Every Day is Sunday

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, we made our way down to Kaikoura.  According to Maori legend, the god Maui sat on the Kaikoura Peninsula and fished New Zealand’s North Island up from the depths of the sea. As we drove down the winding highway toward Kaikoura, it looked like the crystal-blue water was reaching out and touching the snow-capped peaks of the Seaward Kaikoura Mountain Range. The scenery was mesmerizing.

Well, at least Jeff was mesmerized.  Erin was focused on another big draw from the Kaikoura: sheep-shearing.

Erin: I really wanted to shear a sheep.  Is that such a weird thing to have on your bucket list?

Jeff: The first time I heard Erin talk about sheep shearing was in South America. We spent a few days roaming around Uruguay looking for a sheep to shear, but no dice. Six continents later I’m still hearing about shearing sheep.

Erin:  New Zealand has about 50 million sheep – that’s about 15 sheep for every person. Surely one of them needed a trim. 

We heard there was a sheep farmer just outside of town who puts on a sheep-shearing show, so we went out to The Point to investigate. We were greeted by “Ram-man,” a Drysdale Ram who was quickly eating out of Erin’s hands.

The Ram wasn’t ready for a haircut, so our host brought out a shaggy sheep ready for a buzz.

Erin:  Finally, the moment had arrived! I grabbed the electric shearer and set to work. At first, the sheep squirmed like a four-year-old on the barber’s chair for the first time. After a bit he settled down while I did my best Andre Chreky impersonation.

After a successful sheep-shearing outing, we went looking for Kaikoura’s other famous attraction: Crayfish. Unlike the Crayfish in America, which are usually the size of large shrimps, the Crayfish in Kaikoura are the size of a Maine lobsters and can get as large as 3 pounds. It was Crayfish season, and so we followed the Guidebook’s advice and went looking for Crays at Nin’s Bin’s.

Nin’s was a huge disappointment. The first problem was extreme sticker-shock. How could the smallest Crayfish cost $45? How could we justify spending $90 for a snack at a roadside shack with paper napkins and plastic utensils? If that wasn’t bad enough, all of the Crays were pre-cooked. The lady behind the counter couldn’t tell us when exactly they had been cooked.

We weren’t comfortable blowing that much money, and so we set out looking for a better deal.  After talking to a few locals, we discovered that Kaikoura’s Crays are the subject of a pernicious price-fixing scheme.  Apparently, all of the restaurants and shacks have an informal agreement that they all charge “export prices” for their Crays.  Tourists pay the inflated prices, while the locals get their Crays by setting their own traps or bartering with friends who set Cray traps.  Jeff pointed out that this type of collusion would violate at least three different antitrust laws back in the U.S. 

We went back to the hostel with a conundrum: we wanted to try the local cuisine but didn’t want to pay an inflated price.  As it turned out, the answer was – quite literally – staring us in the face.  Just above the couch in the common room of the hostel was an advertisement for a fishing trip.  For $80 (less than two Crays at Nin’s Bin’s) you get a four hour fishing trip and get to keep all of the fish you catch for the day.   

We met our fishing guide at his house near the wharf and followed him to his boat. It was an absolutely gorgeous day and we quickly got our poles in the water. The Orange Roughy jumped onto Erin’s hooks before she could let the line all the way out. Jeff’s snapper was the biggest catch of the day.    

After our initial success, we pulled our lines and headed out to check the Crayfish traps.  We slowly pulled the trap out of the water expecting to find a dozen delicious Crays, but all we found was a giant octopus and a bunch of empty shells.  The octopus had wormed its way into the trap and feasted on all of the confined Crayfish.  We dumped the octopus on the boat’s floor and gave it a stern talking to.

Although it looks like an alien creature, an octopus doesn’t pose any danger to humans.  We let the octopus climb over our arms – the little suction cups on its tentacles felt strange as they attached and detached across our skin. Finally, we bade the octopus goodbye and threw him overboard. He released a large cloud of black ink as soon as he hit the water.

We spotted another buoy and went to try our luck with another trap.  We crossed our fingers as the trap slowly made its way onto the boat. 

Jackpot!  We’re going to eat well tonight!!!

After a few hours out on the water Jeff started to get a little sea-sick (Erin: He was three shades of green).  We had caught more fish than we could possibly eat, so we decided to call it a day and headed back to shore with our bounty.

We spent the rest of the morning cooking up a storm at the hostel, and invited our fellow travelers to join us for a delicious feast. 

We spent a few more days enjoying the beautiful scenery of Kaikoura before saying our goodbyes to the South Island and heading north.

About an hour outside of Blenheim we saw a sign for Havelock. 

Here’s a good rule for any road trip: when you see giant signs advertising weird local food you absolutely have to stop.  We had our choice of mussel restaurants in town, but it was an easy choice.  We picked the one with the giant pot of mussels on the roof and sculptures of giant mussels in the garden.

After our impromptu lunch stop we continued along the highway toward Abel Tasman National Park, famous for its beautiful vistas and winding trails.  To pay it forward we decided to stop and pick up a hitchhiker along the way.  Picking up a hitchhiker is almost as exciting as hitchhiking! 

Perhaps we set our expectations too high, but Steve was a disappointment.  A lone traveler from Canada with minimal baggage, he seemed like a good pick-up.  He was nice enough, but instead of sharing cool traveling stories, we heard about his missionary work and about the benefits of welcoming god into your heart.  Really, Steve?  Hey, I love this song, I’m going to turn the music up a little if you don’t mind…

We dropped off Steve and made our way to the entrance to Abel Tasman National Park.  Abel Tasman is famous for being one of the most perfect spots on the South Island for hiking and kayaking.  We decided to do both.

On our first morning we took a two-hour speed boat ride all the way up the coast.  We spent the next two days making our way back.  Day 1 was a 7 hour hike along one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world.

We met Gabriela from Brazil early in the hike and spent a lovely day sharing stories and talking about how much we loved Carnival in Rio. 

Except for the indigenous Maori and old-time Kiwis who owned land in Abel Tasman before it was designated a national park in [year], nobody is allowed to build any permanent structure anywhere in the park.  There are many campsites but no hotels.  Since we weren’t carrying camping gear, we were in a bind for a place to stay.  Luckily, we found a loophole: a houseboat.  We followed our map to the designated beach, and literally hailed down our hotel for the night.

The crew cooked up a delicious BBQ and they even had beers on board.  It was a calm evening and we slept like babies.

The next morning we arranged for a one-way kayak rental – a company dropped off kayaks for us at the houseboat, and we could return them at the beach closest to town.  We set out early in the morning to kayak. We paddled around into coves and around an island but the highlight were definitely the seals – which loved to swim under boat, splash and play. You didn’t have to paddle to them – they came to you.

Kayaking is a lot more exhausting than it looks.  About half way through we found an empty beach and took a nice, long rest under the warm Kiwi sun.

After an amazing two days in Abel Tasman, we dropped off the kayaks and got back on the road.  We spent a night in Nelson – taking in the views and admiring the impressive port – before heading southeast to Kaikora.

Jeff:  I figured that the next gas station was just around the corner, so I didn’t say anything when the gas gauge hit empty.  We were still 40 miles away from Blenheim, so I kept the car in neutral as much as possible and didn’t put my foot anywhere near the brake.

Erin: I looked over and saw that the line was well below empty.  The sun was going down and we hadn’t seen another car for almost an hour.  I started taking inventory of our food supply.

Jeff:  I was taking a downhill curve at 85 mph when Erin yelled “GAS!”  I slammed on the brakes and cut hard right to exit the one-lane highway.  It wasn’t a real gas station, it was a huge above-ground tank of gas with an automated spigot attached.

Erin:  I’m smiling because we don’t have to sleep in the car, but then I hear Jeff outside cursing up a storm.  Apparently we needed a New Zealand issued credit card to get the gas flowing. We heard some voices and saw a grandmother walking with her grandchildren. We waited patiently as they strolled toward us, I thought surely this nice granny would help.  But she didn’t have the blasted card either!

Jeff:  I told Erin to stay in the car and I walked down the street.  About a half mile down the road I stopped into a bar to look for help.  The bar was empty except for two grumpy looking older Kiwis hunched over their beers.  I explained that I had money, but didn’t have the right credit card to get gas.  Nobody moved.  Then I offered to buy a round of beers. 

Erin:  I look up and I see an old beat-up red pick-up truck bounding down the road toward the gas station.  Jeff was in the front seat next to a grizzly looking Kiwi.  Like most Kiwis we’ve met on this trip, he was really nice and even refused to take the extra beer money.  I ended up slipping it on the driver’s seat while he wasn’t looking.

Erin:  By the time we arrived in Bleheim it was already dark, so we immediately checked ourselves into a small Bed & Breakfast on the grounds of a vineyard outside of town. We were tired but not so tired that we couldn’t take advantage of their beautiful outdoor kitchen.  Jeff whipped up a feast while I poured wine made from grapes grown on the property.  We awoke the next morning to find ourselves surrounded by the beautiful hills of the Marlborough wine region.

It was a beautiful morning and our host suggested that we go for a walk.  She offered up Texas - their chocolate lab as our guide.  “Just follow him,” she assured us, “he knows the way.”  So we grabbed a bottle of water and set out with our guide dog for the day.

We followed as Texas moved purposefully through the vineyard.  We followed as Texas took us through the woods.  But when Texas reached a fence, turned around with a confused look, and then jumped into the creek to chase some ducklings, we began to wonder whether Texas had led us astray.

We trespassed through several private lots and trying get our “faithful’ companion out of the water to get us back on track. But Texas went rogue. After apologizing to a number of neighbors for wandering around there land, we decided to follow the sound to distant cars and headed straight for the highway. As we took our host’s unleashed dog on the highway, we prayed everybody would make it back in one piece.  After our little stroll turned stressful adventure we decide it was time to hit the vineyards.

The Marlborough region is an ideal spot for wine lovers.  It was spring and the grapes had just started to appear on the vine. 

We spent the next hours and then days enjoying the delicious wines of the famous Marlborough region.  We stuck to the smaller, family –owned vineyards and found that the employees were knowledgeable and friendly.  The Pinot Noirs were good, but the Sauvignon Blancs were out of this world.  Our absolute favorite wine was the Churton, grown from the grapes that surrounded the B&B.

We boarded the Tranz Alpine train and slowly made our way across the Southern Alps.  One of the world’s great train journeys, the Tranz Alpine links the Pacific Ocean to the Tasman Sea.

It was early afternoon when the train pulled out of Greymouth station and started chugging through the Grey River Valley.  We made a brief stop at Arthur’s Pass before entering the Otira Tunnel and burrowing under the mountains for almost five miles.

We emerged from the tunnel into a broad valley with views of unbelievable landscapes and stupendous views.

Although New Zealand is about the size of California, it is made up of hundreds of micro-climates and the weather changes drastically from coast to coast.  We had traveled only 139 miles due east from Greymouth, but it felt like we got off the train in a different hemisphere.  It was colder in Christchurch than it was on the glacier!  We dug out our hats and gloves and walked into town for a delicious Japanese dinner served by a Chinese waitress.

After just one night in Christchurch we picked up a rental car and hit the long and winding road to Akaroa.  Most people travel to Akaroa via State Highway 75, but we opted for the scenic route which took us around the Lyttleton Harbor and through the rugged countryside. 

The adventure was in the journey, and we stopped a few times just to hang out with the sheep.

Akaroa means “Long Harbor” in Maori and is the site of the country’s first French settlement.  It’s a charming town that strives to re-create the feel of a French colonial village, down to the names of its streets and houses.  We stopped for lunch in some of the choice eateries for some salmon (fished out of the waters around Akaroa) and enjoyed the beautiful sunny day on the banks of the Akaroa harbor.  

After lunch we doubled back toward Christchurch and plotted a course to the heart of New Zealand wine country.

There is nothing like road-tripping in New Zealand.  The highways are surrounded by stunning landscape, and every few miles you come across something that makes you want to pull over and take a picture.

We had planned to take the bus from Queenstown up to the Franz Josef Glacier, but we got distracted by our mission to jump out of a plane.  Missing the bus was the second best thing that happened to us that day (the parachute opening took first prize).  We traded our bus ticket for a rental car and set out on another ROAD TRIP! 

Our first stop on Highway 6 was the volcanic black rock beach.  We walked along the water’s edge and admired the impressive rock piles that were balanced enough to withstand the substantial wind coming off the water.

Our next stop was a picturesque waterfall – one of about 3 million photo-worthy waterfalls in this part of the world.

After about 6 hours we finally made it to glacier country.  We pulled off to catch a glimpse of the Fox Glacier.  Sir William Fox was New Zealand’s prime minister when he named the river of ice after himself in 1872.

We arrived at the Franz Josef Village just before nightfall.  Located in the middle of nowhere, the sole purpose of the village is to be a jumping-off point for seeing one of the most spectacular and accessible glaciers in the world: the Franz Josef.

We awoke at dawn, grabbed boots, snow pants, and crampons, and made our way out to the foot of the glacier.  We met up with our guide for the day – Bob Frost – a Kiwi from Wellington who prefers the road less traveled. 

Frosty led us on a seven-hour odyssey over the rough edges of the glacier.  We descended into valleys, climbed the peaks, and spent a lot of time looking for the spectacular ice caves created every day by this moving river of ice.

The Maori knew the Franz Josef glacier as Ka Roimata o Hine Hukatere – Tears of the Avalanche Girl.  According to legend, a Maori girl was walking the cliffs with her lover when he lost his balance and fell off one of the peaks to his death.  Her flood of tears froze into the glacier we see today. 

After an amazing day on the ice, we hit the thermal pools to thaw out a bit before venturing out for our final dinner with Sam.  Sam’s adventurous spirit and boundless energy made these last few weeks in Australia and New Zealand very special for us. 

Three years ago we traveled to Fiji, New Zealand and Australia on our honeymoon.  At the time, we thought that the main attractions in that region were Fiji and Australia, and so we spent just five days in Queenstown, New Zealand.  We seriously underestimated New Zealand.  Five days was not nearly enough time to experience the magic of one of the most beautiful places in the world.

When we were choosing the route for this trip, we avoided any city we had already traveled to as a couple.  The picturesque lakeside city of Queenstown, New Zealand, was the sole exception to this rule.

We arrived in Queenstown just in time to celebrate Erin’s birthday. 

Jeff:  I had been wracking my brain trying to think of a good gift for Erin’s birthday.  She had set the bar pretty high when she bought me a sheep for my birthday in Ethiopia, so I had to come up with something good.  Surrounded by the Remarkable Mountain Range, Queenstown is one of the most spectacular jump sites in the world. What better way to celebrate her birthday than to jump out of an airplane at 12,000 feet?

Erin:  Some ladies might question whether it’s a good thing when your husband says he wants to push you out of an airplane on your birthday.  But after eating 1,000 consecutive meals with this man, I was quite sure that his heart was in the right place.

After several delays because of wind, we finally boarded the van and made our way out to the airstrip.  We should have been nervous about the jump, but we hardly had any time to worry about it.  Jeff was distracted because he had left his wallet in the van and was worried about the safe return of his cash and cards (he got everything back).  Erin was distracted because she was turning 32.  Sam was distracted by how good he looked in his flight suit.

As soon as we arrived at the hangar our instructors were helping us into our flight suits, checking our gear, and pushing us toward the plane.

The three of us boarded the tiny propeller plane and climbed quickly to 12,000 feet.  With a professional skydiver strapped to our backs, we crawled our way to the open door of the airplane.  We each dangled our legs over the side, rocked slightly, and then tumbled into thin air. 

The first thing we did was let out a big scream.  For the next 45 seconds we took in the awesome scenery while falling at a rate of 140 mph.  The laws of physics seemed inverted as we watched Lake Wakatipu and the Remarkable Mountain Range rush up toward us.  Then the parachute opened and we spent about 7 minutes slowly flying down to earth. 

It was awesome!

Ever since A.J. Hackett opened the world’s first commercial bungee jump in Queenstown, the town has been known as the adrenaline capital of the world.  We took a cable car 1200 feet up the mountain to jump off “The Ledge,” a 150 foot free-fall bungee jump with spectacular views of Queenstown.

Sam made friends with the girls running the skydive and bungee, and he was able to negotiate the “local deal” on bungee jumping: unlimited jumps for the price of one.

Erin:  For those of you who don’t know Sam, he is one big bundle of energy.  He’s the kind of guy who can run/bike/swim a triathlon during the day and then go out for a night on the town.  When he found out about the unlimited bungee, his eyes got very wide.  I knew he was going to get his money’s worth.

Jeff:  Sam was the first one to go off the bungee.  I’ve never seen him more scared in his life.  He was wringing his hands, his face lost all of its color, and his mouth was dry.  But he overcame his fear, let out a conquering scream, and threw himself off the ledge.

Erin:  Sam fell hard for the bungee.  I watched as he did front flips, back flips, and then the ultimate “Matrixjump” with guns blazing.  Eventually I lost track.  Sam jumped off the ledge EIGHT times before he was done.  The man literally bungeed to exhaustion.

Jeff:  Bungee jumping is actually more scary than skydiving.  For our skydive we had a professional skydiver strapped to our backs  so we didn’t have to throw ourselves out of the plane — we paid someone to do it for us.  On the bungee ledge you stand alone paralyzed by fear.  You look down and your brain screams: “Are you insane?!?!  DON’T DO IT!”  You have to overcome that intense fear and throw yourself off the ledge.  After four jumps my body didn’t have any adrenaline left.  I was exhausted just watching Sam jump four more times.

When Jeff told his college buddy Blake Nixon that we were in New Zealand, Blake put us in touch with his father who has an apartment in Queenstown.  The smartest thing we did when we arrived in Queenstown was to meet up with David and Dada Nixon.

Less than 24 hours after we contacted them, we were climbing into the back of their car and heading out to the Central Otogo Valley for a day of wine tasting.  Although they had never met Sam or Erin (and met Jeff only once eight years earlier), they welcomed us as friends immediately.  We got into the car and Dada turned around to look at us from the passenger seat.  “Jeff, Erin, and Sam,” she said to confirm our names, “Okay, let’s party.”

And we partied.  We hit several wineries that day and tasted some of the best Pinot Noirs in the world. 

After a full day of wine tasting, the Nixons invited us back to their house for more drinks and some food.  It is not an exaggeration to say that the Nixons have the nicest view in all of Queenstown. 

We drank wine, watched the sun go down, and had our own dance party on the balcony.

The Nixons were incredible hosts.  We took a tour of David’s private wine cellar and then spent the evening sampling bottle after bottle from the best wineries in New Zealand.  The sun finally set on this wonderful day, and we decided to take our leave before Jeff did any real damage to the apartment.

On our last night in Queenstown we went out to experience the local nightlife.  It was Saturday night and Winnie’s was throwing their annual Pimps and Pornstars Party.  We picked up costumes at the dollar store and went out to paint the town bright pink.

The DJ was spinning some killer tunes, Sam was dancing up a storm, and the beer was flowing like water. It was a great night, and of course the Wertkinborns won a bar competition and we went home $50 richer than when we arrived!

We were sore from our 9 hour hike through the Alpine Crossing but had no intention of slowing down.  There were more adventures to be had and we were eager to get on the road.  Unfortunately, the next bus to Lake Taupo wasn’t leaving until the afternoon, so we decided to try a mode of transportation common in New Zealand: hitch-hiking.

We had too much stuff to fit into one car, so Sam took the first ride and we took the second with a really nice couple and their two dogs. Sam’s ride tried to convince him to stay in his basement on a ratty futon, with a new puppy and his two kids for $50 bucks. Sam thanked him for the ride but passed on the accommodation.

It was a perfect day in Lake Taupo.  The sun was shining and the deep blue lake was perfectly calm.  We took a short hike and spent the afternoon lounging in the grass. 

It was such a beautiful day we made reservations to go kayaking the next morning.  We signed up for a “Kayak to the Carvings trip” to see the Maori rock carvings at Mine Bay.   

The Maori are the indigenous Polynesian people of New Zealand.  In the late 1970s master carver Matahi Whakataka-Brightwell took a boat trip around Lake Taupo and saw the cliffs at Mine Bay.  Where other people just saw rocks, Matahi saw a canvas.

He decided to carve a likeness of Ngatoroirangi, a visionary Maori navigator who guided the Tuwharetoa and Te Arawa tribes to the Taupo area over a thousand years ago. In recognition of the multi-cultural nature of New Zealand, Matahi also carved two smaller figures of Celtic design, which depict the south wind and a mermaid. The Ngatoroirangi carving took four summers to complete and the carvers took no payment other than donations to cover the cost of the scaffolding.

The brochure made the kayaking trip look amazing – smiling tourists basking in the New Zealand afternoon sun and admiring the beautiful carvings.  We were looking forward to a leisurely trip on the water to take in some local culture.  It was quite a shock when we got into the freezing cold water on an overcast morning and started paddling against 4-foot swells.

We made it to the carvings without capsizing . . . but just barely.  The lousy tour company (Kayaking Kiwi) didn’t give us protective rain gear, so we sat shivering in front of the carvings for about 30 seconds before turning around and paddling back as fast as humanly possible. 

A few hours later – when our body temperatures started approaching normal – we rented a car for the day and headed up to Rotorua. 

Rotorua is New Zealand’s most dynamic thermal area with spurting geysers, steaming hot springs and exploding mud pools.  We went to one of the most revered Maori sites: Wai-O-Tapu (Sacred Waters). 

Formed by thousands of years of volcanic activity, Wai-O-Tapu is considered to be New Zealand’s most colorful and diverse geothermal sightseeing attraction. 

We saw huge volcanic craters, brightly colored green and red pools, and New Zealand’s largest bubbling mud pool.  The crazy colors were naturally created from oxidized sulfur, magnesium and other elements we probably couldn’t find on the periodic table.  It was other-worldly.

There’s a significant Maori population that still lives in Rotorua, and although some might find it commercialized, there are many opportunities to learn about the indigenous culture.  We made our way to the Mitai Maori village for an evening of hangi, haka and poi.

The Mitai welcomed us (and about 100 other tourists) into their village and we sat down to an authentic hangi meal – lamb, chicken, potatoes, and stuffing – all cooked together in an earth oven known as a hangi pit.

Shortly after the meal our Maori host asked our large group to nominate a chief.  With just a little prodding, Sam stepped up and humbly accepted this most honorable role.

Sam spent most of the time onstage during the performance while the Maori explained their ancient culture through song, dance, and poi.  Sam even gave a speech thanking the chief for inviting us into his village and conveying how honored we were that they would share their culture with us.  In the parking lot after the performance, our host told Sam it was the best speech he’s heard in the seven years they’ve been doing the show.

Sam’s speech was good but the highlight of the evening was the Haka, the traditional dance form of the Maori.  Made famous by New Zealand’s world-renowned Rugby club the “All Blacks,” Haka is a posture danced performed by a group with vigorous movements, tongue-wagging, foot stomping, and rhythmically shouted accompaniment. 

A couple of weeks prior to my trip out to visit Erin and Jeff in the South Pacific, I received the proposed itinerary for our time in New Zealand in an email entitled “Fire and Ice.”  With my curiosity piqued, I opened the message and my eyes lit up as I read one of the first planned activities, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing; a trek across New Zealand’s most famous volcanic valley.

Having traveled on my own and with the Wertkinborns for almost two weeks, I had already been scuba diving off of islands in the Great Barrier Reef, been mesmerized by Sydney’s ever-changing landscape and cityscape, and had driven the breathtaking coastline of the Great Ocean Road with Erin and Jeff….but nothing could have prepared me for our trek across the Tongariro Alpine Crossing.

Alarms set for4:45am (an hour I seldom meet coming from this side) we boarded the bus out to the base of the mountain at 5:30 in the morning. We were soon to find out why every guidebook agreed that this is the country’s best day hike, and why National Geographic magazine rates it one of the best day hikes in the world.

The journey started as we entered a volcanic valley enclosed on three sides with the sun just peaking over the top of the summits of Mt Ruapehu, Mt Ngauruhoe, and Mt Tongariro.  We were still half-asleep when we set out, but luckily the trail started out gradually through a barren valley of windswept brush and light vegetation. 

However manageable this beginning portion of the trail may have been, my mind was already far ahead of my feet. Allowing the group to travel far enough ahead, the raw and untouched terrain of giant craters, red lava sediment, set against the backdrop of snow-capped tops of soaring granite mountains lent itself perfectly for my escape to a boyish wonderland where pre-historic beasts lay behind every crater. 

My walking stick had been transformed into a sword, and my backpack, a shield. I immediately understood why Peter Jackson had chosen this very sight for “Mt. Doom” in Mordor, the inhospitable and other-worldly land of his Middle-Earth in the Lord of the Rings films.

In addition to the dangers and challenges of hiking up the precarious mountainside, we had the added hazard of climbing up towards an active volcanic crater. The trio of active craters forms the southern edge of the Pacific Ring of Fire, a string of volcanoes that stretches as far north as Alaska. Although they’re currently dozing, Mount Ruapehu erupted as recently as 1995, blanketing the surrounding slopes with volcanic ash and acidic water and closing the popular ski area for two years. The unpredictability of when the next eruption might come only adds to the allure of the Tongariro Crossing.

As we peered 7,513 feet up at the summit of the Red Crater, its angled peak stained brick red by oxidized iron, its steep and snowy ridges riddled with sharp and crumbly volcanic rock, its perfectly cylindrical volcanic rim gurgling and burping with steam from the vapors below the surface, we came to the decision collectively that there was no other choice than to tackle this mountain. Short of one sign with an arrow pointing towards the “summit”, this path was not only unmarked, but also unrelenting in its effort to keep us from summiting the peak. With each frustrating and unbalanced step up the steep ridge, we slid back two or three.

But perseverance and perspiration won out in the end, as we finally reached the snowy summit of Mt. Ngauruhoe. When I finally turned around, I was overcome by a scene so majestic, so breath-taking, so unlike anything I have ever before experienced that putting it into words will be an exercise in futility, I’m sure. The view was primordial and other-wordly. Let me just say this; standing atop that mountain that had taken us half a day to conquer, with an unblemished view of the snow-capped Mt Ruapehu, the North Island’s highest peak straight ahead of me, the neon green mineral-rich Emerald Lakes within view, and a barren valley below me, I was left wondering what planet I was on.

Descending the mountain was to become an adventure itself. Left with two options; either back-tracking down the same way we came up, or “skiing” down the mountain’s red and gray scree covered backside, the rest of the group sensibly decided to take retrace their steps over the familiar, if not ideal terrain. But being a man who’s never met a loose backside I could turn away from, I couldn’t resist the urge to challenge myself a little further. Jeff must’ve seen the conviction in my eyes as he didn’t argue when I looked at him and said, “I just gotta do this.” Accompanied by Garret, one of two fellow Wisconsinites we had met on our high-adrenaline adventure, I started down. It didn’t take more than two minutes to realize I was probably going to die attempting this.

The slope was too steep, the terrain too slippery, and every once in a while I had to dodge a boulder that had been dislodged from above and was tumbling towards me. That was until I decided to stop fighting the mountain. Leaning back like I was waiting for a chair-lift to scoop me up, I bent my knees and angled forward until the force of gravity pulled me down the mountain. The thrill of slip-sliding through the lava rocks combined with the sensation of weightlessness made it feel like I was water-skiing on the moon.

Like any good trip up, the remainder of the day brought us down gently through the park’s diverse eco-systems. Traveling past waterfalls and yellow sulfur lakes, crossing arid valley and snow covered ridges, and culminating in a long trek through dense rain forest back to our pick-up site, we traversed more different types of terrain in one day than I’ve experienced in all my days leading up to this one.

Truth be told, I didn’t really know what to expect weeks earlier when I received that email. But after this day, one thing rang clear and true. Some people say be wary of those who promise you the moon and stars, lest you be disappointed when they come up short. Today’s take home lesson: When Erin and Jeff promise you Fire and Ice, you better believe they’re gonna deliver just that.

The Great Ocean Road is considered a rite of passage for Aussie travelers.  We rented a car, popped in some tunes, and hit the open road – slightly hungover but ready for adventure.

It only takes 4 hours to drive direct from Melbourne to Port Campbell but it took us a little over 9.  We made several stops along the way to marvel at the vistas unfolding around each twist and turn of the road. 

We hung out for a while at Bells Beach, perhaps the most famous of all surfer destinations in Australia.  Many of the surfing scenes in the surfing classic “Point Break” were filmed there. 

We didn’t have a surf board, but that didn’t stop Sam from riding the waves and freezing his boys off.

After a quick stop for some oysters, we made our way to the Cape Otway Lightstation. One of the oldest in Australia, the lighthouse sits on top of a towering cliff overseeing the mingling of the Bass Strait and the Southern Ocean.  The big, beautiful, manually-operated lighthouse was taken out of commission in 1994, and replaced by a 3ft solar-powered automatic lighthouse. We’re all for modernization, but it’s sad to think that the days of the majestic lighthouse are behind us. 

But the real show was Sam showing off his flexibility to a bunch of old ladies…

On our way to the lighthouse we saw all the beautiful green trees lining the road.  It wasn’t until our return trip out that we realized these trees were full Koala bears.

They were shy and stayed pretty high up in the trees.  Koala bears look cute and cuddly, which is why we were so surprised every time they let out a growling bark like a cantankerous old man waiting for his tapioca.  Their scary outbursts didn’t stop Erin from taking 300 pictures in about 20 minutes.

Every pilgrimage has a culminating point.  Our journey down the Great Ocean Road reached its zenith when we reached the Twelve Apostles.

Rising majestically from the Ocean, these limestone stacks are a truly beautiful sight against the crystal blue water of the Antarctic Ocean.  They were created by constant erosion of the limestone cliffs on the mainland that began 10-20 million years ago.  Rough ocean waves and crushing winds gradually eroded the soft limestone rock, forming caves in the cliffs.  These caves became arches, and then eventually the arches collapsed leaving these 150-foot high rock stacks isolated from the shore.  They were originally named the “Sow and Piglets” until some enterprising young Australian with a missionary zeal wisely renamed them.

Not long after we arrived an electrical storm broke out.  Sam got a fantastic shot of lightening over the apostles – earning him the admiration of the other tourists on the scenic lookout as well as 35 bonus points.  Erin had already earned 10 pts for spotting the first Koala bear, Jeff had five points for coming up with the game.  Sam’s incredible shot basically made him untouchable for the rest of the trip.

After a long day on the road we went out for dinner in Port Campbell and found a pizza place with an eclectic menu.  Sam was so shocked that this pizza joint in the middle of nowhere Australia had “Persian Pizza” on the menu (walnuts, feta, cheese, pears and tomato topped with cumin, coriander, sesame seeds and herbs) that he immediately texted his mom and insisted we order it.

Just before dinner we ran into these two German girls who we had seen throughout the day at all the famous stops along the Great Ocean Road.  They were so much fun we invited them to join us for dinner.  Ilka wanted to know why Americans always say “How are you?” and “See you later!” when they don’t really care how she is doing and will almost certainly not see her later.

After our regular pizza we ordered the specialty dessert: a chocolate pizza.  There were six pieces of chocolate pizza and only five of us, which meant that only one person would get a second slice.  The German girls suggested we play schnick, schnack, schnook for the last piece. 

We put together a double-elimination tournament of schnick, schnack, schnook (aka rock, paper, scissors).  The final round was captured in this dramatic footage:

The next day we did a little more sightseeing – descending the Gibson steps and checking out the London Bridge – but the weather wasn’t ideal.  It only rained when we were in our car traveling form one site to the next, but the wind kept up pretty much the entire time. 

We didn’t mind cutting our sightseeing day short because we needed to get to Port Fairy in time for the big race.

For a week, every Australian asked us if we were excited for the Melbourne Cup, also known as the “Race that Stops a Nation.”  The Melbourne Cup is like the Super Bowl, the Kentucky Derby and the 4th of July all wrapped up into one event.  The government got tired of everybody skipping work on the day of the race, so they made it a national holiday.  For three days leading up to the event every newspaper led with a race story, and every bar offered 2-for-1 race specials.

We made sure that we were in Port Fairy in time to catch the big race and, of course, put a few bets down.

Erin: We didn’t have much time to research the horses and so I asked some local guys for some advice.  They weren’t much help so I had to chose my horses based on their funny names.  I bet on “Crime Scene” and “Shocking” to “place” thinking that I would win as long as these horses came in either first, second or third.  It wasn’t until the race started that I found out that betting that a horse will “place” means that they have to come in second.  I was kicking myself until long-shot Crime Scene made a late push to finish second.  I won $100!!  Champagne for the house!!!

Jeff:  I managed to pick the winning horse, but my paltry $30 winnings were overshadowed by my screaming wife with a $100 in hand.   

Sam:  Whatever, at least you bitches both won something.

We’ve been so lucky to have friends or family join us in South America, Antarctica, Africa, and Asia. We didn’t expect that anybody was going to make the trip to join us for our sixth and final continent. So when Sam emailed and said was coming to meet us in Melbourne we couldn’t have been more excited.

Our best traveling experiences usually occur when we have a local connection. It doesn’t matter if it’s Cape Town, Addis Ababa, or Buenos Aires, we always felt like we got more out of the experience when we had a local showing us the best the city has to offer.

We didn’t have a local connection in Melbourne, but we had the next best thing: a man who has done his research! Sam arrived with guide books, highlighted internet printouts, several pages of handwritten notes, and a strong sense of adventure. We said we’d follow him anywhere.

Even though we’d been wandering the city for four days, we were surprised when Sam arrived and told us that Melbourne is internationally recognized as having some of the best cocktail lounges in the world. In addition to being a general contractor and builder, Sam is also a bartender at Marvin’s and The Gibson, the two hottest bars in Washington DC. He has spent the better part of this year learning the art of craft cocktails, and so he was the perfect guide to lead our tour of Melbourne’s best cocktail lounges.

Our first stop was “1806” named after the year that the word cocktail first appeared in print. Their extensive menu traces cocktails over the last 200 years – you can order a Bittered Sling (the chosen drink of businessmen in 1806) or a 1916 Martini (which can be vodka or gin but always has a lot of vermouth). But the signature drink is the Black Blazer – a mixture of black chocolate and rum which is then ignited and poured from one container to another until completely mixed and piping hot. The bar recently won an award for “best cocktail menu” at an international competition in New Orleans – but they didn’t think they would win and so nobody was there to collect the award!

Our bartender and Sam talked for almost two hours about the art of craft cocktailing, while we sat back and enjoyed the fruits of their conversation.

Our next stop was Madame Brussels where the waiters were wearing short tennis shorts and the gin was flowing like water. When it started to get a little cold on the roofdeck the waiters arrived with a drink, a smile, and warm blankets.

We saved the best for last: the Croft Institute. A Melbourne institution, CI is tucked at the end of a winding Chinatown alley well off the beaten track. We wandered past street art-covered walls and the back entrances of some shady Chinese restaurants before we found the place.

We staked out three stools at the downstairs bar, which was designed to look like a science lab complete with test-tubes and bunsen burners. Sam bonded with the bartenders, traded exotic drink recipes, and scored us a round of free drinks.

It was a great night of catching up with Sam and exploring Melbourne’s cocktail scene. But it was not such a great morning. We had set the alarm for 7 am so we could get an early start on our day, but we couldn’t get Erin to open her eyes long enough to drink her coffee.

It was closer to 10 am when we finally got out of bed and started our epic drive down the Great Ocean Road.