the two of them. Céline and Yvan were superb travel partners. Two beautiful people. I couldn’t have asked for better, even if they are French. Above all else I have them to thank for making my holidays the best two weeks of my life.

Hooray! You’ve made it to the end. Want to come to New Zealand yet? I’ll only have a room for you for the next month and a half. To describe how depressed that makes me would merit another entry, and I think both of us (if you did indeed read this entire entry) are tired of blogging for the moment.