Cleaning the House

This may surprise those who have known me as a child, but I'm a very clean, organized person. In fact, this may be a surprise to anyone who has known me before age 21. Something odd happened when I moved into my first apartment: I couldn't handle messes in my home. Now, never have I lived with roommates that share my passion for a clean house. Not to say my roommates have all been slobs, but they've definitely lived below my standards. I do what I can to encourage them to keep the place clean and I actually enjoy cleaning; it relaxes me. No matter what I do, I always will have to lower my standards of cleanliness when living with others, except for when I living with the Eyles family; they're crazier about cleanliness than I am.

I feared for the worst upon returning home. Based on past experiences and candid warnings by friends, I knew to expect a heart attack upon walking in the house; I prepared by taking lots of asprin. Manda knew this and thankfully spearheaded a massive cleaning push in the house before I returned home (she banned roommates from doing social activities so they could clean). They put hours into whipping the house into shape....the result, I had mild heart palpitations, but after sitting down and breathing into a paper bag, I narrowly avoided death at a young age. If what I came home to was the result of hours of cleaning, I won't even attempt to conjure any images of its state prior to this massive cleaning effort. So, simply put, the house was in no way up to my comfortable living standards. I do, however, appreciate everything they did.

I put aside the idea of finding a job for a week and dove into cleaning. My party was Friday and I wanted it to be presentable by then. The living room was not functional as a room at all, stuff, completely random stuff, had taken over every possible surface of the room. Every chair had a pile upon it, every table covered, the floor....I couldn't find it. The furniture didn't really have an arrangement, they were just in the space. As much as I wanted to tackle the living room first and sit down, I knew this would be a fatal mistake: one of the first rules of a massive cleaning project, clean the relaxation room last or else you'll find yourself watching some sort of movie.

Since I love to cook, I tackled the kitchen first. I didn't think it would be too bad, it looked the same as how I left it. At most, I calculated three hours. I made the finishing touches three days later. The kitchen was carefully orchestrated to look clean, but there was a great overflow of dishes and pantry items. Closer inspection revealed that the cupboards were not organized in any way. Every shelf was covered with things and much of the bowls, utensils, etc. had no home. Somehow, bath towels were living in various corners of the kitchen. After I was finished, everything fit and there were even shelves to spare! Behold the power of organization!

Next was the entry way, I first cleared the towels off the floor and started washing them. On my way downstairs, I noticed each individual stair had at least two towels on it. I grabbed these on my way and was just about to throw the towels into the washer, but found it was already filled with towels. I went to transfer the towels into the dryer, but this was also filled with towel. The floor of the basement was covered in towels as well. I took the towels out of the dryer folded them, then went upstairs to the towel shelf to find it packed full, even double rowed. I went to the towel overflow shelf (yes, we have enough towels to necessitate such a shelf) and found that full as well. So I took about 17 consecutive showers, used a different towel each time and delicately replaced them onto the basement floor, being sure to scatter them in a way that did not allow them make contact with each other. The sheer quantity of towels suggested that they are reproducing somehow, I just needed to experiment to find out if it was sexually or asexually. I started to do a mental inventory of how many towels might be in the house, but stop counting somewhere around 1,712.

I grabbed the duster from the utility corner, removed it from the packaging and started dusting all window sills and other areas. The house contains two dogs and three cats, so one can imagine what I found. At some point, I was able to clear a single chair in the living room and sat down for a cup of tea. I set the duster to the side of me; this was the last I ever saw it, even after cleaning the house, it is still missing. I believe the towels have evolved aerobic energy production. Once they develop the ability to move (and I can't prove they haven't) they will officially fit into the taxonomy of animals. (Note to self: write a letter to the international board of biological classification, look for my name in future textbooks)

Along the way, I swept the floors, forming massive piles of pet hair. At some point, I scooped up one of the piles and found it to be around 10lb! After the pile protested going into the garbage using a series of hisses and scratches, I realized that I had in fact swept up my cat Finnegan and not a pile of fur.

After my primary cleaning and organization of shelf, drawers and whatnot. All that was left was rearranging the furniture, which really didn't take too long. Overall, it only took me five days of eight hour cleaning shifts to get the house into an acceptable state for me to inhabit. Next step, systematized chore charts.

LA airport: Culture Shock in List Form

When returning to America after a year in a different country, I expected a certain level of culture shock. At age 17, I went to Germany for a month; going to Germany was easy, but upon my return, stopping at the Mall of America, I started freaking out because, for some odd reason, I could understand everything being said around me. My first stop after this last year was a very common first stop for cross-Pacific flights, LAX. The first thing to freak me out was riding on the right side of the road, this was a quick adjustment for me. After arriving at the terminal, I opportunistically grabbed my notebook and jotted down a list of the things that shocked about Americans before they became normal again. Here they are:

African Americans

This was an aspect of America I was definitely missing; it is not even African Americans in general, but being in a generally diverse country. Now, Australia has a fair few Sudanese and Asian immigrants and a few aboriginals scattered across the land the Whites don't want, but for the most part, everyone you see in Australia is of European descent. How boring!

I felt at home when I was waiting in line and heard a loud, boisterous, authoritative voice yell, "Everybody, please take off your shoes! Just have 'em off before you get the belt, so we can make this quick!" I missed people yelling so much. Everything is so polite sometimes in Australia. This isn't really about African Americans either, this is just how Americans are....This little section has a bad heading. I think I just wanted an excuse to put Flava Flav on my blog.

Fat Americans

I always resisted latching on to this stereotype. In Australia, I defended Americans all I could when someone called us a fat culture, especially since Australia is the second fattest country in the world. Upon returning however, it is true. As a general cultural trend, we are bigger than other countries. Not that everyone is obese, but the average person you see is 10-20lb heavier than the people I met abroad. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, our portions are huge and our food is very fat concentrated.

Wasteful Americans

Holy crap! I knew we were a wasteful society, I just didn't realize how much more we waste than other countries. Australia is ranked as the fourth most wasteful country and we are second, but don't let our ranks fool you, we suck EVERYTHING. I first noticed the water wastage. The toilets at LAX have a couple of gallons of water in the bowl. Even more water was used to push this down! In that first flush at least two unnecessary gallons of water were wasted. After living on the driest continent in the world, where water is the most precious resource, this was ridiculous. Most countries use a two button flush system, a number one (often one gallon) or a number two (about two gallons), I believe this to be the etymology of the common slang. The bowls standing water is also very low. I also observed for the first time in a year, the water spinning clockwise. People keep asking me if it was weird seeing the toilet spin counter-clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere. Honesty, there was never enough standing water to ever witness such a thing.

All of our things are packaged in plastic, then packaged again in cardboard. The packaging is always significantly bigger than the product... I could rant on this type of stuff for hours; it is the one thing that bothers me more than anything in the world save genocide, baby eating, reality TV and other similar things, so I'll just stop here.

Important Americans

We are the most important people in the whole world. This is a completely true statement. How can I tell? Well, everyone is always busy and in a hurry. Even when buying a newspaper in the newsstand across from the gate, two hours early for our flights, we are still in a hurry. We also always have to talk loudly on our cellphones at all times so we are sure that everyone knows how important the particular call is. Also our face-to-face conversations are just as important. Everyone needs to hear every word of the conversation. Honestly, everything we say is too important to keep within a five foot radius. God, it feels good to be American.

First American Meal

Well, after being in Australia for a year, there have been many great foods that I've either had to live without or accept in more inferior forms. The list of things that I was craving from the states was huge...the question remained, which of these long lost food items would comprise my first, symbolic meal back in the United States? What would be that thing that I'll always remember as the first food I decided to eat after a year away?

The choice was simple; I'd been thinking about it and craving it for days before my flight. I wanted nothing fancy. I didn't even want something good. I wanted Taco Bell.

Australia doesn't have taco bell, they have every other fast food restaurant, but there is no love for the border, maybe because they don't have borders. So, I wanted something slathered in the mysteriously named Baja Sauce. I wanted to eat an item such as a Crunch Wrap Supreme, with a name so silly, it has to be delicious. I wanted to squirt one small packet of Hot, one of Fire, and one of Mild in my mouth at the same time and swish it like mouthwash as I read the not-so witty comments on the packets. I wanted to taste grade F meat, so low quality, the Veterinary Association of America won't allow it in dog food, then wash it down with Mountain Dew's Baja Blast, a soft drink so unremarkable, it's only available at a classy joint like Taco Bell. And I wanted to do it for exactly $4.32...a goal easily accomplished. Thank you Taco Bell.

Next stop: White Castle

First American Purchase

The first thing I purchased, using the two dollars and twenty-seven cents that lived in my suitcase for nearly a year, was a simple cup of drip coffee from a random airport cafe. Drip coffee didn't exist in Australia or New Zealand. Every single cup of coffee I'd ingested for the past year was either espresso, instant, or french press. The later is quite good, but it is still not a good ol cup of coffee.

The coffee was strong, full of lovely flavor of the roasted beans. It wasn't diluted by excessive milk or an inferior method of production. It was simply a coffee. And it was incredible.

Coming Home

Coming home for the last few months has existed a mere concept. I knew I was coming home, but I never really accepted it as something that was actually going to happen. I didn't know what to expect. The year away had changed me a lot. I was never really a prototypical American and spending so much time in different culture I loved had made me even less so. So many aspects that are so central to this country have begun to annoy me. My primary concerns on my return were:

1) I'm finally not depressed for the first time in three or four years.

Since graduating, I've been a bit depressed. Not in any crippling way. I was still able to be active, do my job, maintain a positive social life, but really I just sat around watching movies and reading books all the time. Except for my weekly/bi-weekly karaoke, I didn't go out much, instead, I just cooked a big dinner and invited people over. Yeah, it doesn't sound like depression, but this is a less-functional me. So, why is not being depressed a worry? Well, because most of my friends have not seen me when I'm happy. Happy me is annoying and egotistical. Happy me is a little manic and has a short attention span. I'm sure I won't lose any friends, but a few may be a little taken aback by how active I can be when I'm happy.

2) Consumerism/materialism really bothers me

America loves owning things. Our government measures standard of life and healthiness of the culture using a metric called the Consumer Spending Index. Why is this an important measurement of life quality? I've met lots of people who own barely anything, make very little money, grow their own food to survive, and are happier than others I know who live a big house, with a big TV, granite countertops, and eat a diet of mostly bottled fruit pulp. America is so obsessed with image and that image is a direct result of how much stuff you own. I use to own lots of stuff, then I started getting rid of most of it (although four moves in three years will force that sort of thing). Now, after living six months out of a backpack, I'm not dependent on many things at all.

3) I'll find myself even more disconnected from my culture

I know have a hybrid Australian/American attitude on life. I'm still a driven person and want to do the best I can do in whatever I do, I'm just not going to obsess about status anymore. I'll take whatever path life takes and as long as I can live and eat and know I'm doing my best at whatever I'm doing, I'll be happy. To many Americans, this translates into saying I'm content being a slacker. This isn't true at all. I've just realized life is more important that salary and status. When I need more money to live, I'll work a job that pays more, but as long as have a job (which in itself is a big positive in the current economy) I'll be ok. Now, that leads us to the next and final worry.

4) Will it be easy to find a job?

Everyone has told me that finding a job is tough right now. A part of me wants to do non-food service work. Since I'll only be home for less than a year, I want to try a job that really isn't too important to my career, but is still enjoyable and different. I've been considering becoming a baggage handler. I know somebody who does that and he's perfectly content with the job and he has lumberjack arms. That's a definite perk to the job. At the same time, I doubt I can be picky when finding a job. A few friends hate their jobs, but have to stick with it, because they can't find another. We'll just have to see.

North Island Adventures

After the previous three weeks of touring the South Island with no rest, I figured that I'd take it a bit easier on the North Island. Since my primary purpose for venturing to the North Island was to visit the Suttons, it wasn't too hard to do.

The North Island is drastically different from the South. First off, it is populated. In the South, most towns are very tiny and separated by long stretches of sheep paddock. The North is more like the US, a small town will pop up every ten miles or so. After the relative seclusion of the south, I was a bit overwhelmed when I came to the bustling metropolis of Wellington, population 250,000. My first night out, I watch about 20 minutes of an All Blacks game before I freaked out and went back to my quiet hostel. It didn't take too long to get used to people again. Wellington was a bizarre city, it had interesting, slightly weird architecture and just felt weird. I wasn't surprised that such a town created Peter Jackson.

I didn't stay longer than a day in Wellington before heading north to Tongariro National Park. On the very top of my list of things to do in New Zealand was the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, aka the Great Day Hike in the World! I went to a couple of the shuttle companies (it's a one directional hike) to book a ride from the end of the trail. None would agree to pick me up. Apparently, hiking on top of mountains is extremely dangerous in the middle of the winter and they don't allow people up there without guides.

"Can I rent crampons and an iceaxe and still get a shuttle?"

"No."

"Can I rent crampons and an iceaxe and do have of it?"

"Have you used them before?"

I hesitated to carefully word the impending lie. I never even had the chance to use it.

"No, we won't rent you stuff unless you have experience with the equipment."

A bit later, I was chatting with another woman who worked there about potentially doing part of the hike and turning back without alpine equipment. The woman then gave me a look that I'd recognized from my adventures in Tasmania.

"Don't take this mountain lightly, people die often up there."

I went anyway. After about an hour of hiking, the trail started heading up the mountain. It degraded to alternating calf-deep snow and sheets of ice. When I left it was sunny, but as I went into the mountains a bit, dark clouds started rolling in. I made the wise decision of turning back. I continued hiking other trails in the area. Within an hour of leaving the Alpine Crossing, the rain had set in with thick fog. It was impossible to see even a few feet in front of me.

The next day, I headed to Taurangi, trout fishing capital of New Zealand. Situated on the Tongariro River, the town only allows flyfishing. Of course I had to take lots of photos of this town for my father. I walked along the river, watching numerous people fish for trout poetically on a beautifully sunny day.

I continued down the line to Taupo, on New Zealand's largest lake, Lake Taupo. It was clear day, so I scoped out the tallest thing I could find, which was Mt. Tauhara, and again acted upon my manly urge to climb something. I was rewarded with stunning views of the area. The other main attraction of the area is Huka Falls, which despite being merely kinda cool, is the most visited natural feature of the country. It did have eerily clear, light blue water.

The next day, I headed Te Aroha to visit Ben and his family, which was the primary reason for me stopping in New Zealand. I ended up spending four of my 29 days with them (which is quite silly if it was the inspiration for my visit. Sadly, two days before I arrived, Gay's father passed away, so I was visiting them during a rough personal time for the family. They were very pleased for my visit; I proved a bit of a distraction from the funeral obligations. I separated myself from the personal family business by sightseeing around the area, including climbing Mt. Te Aroha on the clearest day imaginable. I could even see Mt. Taranaki in the distance, over 200 miles away!

I really enjoyed spending time with Ben and his family. This visit should hopefully reconnect us as we've been not doing well with communication for the last couple of years. Ben and I have always been great friends, so I was glad to see him again. He showed me a great time and took me to the spectacular Bridal Veil falls.

I skipped Auckland except for a quick trip to One Tree Hill (which does not even have a tree, just a giant obelisk), home of the best views in town. New Zealand is not about cities, it is about nature. To have dedicated anymore time to the only metropolis in the country would have gone counter to the theme of my extraordinary trip.

Searching for middle Earth

New Zealand is one of the most splendid countries in the world. It's natural beauty is a huge draw for travelers wishing to immerse themselves in the great outdoors. Since 2002, however, New Zealand has found a new draw. It's scenery has become the backdrop for one of the most popular film series of all time: The Lord of the Rings.

It's hard not to get Middle Earth fever when traveling around New Zealand. A simple drive to the next town and suddenly, you're approaching the Misty Mountains. I am a fan of the films, not a fanatic. I enjoyed them, found them to be entertaining. I may have even read the books about one or five times, but still, I'm a mere passing fan. I found it great to recognize the features and general look of Middle Earth in the surroundings, but everybody under the age of thirty, seems obsessed with it! Literally, every night of my first seven nights in the hostels, somebody would pop in a DVD. Every single time somebody popped in a DVD, on every single one of the first seven nights I spent in a hostel, it was The Fellowship of the Ring. Never once when somebody popped in a dvd on those first seven nights in the hostel was it the The Two Towers or the Return of the King. So everytime somebody popped in a DVD on every single night for the first seven nights I stayed in the hostels, I had to watch the very beginning of the story, wanting to move on, but being stuck, stuck in a particular place in a story, forced to repeat the beginning of this epic story, every single time somebody popped in a dvd, every single night, I, for the first seven nights, stayed in a hostel. As you can imagine, I found this to be quite annoying.

I began to play games with the various youths, those I did not do this every single time somebody popped in the Fellowship of the Ring DVD, but I did most nights. I would simply suggest that a certain thing, maybe a mountain or paddock is not too far from where we were.

Some young adult's eyes would alight like the fire writing across the face of the ring and they would say something like, "So that insignificant physical feature from scene 23 of the Fellowship of the Ring, that I would have never thought about except you, some complete stranger suggested that it is in fact the insignificant physical feature from scene 23, is near here?" Yeah, that sounds about right.

"I can't really remember, I was just driving on random roads....North?"

They didn't like that much.

I was expressing my general annoyance with a random kiwi on a hiking trail, "I mean look at this place! It's such an amazing country, with so much to see, you'd think these tourists would find something more productive to seek out that some bush Vigo Morgenstern pissed on in 2001."

"Bro, that whole movie was filmed in Wellington, right on Mt. Victoria. Peter Jackson just threw a bunch of mountains in here and there to make it looked varied."

This may have rocked my world a little bit. If this bit of information is true, then that speaks wonders for the films editing crew. I needed to know. I tried to hide the excitement building inside of me as well; I would be taking a ferry, the Picton, not Brandybuck, to Wellington the very next day.

As I walked amongst the forests of Wellington's Mt. Victoria, I couldn't help but feel the Middle Earth fever. The random bad-toothed kiwi proved correct, this was where so much was filmed. Everyone knows it, tourist walk everywhere in the park, snapping photos of trees, rocks, and anything else that they might be able to spot in the Fellowship of the Ring later that night at the hostel. I was walking with my Lonely Planet, seeing if they had any mention of some specific sights from (they didn't), when a man approached me, "Hey bro, looking for Lord of the Rings stuff?"

I scoffed, "No, I just want to go through a lovely stroll through this beautiful park. Where is the lookout?"

He was heading in that direction so we walked together. We passed numerous people hiding under tree roots from the dark riders. I was able to needle a few sights out of him without giving the impression that I was a Lord of the Rings tourist. He separated from me and I walked by three more youths hiding from the Nazgul under a different set of tree roots. I found my own set that I swear was the correct roots. The entrance to the Halls of the Dead is the only confirmed landmark I spotted and I would have never been able to tell if it was not marked. It looked nothing like the film.

For all the Lord of the Rings sights, there is very few exploitation of such resources. Two tours, one ran by Peter Jackson's company. There is no brochure/map of all the sights near Wellington (I know, because I didn't check). It gives me a bit of respect for the kiwis. If it was America, there be costumed photo-ops near every rock and bush in the country.

After breaking down and realizing that I do in fact have some interest in seeing stuff from Lord of the Rings, I decided to make my own pilgrimage to Mt. Doom, though it is much more pleasant trip by Hyundai than by foot. Mt. Doom or Ngauruhoe as people once called it ages ago before the films, lies in the heart of Tonagariro National Park, setting for Mordor. The landscape looked a lot like Mordor, but it seemed like a much cheerier place without all the orcs and the creepy tower with the glowing eye. Mt. Doom just looked like a volcano.

The Kiwi from the South Island proved to be correct. Much of the look was studio trickery. Scenes from near Queenstown will be instantly followed with scenes from the Northern part of the South Island, two completely different landscapes. He cut it all together. Finding Middle Earth in New Zealand is either tricky or easy, depending on how you think about it. Everywhere a person goes in the country, the feel of the movie will follow. Middle Earth is New Zealand...just modified.

Marlborough

The Marlborough region lies on the Northeastern corner of the South Island. This area is most famous for producing the world's finest Sauvignon Blancs and I have found this to quite true. I didn't even like the damned grape until I tried the New Zealand variety.

Kairkoura on the southern end of the region is a popular tourist destination. Whales are often seen right off the coast (I didn't see one). It is also home to the rare hector dolphins and lots of fur seals. For those with the money to spend, there are many wildlife tours offered in the area.

It was one of the most beautiful place I've seen on my trip. The snow capped mountains rise right out of the ocean, which is an amazing sight. I took a lovely three hour walk around the area, soaking in the views, the lovely weather, and seeing lot of seals. They may be one of the cutest creatures on this earth, but man do they stink! I was very glad I came here; it wasn't on my original itinerary, but it turned out be one of the highlights.

I headed next to Blenheim, the Sauv Blanc capital. I was only able to hit two vineyards before closing time; they shut early in the winter. I was thankfully able to taste three or four wines that I really couldn't afford to purchase. The Pinot Noir and Reisling in the area are also quite amazing. Blenheim was a boring town overall though. It was mostly a town for backpackers to live and work on the vineyards and yuppies who love to add fictional overtones to grape juice.

My South Island experience ended in Picton (which the Kiwis pronounced as "Pectin"). I arrived a few hours before the departure of the ferry, so I took an incredibly scenic stroll to one of the points in the sounds. This area is rarely mentioned as a great place to visit, but I found it to be beautiful.

I boarded the "Pectin" ferry, which I was sad to find was not filled with jam. The ferry ride itself was its own destination. It was huge boat with cafes, two cinemas, a food court, a bar with live music, and lots of lounge areas to relax, read and enjoy the views.

Christchurch Again...Face to Face with Swine Flu

I called Sophie again to work out another night in Christchurch so I could see the Bank's Peninsula before heading North. Sophie didn't mind. She was out for a while, but was Ok if I just came in a prepared a big pot of chili (I know I don't mind it when quasi-stranger cook me chili). After cooking for 30 minutes, Sophie came home.

"Oh...um Aaron. I just found out, Tomo (her flatmate) has swine flu."

"Like swine flu, swine flu, the AK47-12A flu or whatever it is?"

"Yeah."

The last time I was there two weeks ago, Tomo was just on the starting end of being sick, time of highest contagiousness. Little did I know that I was sharing a house with the dreaded swine flu.

The chances of me getting sick were very low, but I opted to stay at a hostel that night. Considering I was homeless and on holiday, I didn't want to catch any form of influenza, be it avian, swine, or anything else. In fact, swine flu seems like a media creation. The death rates seem about the same as normal influenza, just when a somebody dies from the pig flu, it is an international event. I finished my chili, enjoyed a dinner with Sophie then headed back to the hostel.

The next day, I awoke exhausted. I had just spent two weeks travelling like mad, hiking at least two hours everyday, and driving even more. Halfway to the Banks Peninsula, I cracked, turned around and drove straight to Kaikoura, two hours north of Christchurch. I arrived at two, only stopping at a couple of local vineyards. I spent the rest of the day reading and watching movies.

Mackenzie Country

I headed out North from Dunedin, stopped at the Cathedral Pipes, which are some rocks that look like organ pipes. My other stop on the way into the mountains were the popular Moeraki Boulders. Across a beach are numerous near-spherical boulders. They look as if they were carved by people, but it is again the work of nature. Oddly, they weren't rocks weathered by the ocean, but instead were formed in the cliffs by compressed sediment. The ocean washed away the un-rockified material, leaving only the balls behind.

After Moeraki, I headed into the mountains towards Mt. Cook, the tallest mountain in Australasia. As I approached the mountains, it was extremely overcast. I remembered the words of some offered by other travelers, "If it's cloudy at the start of the Mt. Cook road, don't even bother driving up." Well at the start of the Mt. Cook road, it was crystal clear.

Mt. Cook dominates the valley for miles. It towers above everything. When in its presence, nobody asks, "So, is that Mt. Cook?" The mountain was beautiful and covered completely with snow. It certainly lived up to its reputation.

Mt. Cook wasn't the only thing covered in snow; the entire valley was buried. The highway was barely open, but all the side roads and a good number of hikes in the area were closed, including the highly recommended Tasman Glacier hike. I arrived with a couple hours before sunset, so I took a short hike to Kea Point for the park's most famous view of the mountain. There are a supposed to be two glaciers on the sides of Mt. Cook (well, they are still there), but they just blended in with the other piles of snow.
The next morning, I embarked on a hike to Hooker Lake, which was lovely, yet tiring. As the trail pushed further, it was less and less packed in. At some point, it deteriorated to a single set of foot prints through knee deep snow. A while later, it was just knee deep snow. I trudged a bit further, but this proved too tiring. I nearly to the lake anyway.

I spend the night at the beautiful Lake Tekapo. The next day, I went for a nice stroll on Mt. John, then around an arm of the lake back to town before heading to Christchurch.

Dunedin and Central Otago

Dunedin was the only city at that point I had the chance to experience for any amount of time. I scheduled myself to move so quickly, I wasn't staying in any single place longer than a day. This only yields very superficial impressions of places. I should have learned my lesson in Australia; the places I enjoyed the most were the ones where I spent more than two of three days exploring. When I come back to New Zealand, I'll instead choose to explore a few choice places in depth instead of seeing everything for a mere second. Alas, this first trip is destined to be nothing more than a survey.

I couch surfed again, this time with Anni, a young student living in a large share house with five others. This seemed a fitting way to experience New Zealand's main college town. My first night, I joined Anni at a 21st Birthday party for a childhood friend. I had a great time and saw a bit of Dunedin's famous nightlife.

The next night, I went with Anni to a vegetarian potluck. For all my life, I assumed potlucks (at least the word, not the concept) was an American thing. I was a great multi-international group, spattered with people people from New Zealand, England, Scotland, Holland, and Idaho. I learned that although vegetarians suffer from a severe lack of meat in their meals, they can make one fine dessert.

My one day in Dunedin was quite fun as well. I started at Baldwin Street, the world's steepest residential street. (yes, even steeper than Lombard Street in San Francisco; I trust Mr. Guiness's judgement.) It sits at an angle of 19 degrees, which may not sound like much, and from the photographs, it doesn't look like much either, but once one begins to walk up it, the angle become high in one's consciousness. There are sections of sidewalk that necessitate stairs. I didn't find any difficulty walking up it. I had been hiking for hours a day everyday for the past two weeks. I did not, however, take part in my own personal version of the Dunedin Annual Gutbuster, a foot race up and then down the dangerous street. This seemed like a silly idea in the middle of the icy winter. One tourist tried driving up it, but failed partway and was forced to roll back down. A local driving Baldwin Street is easy to spot. They always started with a loud revving engine at the bottom as they muster up enough speed to get to the top. As the car flies up the hills, the various tourists walking up the hill or taking photographs fly in all directions as if the local was driving through a deep puddle of water, not Japanese people. My only regret is that I was not in town two days later when they have the annual rolling of the Cadbury chocolate down the street.

I next drove to the Octagon, Dunedin's town square, which is an octagon. Being the oldest city in New Zealand, Dunedin actually feature a lot of neat Victorian and art deco architecture, including the world famous train station. I stepped into the town's fantastic art gallery and saw a fantastic exhibit on contemporary Iranian photography, as well as a decent show on Frances Hodgkins, New Zealand's most famous painter. Though I'm not a huge fan of her art, she can paint one hell of a watercolor. (oh sorry, watercolour).

I randomly found a place called Tunnel Beach, which was highly recommended by Anni. I didn't know how to get there, but considering it was a beach and I knew it was South, I merely drove along with the ocean to my left and found it. The spectacular beach is surrounded by towering sandstone arches and sea sculpted formations. The beach is at the bottom of a hill, which is, as one may guess from previous blogs, a sheep paddock, then through a hand carved tunnel through the sandstone wall face. It was bitchin'. (I bringing that word back)

Next, I headed to the Otago Penninsula. It used to be the Otago Island, but the settlers pulled a Dubai (or did Dubai pull a Dunedin?) and created a land bridge by dumping rocks and large quantities of sand into the ocean. I drove through the beautiful rugged hills and bays then took a long walk through some sheep paddock to the chasm, which was a chasm. Kiwis have a knack for naming things. The walk continued to the Lover's Leap, a rock formation shaped like a...let's put it this way, if it were a flower instead of rock, it would make a great Georgia O'Keefe painting. An hour further through more sheep paddock and endless mud, then down a steep sand hill that stretched for a kilometer (I dreaded my walk back up) was Sandfly bay. The walk was well worth it,for Sandfly Bay is famous for being one of the best place to see a sea lion. The beach was riddled with them, sleeping in sun. I walked along photographing them, keeping the suggested distance of 10 meter between us. One suddenly woke up and seemed quite grumpy. It looked at me as if my photo taking was the primary disturber of its slumber. It then barked and charged at me! For a giant, fat sea creature with no legs, they can move quite fast. I kept taking more photos until it crossed my mind that if I was killed by a sea lion, I couldn't post my photos on my blog. I backed away slowly, to appear submissive. It didn't regard me as a threat, so it instead took its anger out on another sea lion. After an hour of watching them sleep, I walked back up the giant sand hill, back through the mud, back through the sheep paddock, and went to my car. I headed the tip of the peninsula for another attempt at spotting some penguins. After shivering in the cold for two hours, listening to children continuous ask their mothers in loud, ear-piercing, penguin-scaring cries, "Where are the penguins?" ("THEY WON'T COME IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE F@#K UP!" is not among the things I felt at liberty to yell at unknown children.), I gave up.

The Catlins

My journey through the Southern Coast of the South Island, known as the Catlins, began in Invercargill, considered the world's most southern city. As a child, I always had a strange fascination with the city. Maybe one day I looked at the globe and saw an actual city dot so far on the bottom that I had to visit. After arriving however, I realized that there isn't too much more to the place than the idea of being so far south. The kiwis consider it the armpit of New Zealand. It wasn't the most interesting or beautiful of places, but it wasn't that bad, more like the pinky toe of New Zealand instead. At the local museum, they have a creature called the tuatara, the last surviving dinosaur. They are very tiny and don't actually move at all. I think this is why they survived; the gods just forgot they even existed.

I moved on quickly and headed to the scenic coastline of the Catlins. Well, it was raining again, but with no mountains, it didn't affect the scenery too much. I went to Slope Point, the southernmost point of New Zealand. I looked out South and admired my proximity to the South Pole, only 4800km away.

I took this leg slowly, stopping at numerous waterfalls and hidden bays. There was a petrified forest. I went dolphin spotting (and failed). I took a few short hikes. By the time I reached Nugget Point, only 2/3 of the way to Dunedin, it was already sunset. Nugget Point is a popular penguin spotting area, so I looked unsuccessfully for these shy birds. I did see some seals very far away. At first, I thought they were rocks, but they barked. They were too far away to make out if they were moving. A kiwi in Dunedin that night told me that what I saw was New Zealands famous barking rocks. It was good to see the Aussie didn't hold a monopoly on BS.

Fiordlands: God's Masterpiece

As long as I can remember, my father has raved about the Fiordlands of New Zealand. Mitre Peak this. Mitre Peak that. I heard him talk about this Mitre Peak (though he always said Mitre Rock) so many times, I explicitly searched out what the hell he was talking about in my New Zealand Lonely Planet.

Mitre Peak is probably the most famous sight in all of New Zealand. If a post card is sent from the country, chances are it's of Mitre Peak. Since my dad is so big on it and since everyone else seemed to agree, I had no choice but to seek out this mountain.

I got to the start of the 100km road to Mitre Peak in the Milford Sound and it was closed due to two deadly car accidents, the first deaths on the road in years. The gateway community of Te Anau was covered in a thick sheet of fog, so driving around and admiring the views was not an option. Instead, I decided to hike the world famous Kepler Track. No, I didn't do the whole 60km. I figured that I should instead continue my trend of only hiking portions of the world's greatest hikes. The three hours I dedicated were through forest, so I didn't lose any beauty from the fog. I was planning of hiking further, climbing the small mountain near Te Anau, but my legs were unforgiving after the previous day's climb. Signs on the trail suggested that the area was kiwi infested, so I kept my eyes peeled. Alas, I failed at seeing one of these nocturnal birds.

I awoke the next morning to more thick fog, the opposite of the weather I needed to see a famous mountain. The road was thankfully open. After ten minutes of driving, I was out of the fog and beneath clear blue skies.

The drive to Milford Sound is incredible! Accidents happen daily on the 100km stretch of highway. The Department of Conservation blames black ice; I disagree. The scenery makes it very hard to pay attention to the actual driving. Thankfully, there are plenty of places to stop and go for various walks of view amazing lookouts. This is the greatest mountain scenery I've ever seen. Driving amongst this beauty left me feeling like I just finished a first kiss with a girl I fancy. The views literally put adrenaline in my blood.

The drive climaxed at the end of the line where it reached Milford Sound and the damn Mitre Peak. The post cards are a horrible representation of the mountain's magic and many find the post cards to be amazing. Mitre Peak begs to be stared upon. It causes continuous twitching of the shutter finger (I think I took around 20 photos). The Maori believe that god took up sculpture in the Fiordlands and perfected the art when he made Milford Sound. It is truly god's masterpiece. Now my kids will have to suffer the same fate as I: having a father who just won't shut up about some Mitre Rock.