I am the Lone Ranger, and my pack is Tonto as I strike out across the wilds of New Zealand’s South Island withouth Samantha to keep me company. *Sob sob* and all that jazz. I was more than a little apprehensive at the prospect of two weeks travelling solo, despite the fact that I had a hop-on/hop off Stray bus pass (fabulous Chrismakkah present Mum and Dad, thank you!) and wouldn’t actually be alone very often. Or so I hoped…

Wellington gave me its customary send off (driving wind, sheets of rain – oh I’ll miss you, fair city) and I boarded the ferry to Picton – gateway to the South. The further we got from Welly, the better the weather. Funny that. Picton is another small town which gives credence to the ‘NZ is 50 years behind the UK’ thinking. Nestled in foresty hills and right on the coast, it was a lovely place to explore the shoreline. I took my pod on a long walk with glorious views – the first of many – winding along a hilltop track that looked over the blue water.

Pretty Picton

My first night alone in a hostel was rather fun. It is true that travelling by yourself means you are forced to chat to more people. Had Sam and I been in a hostel for just one night we may well have just spoken to each other, but I quickly made friends with two cute, young guys – one Israeli (always a good bet, even if only for the reason that I can tell them ‘todah rabah’ when they pass me the salt, and they’re impressed) and one Czech. Sequoia Lodge hostel was one of the best; I’m finding that NZ accommodation is fantastic compared to SA – this one offered a free outdoor spa pool and free nightly home-baked chocolate pudding.

I picked up the Stray bus the next morning and was pleased when it was more of an oversized mini-bus than a huge coach with drunken 18-year olds puking/flashing their bums out the windows. It seemed a nice group too – if rather too European for my tastes. (I am a Bad Traveller. My fave nationalities to meet on the road are: Brits, Irish [kinda the same as Brits, sorry guys], Israelis, Canadians, Dutch, South American, Australian, Kiwi, American, German. In that order.) Our first stop was an impromtu wine tasting about an hour south of Picton, before heading off to Abel Tasman national park.

Stray drivers are annoyingly often called by nicknames. Ours was Thumper. He was a tad irritating, but clearly very knowledgable and gave great advice. There is definitely an element of the school trip to Stray – less so because you can hop on and off the bus at whatever time you’d like, but it could be far worse. The advantage it has over driving yourself is that the driver is also part-tour guide, and points things out along the journey that the average traveller would miss.

When we drove into Abel Tasman the sky was still a shocking blue, the sun hot, and I had a skydive booked for the morning! Aaarghhhhh! When I woke up, it was a little cloudy, but according to all the instructors, fine enough to jump. I was the only one from my bus leaping from a plane that day, but there was another group at the skydive centre who were all vascillating between bowel-crunching fear, and well, bowel-crunching excitement. Luckily, the guys I went up with had both dove before, so they were pretty calm and I just didn’t get that scared. There was a wobble when the plane took off, but after that I think my brain disassociated from what was about to happen – ie that I was going to fling my breakable little bod from 13,000 feet to the hard hard ground.

Because I got high...

Pushing off from the tiny plane to the sheer nothingness of the air below the was the most incredible feeling. The view along the coast was magnificent, not that I knew what was going on for the first 20 seconds of a 50 second free-fall! Wow wow wow. As soon as I touched land I wanted to go straight back up and do it again. Thank you once again to everyone who clubbed together for the gift. I haven’t had a full list of who sent it to me which is why there’ve been no individual thank yous but here’s a big fat one to everybody. THANK YOU!!!

Buzzing, that afternoon I hiked up the coast, past implausibly pretty beaches doing their best impressions of Tayrona. I knew NZ was gorgeous but I’d been thinking snowy peaks not golden beaches.

Abel Tasman is soooo prettty

The evening in the lodge was pretty fun – there was another bus there too, and everyone chatted and drank oh-so-merrily around the fire. I’d booked in a sail and walk trip for the following day, so with Alex, Hannah and Sinead from the bus I swapped on to after staying an extra night in AT (bye bye Europeans), set off early to walk down to Anchorage Bay to pick up the catamaran which would let us see this beautiful national park from the water. The views were gorge, but what with the wind (ah ha, it’s a sailboat. I seeeeee……) it was also utterly freezing. We huddled up in blankets to keep warm.

Brrrr.

My new bus driver was Rob; also fun, but far less experienced than Thumper. He was excited about our next stop – Barrytown - but would only answer our questions with an enigmatic ‘What happens in Barrytown stays in Barrytown.’ We did learn that there was more or less compulsory fancy dress though. I rolled my eyes and thought ‘uch I am soooo not up for that with people I only met yesterday’as we drove along the ‘wild’ west coast and past the weirdly beautiful pancake rocks.

Lemon and sugar on my rocks, please

Once in BT, the shots and the jaegerbombs started and I began to see the entire issue of fancy dress a little differently… Barrytown is a hick hamlet, and the only entertainment on offer is dressing up. Even the locals came down to the one pub to don leotards and fairy wings and dance around on tables with the backpackers. Clearly, BT was THE place to be that night. For the mentally unhinged.

WTF?

Next morning we went cultural, learning how to make traditional maori bone carvings. They stunk (fancy breathing in crushed bone, anyone?) but we had fun being all crafty and that…

As we left Barrytown the rain came. And didn’t stop for the next three days. We were heading to Franz Josef Glacier, one of the stops that I knew would be an utter highlight of the trip and something I was hugely excited about. Imagine my disappointment then, when we found out the glacier had been closed all day, and there was only scant chances of groups getting a chance to trek on the ice tomorrow – when we were all booked in. We worried all evening, but when we went down to the visitors centre in the morning we were given our crampons and overcoats and ferried straight to the  glacier itself. Woohoo!

Ice Ice Baby

Even the first glimpse of a slightly dirty river of ice nudging its way down the valley was breathtaking. Once we’d trekked the 2.4 km to the face itself – longer than normal due to a dangerously swollen river – and actually began to climb, it was even more so. Guides went on ahead and cut steps in the ice for the first part; we hauled ourselves up them with ropes and a prayer. It took about an hour to get past the grubby ice and onto the bright white and blue parts. It was like stepping into another world, like being in the stomach of a great crystal. As the weather worsened, we felt like intrepid explorers fighting our way through this glittery ice world. Despite the constant rain, it lived up to every extravagant expectation. I can only imagine how stunning Franz Josef looks in the sunshine, although the low cloud and mist did lend the scenery an eerie magic of its own.

As Cold as Ice

We were hugely lucky too. It continued to pour, and nobody was allowed on the ice for the two days after us either. All we missed was Makarora (or something) National Park – a mountainous region of pretty walks and great views. Apparently. When we got to the lodge there the next day the rain was so thick it was practically solid – and the other side of the road, let alone the looming mountains became utterly invisible. We holed up in the pub, played yaniv and drank wine by the roaring fire, and even got accidentally involved in some Kareoke….

We have the X factor

The weather broke by the time we drove into the especially lovely town of Wanaka. With an alpine charm all its own the place is dotted with fragrant mauve flowers, and dominated by snow-capped mountains and a huge blue lake.

I am photographer supreme

What’s more it is the home of Puzzling World – Disneyland for the game-lovers amongst us. Stray bus-mates Sinead, Alex and I tackled the 3D, two-storey maze (for an hour), before moving inside to a truly bewildering array of exhibits, tricks and illusions. There’s even a common room outside with puzzles on every table. A perfect way to while away an afternoon.

Absolutely A-Mazing

Our next stop was Queenstown – the adventure sports capital of the WORLD. The only difficult thing was deciding which of the thousands of high-adrenalin activities to tackle. The town itself is also hugely attractive, right on the water, with the aptly named Remarkables mountain range its backdrop. As well as trying the bar that inexplicably sold cocktails for shots out of teapots (random much?) I opted for jetboating (travelling at high-speed along the river for an hour) and couldn’t resist the lure of trying hang gliding again in such a beautiful setting….

Tomorrow it’s Christchurch, my very last stop in NZ. I will meet up with Sam again (hurrah) and on Sunday fly to Sydney (hurrah again!).

I’ve *loved* the last two weeks. It’s been fantastic travelling alone, although definitely not something I’d be up for for longer than a month or so. I’ve been lucky to have a great group on my bus, but even then there are times I got lonely and I definitely missed sharing all the great stuff with Sam. Ok, enough pukesome stuff…

See you in Oz, bloggettes… xxx