Every Day is Sunday

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.