Rizz goes round the world

What's the matter?!-- My Kiwi Experience (South Island, NZ)

Well, my adventure on the Kiwi Experience bus started as only an Allison adventure can start. I almost missed the bus. No, I didn't wake up late. In fact, I was outside and waiting 15 minutes early. I was just waiting in the wrong spot. When it started getting a little late, out of curiosity, I walked around the corner of the building. There was the big green Kiwi bus, alright...pulling away. I had to run up to it and flag it down for it to stop. At least it did. I grabbed my bag awkwardly and stumbled onto your bus, very nearly forgetting to say "Ditte" when LJ, the bus driver, asked me my name. Out of breath, my heart racing, this was not the optimal way to embark on a journey under an assumed identity. All the double seats were taken up by at least one person, so I grabbed a seat next to Pete, my first Kiwi Experience friend, and my adventure had begun.

LJ, the driver, was about as much of a character as a person can be. On the short side, with spiky hair, he resembled Sonic the Hedgehog's little sidekick on speed. This guy had the type of energy I can only imagine. I was really lucky ending up on LJ's bus; he had the perfect personality for the job and really brought everyone together. I don't think I would have left the Experience with as many friends and memories had I been on someone else's bus.

After the three-hour ferry ride down to the South Island, we hopped back on the bus, and things turned awkward again, as they are apt to do in my life. This being my first time on the Kiwi bus, I didn't really know how things worked. LJ first asked who was new to the bus. I knew, from having talked to Pete, that most of the people who had taken the ferry over had been travelling together for a while, so I assumed he meant "Who's new today?" So I, along with 2 other girls, raised my hand. But, no, he meant, "Who has never travelled on Kiwi before?" Well, I (as in Ditte) had technically travelled through the North Island with Kiwi, and seeing as LJ had my ticket in front of him, with the places I'd already travelled to initialled by the drivers I'd gone with, I looked like an idiot. Anyway, LJ asked us our names as a means to introduce us to the bus. I responded, "Well, I go by Allison." Everyone looked at me a bit quizzically, because what is Allison short for? I felt myself go bright red. Then, to make matters worse, LJ said, "Allison, I see you had a driver named Buzz."

"Um, yes."

"When was that?"

"Oh, I don't know, February sometime?" (Fortunately the real Ditte had told me when she had used the northern portion of the ticket.)

"Yeah, I figured. He hasn't worked for us for a while. So what have you been doing since then? Working in Wellington?"

"Um, something like that..."

A little put off, LJ responded, "I'm not trying to be nosy or anything, just trying to make some conversation."

I wanted to die. I also felt like a jerk.

Fortunately he left it at that. Thanks to my guilty conscience, I'm so awful at lying, it's laughable. My conscience pecked at me the rest of the day, and that night I had a dream that I was at the airport for my flight to Sydney and they wouldn't let me out of the country because the name of my Kiwi Experience ticket didn't match the name on my passport.

Fortunately nothing even close to that drastic happened, and it was pretty much smooth sailing the rest of the time, although I'd have a bout of nerves anytime I got on a bus with a new driver or had to pay with a credit card for a booking under "Allison Jensen".

Anyway, the itinerary of my journey went like this:
Day 1: (Tuesday) Picton (where the ferry drops off) to Nelson
Day 2: (Wednesday) Nelson to Westport (land of the mullets)
Day 3: (Thursday) Westport to Lake Mahanapua (Lake Wannapupu)
Day 4: (Friday) Lake Mahanapua to Franz Josef (skydive!!!)
Day 5: (Saturday) Free day in Franz Josef
Day 6: (Sunday) Franz Josef to Wanaka
Day 7: (Monday) Wanaka to Queenstown (big night out with the bus before everyone went their separate ways)
Day 8: (Tuesday) Queenie
Day 9: (Wednesday) Queenie
Day 10: (Thursday) Queenie to Dunedin
Day 11: (Friday) Dunedin
Day 12: (Saturday) Dunedin
Day 13: (Sunday) Dunedin
Day 14: (Monday) Dunedin to Curio Bay
Day 15: (Tuesday) Curio Bay through Invercargill to Te Anau
Day 16: (Wednesday) Te Anau to Milford Sound and back to Queenie
Day 17: (Thursday) Queenie
Day 18 (Friday) Queenie
Day 19: (Saturday) Queenie to Christchurch
Day 20: (Sunday) Christchurch to Sydney, Australia (That was yesterday)

Anyway, I won't bore you with the minutia of every single day, but I will include some highlights from each location. I already know I won't get through everything in one sitting, but, to give you a preview, some highlights:

Scaling glaciers! Jumping out of planes! Dressing up like a bottle of rum! Late night hummus fights! Falling into a tree in a graveyard! Lots of karaoke! Playing groupie to a band in Queenstown! (Not in the biblical sense, don't worry.) Nearly getting trampled by sea lions! (Well, not really, they were sleeping.) Almost getting beaten up by drunk and stoned locals!

Are you ready for my Kiwi Experience? Here we go!

Nelson:

Situated near Abel Tasman National Park, whose wonders I did not get to enjoy (weather was crappy), Nelson, a low, quaint, pleasant place, is the sunniest city in New Zealand and home to the true Centre of New Zealand (as in the middle of the country). Upon arriving in town, I decided to take a walk up to the Centre with Joey, a girl from Surrey, England who has become my greatest travel friend, and Jon, from London. The walk was grueling: a ceaseless, steep uphill. I felt accomplished having done it though, and we of course stopped at the top for the token scenery pictures and a shot with the compass marking the center of New Zealand. Afterwards, we went back to the hostel/hotel for dinner and a free beer tasting. My favorite was called sassy red. Played a few card games, broke the foozball table, and headed off to bed. I was rooming with Joey and Ric and Pete (my first Kiwi friend), 2 guys from Leeds, England, who are at the tail end of their year-long RTW trip. Since that night, it became a running joke that Ric and Pete were gay lovers, after they had a bit of a quarrel in their bunk bed (Pete slept on the bottom bunk, Ric on top. Know that hostel bunk beds are notoriously squeaky.):

"Stop fidgeting."

"I'm not fidgeting, you're fidgeting."

"No, I'm definitely not fidgeting."

"Well, someone is, so stop fidgeting."

"I'm not fidgeting..."

Et cetera...

I never let them live that down, and, in return, Pete was after me the whole time of travelling to get me to say the word "mine". Well, like a little kid out to pester people, he was after everyone, but I think was especially gleeful when he tripped me up.

What's so special about the word "mine", then? Well, LJ had these games we played as a bus. First, he had dice hanging from his rearview mirror. Everytime we either boarded or got off the bus, we had to touch the dice or it was 10 push-ups. We also faced the same fate if we said the word "mine", so it was a constant game of, "Whose bag is this? Is this your bag?" "Yes, that bag belongs to me." This led to some truly hysterical moments, like when we stole Ric's beer and passed it around the room until he answered the question, "Whose beer is this?" with "Mine."

At any rate...

Westport:

On the way driving to Westport, we took an hour-long walk in Nelson Lakes National Park that was muddy and strenuous. I was proud of myself as many around us moaned and groaned, out of breath. My vertical climb yesterday must have helped; I wasn't out of breath at all!!

After lunch outside by the lake, accompanied by sandflies, it was on to Buller Adventures, a company that ran a jet boat ride through Buller Gorge. As Craig, the driver, steered the boat into 360 degree turns (actually leaving the water at times, I think), water streamed into my shirt and down my back and I may have cracked a rib from the force of people crashing into me thanks to centrifugal force. I was freezing and a bit sore, but it was fun, and worth it.

LJ had told us to keep an eye out for mullets in Westport, and as Craig drove us into town, he affirmed the fact that Westport was a bit of a backwater. Not heeding his warnings directing us to one and only one pub, later that night we made our way to a pub that was not the one he had recommended. Some of the boys had been there for dinner earlier that evening, and on the way, we crossed paths with Tyrone, a half-Irish, half-Spanish guy from Bilbao, Espana, who is presently teaching Spanish in Auckland (future career opportunities???). Anyway, the fact that we ran into him will become significant later in the night.

We hung out at the bar the rest of the night, playing pool and cards. We were the only ones in there, and the barman, a very friendly fellow, was clearly staying open just for us. Towards the end of the night, though, a couple of locals, men in their 60s, probably, came in for a few drinks. They seemed nice enough, though very clearly drunk and some, but we managed to make some small talk. Finally, we were ready to leave. Doing a quick glance around the room to see if we'd left anything, we spotted a sweater under a table where we'd been sitting earlier in the night. It looked kind of euro, and we assumed, after asking the bartender if he knew whose it was, that it belonged to Tyrone. So we grabbed it and left, passing by the 2 locals, outside for a smoke, on the way out. They said hello, clearly out of their gourds, and invited us to "get f--ed up" with them. We declined the offer and headed back to the hostel.

On the way, Kirk, a fellow from the bus who was travelling from the money he'd won playing poker online, put the sweater on as it was cold. When we got to the hostel, Kirk put his hands in the sweater's pockets and pulled out... a packet of New Zealand's famous "party pills" (marginally legal tablets of speed) from one pocket and an enormous bag of weed from another. Damn, Tyrone, what have you been getting into? As we sat there thinking about it, though, we realized that Tyrone, who had left the bar hours ago, had he been in possession of such sybstances, would have quickly realized he'd left them and made a beeline back to the bar before anyone noticed. That meant the sweater must have belonged to one of the 2 locals, who would not be happy that a bunch of frivolous backpackers had taken off with his stash. Seeing as it was an honest mistake, I walked back to the bar with Ric and Pete to return the sweater. The bar was dark, but we knocked on the door and the barman came out. We said "We accidentally grabbed this sweater. We think it belongs to one of the guys here earlier." The barman responded, "Yeah, it does, thanks for bringing it back," wished us good night, and off we went. No big deal.

Well, when we got back to the hostel, everyone who was still up was literally huddled together in the kitchen. As we enetered, they exclaimed "Oh my god, are you ok? We were so worried!" Apparently, while we'd been out, one of the locals had called the hostel and told the woman who owned it, who we had already realized was a bit off her rocker, that the backpackers staying at her hostel had nicked his sweater and if we didn't get it back immediately, he was going to come hunt us down. She, in turn, came into the kitchen and started yelling at the others, saying that this is a small town and we didn't know what sort of trouble we were getting into. The others tried to explain it was an honest mistake, but she'd have none of it, and said we were lucky that Ric, Pete and I were on our way to return it or she would have kicked every single one of us out.

We all slept with one eye open that night.

And the rest is to be continued...

posted by La Rizz @ 11:14 PM