From a US point of view, almost everything in New Zealand is backwards. People drive on the left side of the road, walk on the left side of the sidewalk, and pass people on the left. The location of the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car really throws me. I see people texting or putting their feet up on the dashboard while they drive and nearly shout, “HOW ARE YOU NOT CRASHING RIGHT NOW?!” before I realize, “Oh. You’re the passenger.”

Even the seasons here are backwards. I’m going to “summer” school in the middle of January. That’s messed up. Someone told me that they were considering going to the States in the fall. I think that’s awesome and want to know if I’ll be back home around the time that they’re visiting. Now I have to start doing some complicated math-y crap in my head and then I start to confuse myself even more and I get all twitchy and stare at them imploringly – “Your fall or mine?” – and receive an uncomprehending look in return. Please. Just give me the name of a month that we all know. Also, Christmas here is hot and sunny. I didn’t get any present this year because Santa had heatstroke. Dude should’ve stripped off a few layers. Maybe ditched the reindeer for some Kiwi birds – equally flightless animals who probably feel themselves more entitled than deer to the gift of flight.

In the dead of winter

Another backwards quality: friendliness precedes friendship. People here are genuinely kind to strangers; kind to an extent that I have never before experienced. I have no problem smiling at passerby on the street or striking up conversation with shopkeepers, I have yet to hear a cruel word from anybody, and in my short time here even my anti-social little self has managed to make friends. Furthermore, Kiwis know how to laugh and, even within the abysmal and red-taped confines of bureaucracy, one can find an infectious sense of humor. At least on the surface, few things are taken too seriously. Road signs and readerboards contain jokes and dangerous, death-defying activity runners approach their tasks with an unusual (some people might say inappropriate, but those people are also probably busy trying to get the stick out of their arse) light-heartedness (e.g. canyon jumpers who guffaw as they karate-kick you off a cliff). I wish that America were filled with this amount of laughter. Laughter keeps the soul young. Scientists have proven that laughing increases life expectancy. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the amount of chuckles in a society is inversely proportional to the proliferation of murderers, litigious ninnies, etc. Disney got it wrong: New Zealand is the happiest place on earth.

Happy definitely, but in the South we are also cold. In fact, the indoors are usually colder than the outdoors. And I don’t mean, “I’m gettin’ my sweat on outside, thank God there’s air-conditioning indoors.” No. It is cold outside. And colder inside. That is backwards. New Zealand doesn’t really do insulation or double-pane windows. Houses have a problem with condensation, so people are constantly forced to open their windows in order to combat the “mould” problem (‘Merica seems to take issue with u’s – we like our “flavor” but not Europe’s “flavour,” etc. Speaking of America trying to be all different in a world that could benefit from some more forms of standardization – and this is coming from a whipster (wannabe hipster): Why haven’t we gotten on the metric/Celsius train? Ok, so maybe it’s not New Zealand that’s backwards. Maybe the US is backwards). Energy is quite expensive and there’s not an overabundance of indoor heating. I’m buying an electric blanket as soon as I can rally the energy to carry said blanket to my flat from K-mart. I refuse to lick any metal in the house. This makes eating with silverware considerably difficult. I’m also getting a lot of use out of my SmartWool socks – without these lovelies my feet would have sorely and hypothermically suffered.

Want to know something else that’s strange and weird? People seem to like film majors. Say what?! Back home, when someone asks me what I’m majoring in and I say “film and media,” I usually get an “oh, that’s nice” and now pasted-on look of interest. Behind that face I just see the wheels turning, thinking “Wow, that girl must be pretty stupid and unambitious, watching TV all day, failing to contribute to society….” Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but sometimes I swear that’s what people think (although, granted, the watching TV all day part is sometimes true). I’d reached a point where I almost started to tell people I was studying “cineology.” What’s that? Oh, just a relatively neoteric and revolutionary topic that synthesizes art, history, theory, sociology, gender studies, and more in its analysis of culture and shaping of global societal perceptions. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. But I don’t need to spew this nonsense to Kiwis; I tell them my major and they are intrigued and not at all patronizing. Very forward-thinking these people are.

New Zealand also seems a bit backwards in terms of time. Kiwis exhibit a beautiful appreciation of antiquity. Retro lamps, old TVs, and ancient radios decorate various establishments, and classic rock and other oldies music often plays over loudspeakers. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a giant antique store. I love it! For your enjoyment, some sample tunes: Higher Love and The River of Dreams….

random mounted deer head

And so the family departed from Queenstown and began the journey to Dunedin. As fate would have it, upon leaving the hotel lobby I heard the same song – a girl band remake of ELO’s Mr. Blue Sky – that had been playing when I first arrived (a circularity that is both awesome and terrible; “awesome” because – what are the chances?!, and “terrible” because I’d rather hoped not to hear that particular impure rendition again). Energized by the recognized song, I remarked to my sister, “We’re going off to new lands!” She heard, “We’re flying off to fetus land.” Yes, Karli, I wish we could go to such a magical-sounding place, but no, that’s not exactly what I said and I don’t even want to know where you pulled that idea from. On the way out I thought about doing this

We took a small coach to the train station in Pukerangi (a lovely, low-key, not too well-known, and relatively un-touristy method of travel). Our driver told us some fascinating factoids and stories that I shall share with you:

• New Zealand’s only native mammal is a bat
• NZ has no native predators and no native BEES (moths used to do all da pollinatin’ round these parts)
• Queenstown used to be barren- little grass and no trees, bushes, or fish…. all that was introduced
• The Sand Flies have always been here. Since the dawn of time. They’ll outlast all.
• Our driver recently spent 5 hours cleaning animal hair from his seats. How did the hair get there? From costumed Hobbit actors. Why was he driving Hobbits? Oh, just dropping them off for some filming that happened in the area that we drove through. WHAT?! I’m so jealous of all the Kiwis who can just offhandedly mention their intimate connections to the Tolkien movies. I’m a film major. Being within 10 feet of something having to do with those films is my dream. And they all just… get to be… so close…. it hurts…. It’d be like me swaggering into a middle school cafeteria and being all, “Oh, I just made out with One Direction. All of them. In all directions. No big deal.”

Recognize the terrain?

No? How about now?

These rocky plains were often used for scenes involving wargs. I kept picturing the fellowship darting behind rock sculptures and Radagast being a badass with his bunny sled.

After arriving at our Dunedin hotel, I collapsed in bed (we’d had to get up at 6 in the am on New Year’s Day to catch our ride. I don’t even count 6 am as part of “today.” It’s still part of “yesterday.” Today begins at 8:30. At the earliest.). I dreamt of a different train image: the Hogwarts Express. My little sister was watching/blasting Harry Potter and Sorcerer’s Stone on the telly – presumably some Hogwarts paraphernalia crept into my dreams. I later awoke in time to see baby Ron, astride a large chess horse, sacrificing himself. Still swaddled in a state of sleepy incoherence, I began to cry pitifully whilst watching Ron’s bravery. Then I actually started to wake up and realized, “Wow, that sacrifice build-up is certainly taking it’s own sweet time. Good thing the Queen just stab smashed his horse instead of his body. Why did that knock him out? Oh, so the plot can move forward….” It was quite enjoyable to look back on a film I haven’t seen since I was a kid and I spent the rest of the movie analyzing/commenting on it in a stream of consciousness – oh I remember now how those attractive adults I keep seeing on magazine covers were actually cute kids damn them, how did Voldeface know Harry was being untruthful when he couldn’t even see him? does he smell lies?, since when do wizards snap to create fire?, what was Harry doing with his other hand while Quirrel strangled him?, if I were being strangled I’d probably be using both hands and my teeth to pry off my attacker’s filthy hands, Jackie is Chantastic! (oh, wait, that’s from the commercial), I miss Richard Harris, losing makes Draco look like a sad little Nazi, Neville! Hagrid! ALAN RICKMAN!

I spent the last day of the old year doing the Shotover Bungee Swing. I jumped from over 300 feet (with a few seconds of free fall) into a canyon. I guess I’m beginning the transformative process of becoming an adrenaline junkie. The chaps who run the Swing are a bunch of wonderfully hilarious hams. Our main man, Harry, looked like Hugh Gran and, after joking about people jumping naked, said “Just as a special treat for the guys, I harness them up with my teeth.” Get the idea of how brilliantly these people combine life-threatening risks and fear with laughter? Here’s another little taste. On the car ride over to the canyon, we watched a video that included quotes of previous jumpers – “Even my shit was scared,” “Find a man that makes me scream like that and I’ll be a very happy woman,” “Doing the tandem swing with my wife saved our marriage,” “The tandem swing was scarier than being chased by orcs”- Frodo. My own contribution, post-Swing, was “If at first you don’t succeed, the canyon swing is not for you.”

what Harry drew on Karli’s hand. A stick figure falling to its splattering death. Morbid.

A sign on the way down to the swing. I want to work for these guys.

The Canyon…

I went first! Harry pretend pushed me off and scared Morgan, the other harnesser/sass-master/adrenaline-connoisseur, probably more than me. Whether in retaliation or just for kicks, Morgan also gave me a shove. I tumbled perilously close to the edge. Harry- “WHOA there! At least she was hooked in when I pushed her!” These people are great at instilling confidence.

I leaped from the platform Superman-style. I think I blacked out- I don’t really remember the free fall part. Quite possibly my heart and all other bodily functions ceased to function for a few moments. It was wonderful. But, of course I wanted to really experience the initial feeling of free0fall. Solution? Jump again. The second time, I went tandem with my sister. Now, the canyon swing company names its different types of jumps; you can forward, backward, “pin drop” (you jump sideways), released, single, tandem, etc. I had heard from LOTR tour guide Jim about “Bin Laden Style” where you’re blinded for the jump. Another jump, called “Gimp goes to Hollywood” (I’m not sure who came up with the names0, involves being released from an upside-down position. Being the creative and outlandish soul that I am, I wanted to combine styles and go tandem gimp goes to Hollywood Bin Laden style. But, I was too creative for my own good. The Bin Laden – which I had discovered was not, as I had thought, simply a blindfold placed around the eyes, but involved the jumper getting inside an actual trash bin with Laden’s face painted on it – aspect would not work with my idea for two reasons: 1) they only had one bin, so Karli and I could not BOTH go Bin Laden and 2) apparently bins don’t stay on so well when you’re upside-down. We ended up jumping off backwards. I closed my eyes and thus Bin Laden-ed myself. Without the bin. Being blind for the jump made the free-fall seem much longer and allowed me to focus on the feeling of falling without experiencing the sensory overload that went along with the visual.

After learning that nude jumpers jumped for free, my mother dared me to go naked. Being a cheapskate, I was seriously considering it. Then, I began to suspect that this was another one of her sly ploys to marry me off – “You saw my daughter’s bare skin? Well, now only one thing left to do. You must propose to and marry her.” So I declined.

For your viewing pleasure, some funny canyon swing highlights – Canyon Swing Oscars (check out the guy at the 1:35 mark)

And now for FOOD-RELATED STORIES….

-Dinner last night was eventful enough that I’m writing about it. What you need to know: Throughout this trip, my family has been attempting to acclimate me to alcohol (nasty stuff, or so I used to think). I’m of legal drinking age here in New Zealand. So, at the dinner table I was gifted a glass of wine. I have been warned against drinking on an empty stomach, but now I really get it. In the throes of youth and feelings of invincibility, I had believed myself to be above such natural laws and effects of alcohol. Oh no. I think I got tipsy for the first time last night. I only had a few sips, but I began to feel very light-headed. My brain-to-mouth filter was impaired – I think this happens to most people. Some people chirp happy thoughts, others spout angry rhetoric, and still others seem to be unable to stop voicing gratitude and thanks. In my case, words spewed alternated between ridiculous ridiculousness and profound ridiculousness. I laughed until I cried at a picture of my own face because I thought I looked like a pirate. I can’t find the photo*. I also thought about saying aloud that I saw infinity in a French fry (I’m fairly certain that I did NOT see anything other than white fluff in that tender morsel). I only held back because I thought that my mom would laugh at me. Perhaps the rest of the family caught onto my slap-silly mood because we all ended up loudly singing old girl scout songs at the table.

*Ope… found it

the effects of arrrcohol

-We are Seattlites. Seattle is the home of Starbucks. By some mathematical property that I can’t quite remember properly, we love Starbucks. Viciously. Loyally. We LOVE it. Against all odds, I heard my Grandma talking about how Starbucks isn’t that good. She said, and I quote, “Starbucks coffee tastes burnt.” I half-expected lightning to rain from the sky and strike the blasphemer.

-If you ever find yourself in Queenstown, check out Bobs Weigh diner. Ferg Burger is the iconic eatery, but Bobs is a hole-in-the-wall gem with delicious food and less line crowding. Mary, the sassy and precious manager, called my father “dodgy.” A quote on the wall reads, “Happiness is not a destination; it is a way of life.”

congrats, Dad, you’re a creep

-At New Year’s Eve dinner I ate myself into food coma. Karli ate herself into somewhere between food coma and food death.

Before

Middle

Aftermath

And how did I spend my last minutes of the old year? Writing this. I almost spend the first second of the new year writing this, but then I realized that would be pathetic. I had about 38 seconds to change my activity. I decided to be upside down for the coming new year. Much less pathetic. Maybe that act will turn out to be symbolic.

Doubtful Sound is in New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park and was used as a backdrop in The Lord of the Rings (so of course we had to check it out). Fiordland is one of the rainiest places on Earth; the Cullen’s really should have relocated here and left Western Washington well enough alone. My family’s vacation spot at La Push would have remained undisturbed by the squeals of 15-year-old girls, Bella could have taken a tumble off a fjord, Jacob could have played shirtless for the All Blacks, and maybe I would have actually found the pale vampires attractive if they’d had sultry accents. Although, Doubtful Sound and Milford Sound are probably better off being associated with The Lord of the Rings and not Twilight. The Sound is a perfect setting for the fantasy land of Middle Earth – green and gray hills dominate the mystical landscape, fog loops around the tops of rocks, and countless impromptu waterfalls spring up after rainfall. It was all very Avalon/Jurassic Park/Terra Nova and I kept expecting to catch a glimpse of a dinosaur or some ancient Loch Nessian creature.

How we traveled from Queenstown to Doubtful Sound: 5 minute taxi, 3 hour bus, 1 hour ferry, 45 minute bus… and then we finally made it to the ship that took us on a trip down the Sound. I learned from our captain that Kiwis pronounce “glacier” as “glassy-eh.” And now for a virtual photographic tour (also, at some point I’ll be straying into sentimental territory – it was just that kind of day. Don’t judge).

Not our actual boat. This pic came from the interwebz.

In Doubtful Sound you find the kind of view that should be experience softly, quietly, and in solitude. Not on a crowded and noisy boat. I suggest packing quality headphones and an iPod/your-preferred-music-playing-device-I-don’t-know-why-it-wouldn’t-be-an-iPod. That way, if you get tired of hearing the loudspeakers, you can immerse yourself in music, pretend that you’re alone, and really experience the sights. For a soundtrack I recommend a film soundtrack (e.g. The Lord of the Rings obvi, Gladiator, Dinosaur), something with a pan flute or fiddle…. Break out some Hanz Zimmerman, James Newton Howard, and Howard Shore. I promise, it will make the trip more epic. Here, I’ll even play a song while you looks at photos so that you can, using your imagination, experience a facsimile of my adventure – Elysium…

the double exposure hills

Seymour Island

A schoolteacher went out to Seymour Island and lived there for 10 months with just two wet dogs and his writing for company. I would like to try out hermitude someday. At least for a bit.

Karli and I got bored for a bit, so I invented what I call “progression photostrips”:

One bad thing about the boat ride: more sand flies. From yesterday’s sand flies, Karlie had 22 bites. I had less because I plunged into a glacial river, undergoing a voluntary numbing bath in an attempt to escape the flies. Hide yo flesh, hide yo skin, and hide yo exposed body parts cuz they be bitin’ errbody out here. Bring bug spray if you go on a Fiordland cruise. Honestly, these things are from hell. Satan was all, “hmm, New Zealand is perfect. I gotta do something to fix that. Bingo! Sand flies!” I feel the same way about the flies as I do about arrogant jerks: there’s no evolutionary purpose for them and they should all be exterminated. The flies turned me into a killer. Everyone else on the boat smacking the living shit outta, but I was abstaining. Out of Buddha-like goodness and respect for life (oh, let’s be honest, I probably just didn’t want evil bug guts tainting my fingers). Either way, I became so fed up with their flitting and blood-sucking antics that I killed one. Killed ‘im dead. Crushed right against the window. Take that story back to all your little fly friends in hell, sucka (haha, punny – “sucka”… blood sucka… I just realized that…).

On a totally unrelated note, I love how the wifi that we’re paying for runs about as fast as my Grandma with her hip replacement.

Crooked Arm was so named because it is, uh, crooked. There’s also a Narrow Passage (yeah, it’s narrow). Once again Kiwis showcase their creative naming skills.

The captain proposed a few minutes of silence. He turned off the generator and engine and asked that people avoid talking and walking on the echo-y metal deck. There are no cell phones or cars out here, just running water. It was a lovely idea; unfortunately, it was not too fruitful due to passengers who ignored the request for silence and continued to yell, laugh, tramp around, fail to control their screeching spawn, and slam doors. Thus, my appreciation of nature was interrupted by fantasies of doing this

This is Freakout Kid. I had forgotten that this unpleasant creature existed.

When the engine started back up, I went back to my film scores. Sometimes silence doesn’t work and you need to find peace in music.

My new desire: to be Peter Pan so that I can fly around these hills forever

Vertical rocks with lush gardens growing upon them.

My favorite sight was a waterfall tumbling off a cliffside. Its trajectory interrupted by the wind, the stream of water curved diagonally in midair and transformed into mist. We boated into a cove directly underneath. Looking up, fine water droplets speckled my face and I saw how everything at the top faded into the fog. That view combined with some seriously surreal Hans Zimmer music…. why, I swear that I glimpsed eternity.

The drive back to Queenstown….

Kiwis refer to The Lord of the Rings fans as “Ringers.” My family is a rabid group of Ringers and we fed our hunger for all things Tolkienian (and my hunger for all things filmic) with a safari-style tour of Middle Earth shooting locations. We loaded up into a land cruiser piloted by the best tour guide ever, Jimpatrick (let me explain: His name is actually Jim. Earlier in our travels, my mother yelled out to a flight attendant, “THANK YOU, PATRICK!” And I was like, “…Mom, his name is Joseph.” Her comments throughout the rest of the trip were riddled with name-calling inaccuracies and so “Patrick” became the running inside joke. I arrived at the vehicle before my mum and asked Jim if he would introduce himself as Patrick. My mum got to the vehicle and Jim says, “You must be Rose. My name is Patrick, but you can call me Jim.” Mum is all “ohmygoshdidyouhearthathisnameisactuallyPATRICKKKKKK!!”).

We drove first to a hill overlooking Queenstown and Lake Wakatipu. According to Maori legend, the lake – shaped like someone in the fetal position (now I’m going to try to work variations of “fetus” into every post) – is a giant’s impression. Maori warriors burnt the giant after he stole some virgin maidens (note to self: don’t steal virgin maidens), and the waves of the water emanate from the still beating heart of the giant (also know as Sheep island).

At the lookout point we also gazed the Remarkable mountain range (so named because the wife of some guy way back when saw the mountains and said, “Wow. Those are remarkable mountains.” Mountains here have very creative names… Mount Doom, etc.). The Remarkables served as the Mordor, Shadow, and Misty Mountains, and the privately owned hill in the foreground – Deer Park Heights – was where SPJ (Sir Peter Jackson) filmed Rohan’s evacuation. I’m going to have a cinematography-geek-out moment here for a second: To create the illusion that the pond was bigger and population larger, SPJ shot from a low angle and put full grown men and horses at the front of the line and children and donkeys at the back. Most of the extras were Queenstown residents. I lament that I wasn’t I born earlier and in Queenstown.

Next we traveled to the River of Kings…. During shooting at the gorge, Frodo & co. go down the river in Elvish/Weta-made boats with many safety and water-rescue officers on hand. Preparing for the shot, Legolas and Gimli’s boat began to run ahead of the others. In attempting to slow it down, the film crew accidentally capsized the boat. Orlando Bloom held on to the boat with one hand and Gimli’s fully-armored stunt double with another. 30 seconds until rescue came. That’s a pretty long time in “shit-I’m-about-to-die” seconds. Orlando might have lady bones, but he has also proven his strong life-saving abilities. I wish they’d gotten that bit on film and been able to use in the movie.

We be Kings

Bitch, please- You shall not pass.

Sidenote: SPJ hid an Easter egg – a intended continuity error –  in the River Anduin scene (and while we’re on the subject of Easter: Kiwis spend Easter rabbit-hunting. Hey kids, I shot the Easter Bunny!). When the fellowship is passing through the statues, both kings have their left hands raised. But, when the camera looks back after the boats have passed, one king is holding up his right hand and his fingers are parted, as if waving farewell.

our sister car

On the other side of the cliff overlooking River Anduin is the world’s oldest commercial bungee-jumping station. It’s very safe. More people hurt themselves falling down the stairs at the bungee hospitality/store center than do bungee-ing. You can jump for free, but there’s a catch: You have to jump naked. Seems like a good deal.

Next we drove through Arrowtown, a town that dates back to the gold rush of the 1800s. People could put their hand in the river and pull out nuggets of gold. After fording a river (our car drove THROUGH the river… it had a little engine snorkel and everything), we did a little gold panning ourselves, but only found flakes that I deferentially bequeathed [back] to the river gods. The gods repayed me by sending a plague of sand flies. I’ve loved every part of New Zealand. Except the sand flies. I hate the sand flies. Wee blood-sucking misanthropes went after me like a pack of famished hyenas. I dislike all miniscule, biting creatures (but they seem to love me, or at least they love my blood). The attack left me a twitchy, PTSD mess, reminded of the mosquito days when my frail and allergic body used to develop five-inch swellings of pure itch. But the river was lovely. Yes. Positive thoughts. I stood in the same spot as Liv Tyler.

I forced Karli out into the river to be my white steed. Interesting fact: Many of the Nazgul in these shots are 16-year-old girls whose horses were borrowed for filming from Queenstown’s Pony Club.

Preparing to enter the road through the gorge. The view during the road drive is listed as one of the 20 most beautiful in the world. I am not surprised. My photos do not do the landscape justice.

King Kong rock- check out the gorilla-ish profile

The spectacle was breathtaking. My heart literally ached just looking at the tussocked hills and rock formations (granted, that ache could have been the result of indigestion and coffee overdose, but I believe that it stemmed from the beauty). It was a religious experience.

parents kissing (eck) on lover’s rock (lover’s seem to have a tendency to name loads of things after themselves)

guess what’s going on next year’s Christmas card

Jimpatrick with lamb’s ear leaves. I now call him Mr. Tumnus

Update on my emotional well being: I’ve caught myself singing aloud quite often in recent days. Karli says this is a sign of happiness.

Queenstown: The adrenaline capital of the world. A place that resembles Lake Chelan with more cityscape and greenery, overlooked by mountains and a great gondola. Downtown is lovely, hip, and clean with a small-town feel (update: downtown is also the site of a concentrated drullet – dreaded mullet – population. I don’t know the actual term for this hairstyle or whether the beast even has a name, but I am coining drullet). We are housed at a hotel that has triangular cabins, a hotel that looks like part of a modern-day Grimm fairytale.

Hansel used to live here

Remember this from the last city?

Guess what we found in our hotel….

Jumping on the adrenaline-junkie-train, my family signed up for a Shotover jet boat ride. Think: best roller coaster ride ever. Through a breathtaking ravine. Without a seatbelt. Doing 360 degree spins. Thrilled by looming risk of human error…. Our driver’s name was Rob. We called him Handsome Rob (if you’ve never seen The Italian Job, please fix that as soon as possible) and my mother called him Reckless Rob. Let your hairdo down for the ride and you too can achieve the windswept/post-quoital hair look.

Food is quite expensive in New Zealand, so the family grabbed lunch at a relatively cheap pizza place and made dinner in the hotel room of our friends, Colin and Patricia. The pizzeria is called “Fat Badgers Stoned and Baked Pizza.” Isn’t “stoned and baked” a little redundant? -(cue smug, I-know-some-slang-terms face). The pizza slices were delicious, by the way.

the face of a doubly high badger

At our friends’ hotel, everyone chowed down on Tim Tams (delectable chocolate-covered biscuit sweets that I haven’t seen since my days in Australia) and HOKEY POKEY ICE CREAM. Hokey Pokey – a sort of sweet cream with honeycomb creation – is kind of a big deal here- if you ever come to New Zealand, you must try it!

do the hokey pokey

Quote of the day: [occurred during a discussion of New Zealand airlines’ relatively lax security]

Colin- “This is a great place to be a criminal.”

Linett- “They really don’t let you in if you have a criminal record.”

Colin- “Well, then it’s a great place to become a criminal!”

Keeping my options open.

Random Notes:

• Hotels have fresh and complimentary milk in the room fridges. It’s for coffee, but I just drink it. This is heaven for the milk lover.
• I pride myself on my minimalist packing skills. I get all self-conscious when people see me with my huge suitcase and feel the need to justify its size – “My sister’s bag looks smaller but it weighs the same and she’s only here for two weeks and I’m here for eight months and I need clothes to wear because most of the time I rather think it’s socially acceptable to wear clothes and I want to have friends.”
• My ponderous query: “Do people with accents think in accents?”

It’s our last day in Nelson and I’ve made a serendipitous discovery that I will share with you…. How to get an inverse Chaco tan in 5 easy steps:

1) Put on Chacos

2) Spray sunscreen on your feet

3) Scrap a few IQ points

4) Take off Chacos

5) Frolic in the sun for a few hours (preferably in an ozone-deficient place like New Zealand)

Congrats! Show off your new hipster tan lines to all the friends you probably no longer have because you’re spending time doing things like getting an inverse Chaco tan. I’d post a picture of mine, but I’m still in the burn stage. On the bright side, I don’t have to worry much about having shoes rubbing the tops of my feet because I don’t even need to wear shoes! I spent a good portion of the day wandering downtown Nelson, and I would oft look down and spot bare feet on the sidewalks. The “no shirt, no shoes, no service” rule does not apply to New Zealand. My family walked back barefoot from a boatshed diner (getting caught in a flash rainstorm in the process) that was a 15 minute walk from our hotel. On the way, I saw a store that looked intriguing.

While exploring downtown, I also began to develop a theory, or at least a theory about a theory. There’s a distinct possibility that people here are more attractive. Maybe because most of them dress nicely/stylishly, maybe because of the accents, maybe because of their open and friendly natures, or maybe because they pose even while waiting for coffee.

just doing some street modeling

Yeah. I took a creeper photo of this dude. But then Karma (what a beotch) slapped me back. Remember how my mum is trying to push me to get a boyfriend and get married? Well, a car of boys drove past me on the street and one yelled, “MARRY ME!” Wow, I thought, My first marriage proposal. It’s all happening so fast. Sadly, they drove away too quickly for me to formulate, let alone give, an answer. I think I probably would have said No. Then again, I’m proud of New Zealand for producing classy harassment. Honestly, “marry me” is not the usual kind of proposition a girl receives from a moving man vehicle. It seems as if, even when Kiwis are being boorish or vulgar, they’re doing it with polite flair. Next time I’m walking the streets, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear “Get in the back of the van…. so that I can treat to dinner at a swanky restaurant.”

Small interjection: I forgot to brag about how I was able to see Les Miserables before Christmas because my awesome Aunt is on SAG’s (Screen Actors Guild) nominating committee and has a copy of the film.

Right before leaving Nelson, we girls visited the World of Wearable Art Museum. I wasn’t too excited about going, but the museum was actually quite amazing and I was pleasantly surprised. The most elaborate outfits were on display – think clothes that hipsters in the Hunger Games’ Capitol would wear, or picture costumes from Wicked. This place is heaven for the costume designer or anyone interested in fashion. Old cars were also displayed, but I don’t really care about cars (I don’t quite get them. I think, “Oh. cool. It has wheels…. Yessir, those engines all look very different. Said the liar.”)

You’ve got a mighty hard pec there.

WOW!

PRETTY!

Wheels. (Also makes me think I can go back to the future)

Leaving Nelson and What Happened Therein

Upon leaving the Trailways hotel, I learned that it was a site where crew stayed during the filming of The Hobbit. I might have slept in the same bed as some person who may or may not have done something for some part of the film. It’s all very thrilling.

On the bus:

1) Mother asks our elderly driver, “Does your son have any sons of marriageable age?” Yet again I thank the Lord that I don’t live in a culture where arranged marriages are the norms, because if I did I would be so engaged right now.

2) Mother has the driver take the bus around the block and then stop so she can get out, run across the street, and take a picture of a McDonald’s sign that reads, “Lamb is here.” Apparently we need more difficultly-accessed photographic evidence of cultural differences- namely the fact that Kiwis like lamb.

3) I fantasize about my two roommates being a chef and a masoos. They both come back to the flat and say, “Lindsey, we really need to hone our skills. Can you please give us a hand and let us practice with you?” I’m all, “Well, I guess. Gotta earn my Good Samaritan points.” I get some free meals (I have a fear of stoves and therefore will be unable to feed myself anything other than cereal) and massages (who doesn’t love a massage?).

On the flight:

1) We have flown SO MUCH recently. I contemplate getting up and giving the safety briefing.

2) Karli and I play I-Spy. It goes like this:

Me- “I spy with my little eye something – “

Me and Karli together- “blue.”

Karli- “ocean.”

Karli- “I spy something….”

Me- “white? clouds.”

…

On December 24th we made our way to the South Island and to Nelson, a city on the shores of Tasman Bay and the second-oldest settled city in New Zealand. Oddly enough, it has been warmer on the South Island than it ever was for us on the North Island. Yes sir, the South Island has been treating us well indeed. In Nelson we discovered the workshop of the makers of the One Ring (you know which one I’m talking about). Jens Hansen’s tiny, hole-in-the-wall store created the One Ring in multiple sizes for The Lord of the Rings and also crafted the other rings of power. On display you can see the One Ring original prototype and the rings worn by Ian McKellen, Hugo Weaving, Cate Blanchett, and Viggo Mortensen. I felt like I was in the presence of sacred relics (relics that could be purchased for thousands of dollars).

We befriended Benjamin Black who, aside from having the coolest name ever, makes the rings for The Hobbit. He let us play with the various ring incarnations, including the 8 inch, gold-plated steel ring that was used in the opening credit shot of the movie.

My Precious…

My mum says I need to get married stat so that she can buy a wedding ring from the ringmakers. Solid plan.

Why am I not invisible?

The next day – Christmas Day – was spent hiking in Abel Tasman. It was sunny, we were sweaty, and we greeted passing hikers with “Merry Christmas”- it was all very odd. It was an unusual Christmas, but also a wonderful one.

our Christmas tree

My family took a boat out to a beach and then hiked six miles through the woods and across bridges to Anchorage beach where we picked back up by the boat. On the boat ride, we saw this snazzy rock formation

I’m on a boat- and, it’s goin’ fast- and, I’ve got my nautical themed pashmina afghan….

I’m on a bridge too.

Now, maybe I’ve just been in wintry, 50-shades-of-gray Washington for too long, but I’m convinced that colors here are unusually rich and vibrant. The lush forests, azure sea, and golden sand are straight out of a fairy tale.

On the hike I met a lovely German backpacker named Manu. She’d traveled around Australia and was headed to the US after New Zealand. She is one of those people whom I call a “wanderer” – a nomadic soul who travels to new places with no plan other than to experience life. I will go a’wandering some day… but probably not by myself; I’m not sure I’m that courageous.

Manu with an elephant-shaped rock formation.

I’m Gollum.

A hungry seagull that attacked me

On our destination beach, I threw myself into the white and floury cocaine-sand. It was luxurious. Then the sun badly burned me. That was less luxurious. On the boat ride back, I was drinking some Mac’s Sassy Red and it jumped right up my nose. I really have no idea how it happened. I’m sure it was physically impossible. With that incident and the surreal beauty of the landscape, laws of nature were being broken all over the place.

Quick overview of Christmas evening: Back at the hotel, we ate Christmas dinner and draped ourselves in streamers and paper crowns. The dessert spread was worthy of a Hogwarts feast. A fruit fly attempted to commit suicide by drowning itself in my wine. When I rescued it, it seemed to develop a new desire to live. But it couldn’t fly with its damp wings and it spent its time stumbling around in circles.

See him?! There, in the middle. Go home fly, you’re drunk.

Merry Christmas….