Raglan Bound

We drive out to our favourite place, Picton, in order to catch the ferry. What I have in mind is similar to BC Ferries, but I am mistaken.

Firstly: You MUST pre-book your tickets. You have to know the exact length of your vehicle cause that's a factor in the price and seat sales are in three categories. Once the cheapest tickets sell out, you have to purchase the more expensive ones in the next bracket and so forth. We get in the second bracket, the entire price tag: $303.00.

Secondly: You have to arrive at least an hour early if you want to make your boat. Then you get sit and wait and wait and wait some more. The boat itself is smaller, but pretty close to the ferry boats us islander know and loathe: cafeteria, kids play area, deck, but they serve alcohol (bonus) and have these rails that go through the car decks so that they can load entire trains (crazy cool) also, they entire trip is almost 4 hours.

Thirdly: You can't hangout in your vehicle, you have to go upstairs and then they lock all the car deck door. Super lame when you want to nap in your cozy van. I don't know if its a safety thing or to prevent theft or what, but it's lame as (look at me picking up Kiwi slang!)

We nap on the floor and awake in windy Wellington where we do not stay even a minute. Instead we begin immediately up towards Raglan, our planned, semi-final destination. We stop in Whanganui and stay at the 'free campsite' (another parking lot, but facing a park and adjacent to the river this time.)
We are so enchanted with this little town that we spent the next day exploring the downtown area. We get so into it that before we know it, it's already dinner time so we resolve to stay another night and leave first thing in the morning. The next day we find ourselves distracted yet again, but this time we are actually productive enough to apply for multiple fruit picking jobs.
We finally start off and make it to Otorohanga but by the time we arrive it's 10:00 pm and the receptions at both local holiday sites are closed. So Jordan and I do what we do best: camp discreetly and illegally on a little side street. In the morning we are up early and off to the public washrooms. While trying to rummage some breakfast together I make a horrifying discovery: the coffee plunger is BROKEN! It has a huge crack in the bottom. I am heartbroken. But at that exact moment, as if sensing our distress, our saviour walks by carrying a huge cardboard box.

“Want a coffee?” he asks.

“What?”
“A coffee.”

“Is it... free?” I reply.

“Yup. Come on, follow me.”

I practically sprint after him as he walks into Origins Coffee, a quaint cafe built in an old train station.
“What do you want?”
“What can I have?”
“Anything.” OH MY GOD!

I ask for an americano and he launches into a rant about how what I really want is a long black. As long as it's strong and black I'll be happy.

The man is named Roger and he tells us that he's from Malawi and features all Malawi fair trade coffee beans. Jordan mentions that she can do a little latte art and he insists she comes behind the counter and show him. She nervously does as he says and pours a lodge-perfect fern. Roger is somewhat impressed.
“Why all the freebies?”
“Cause you're going to like us on Facebook.” (Done and done.)

We practically vibrate out the door. 

 We successfully make it Hamilton where we're determined to shower before a day of job hunting. According to 'Campermate' there are showers at “Water World” (different from the terrible Kevin Costner movie.) We drop into the local iSite and the woman gives us directions and tells us it's a $6 admission.
“What if we JUST want to shower, is it cheaper?” I ask.

“Why don't you just go for a swim?” she asks as if we're total and utter idiots.

Why not indeed? It's hot, we deserve a good soak and despite the terrible name, Water World sounds enchanting. We arrive and soon realize why not: Because the place is FULL of children and wow are they ever annoying!

Jordan and I are the only people who are over 15 but under 40. There is an outdoor pool but it's shallow and full to the gills. There are water slides and diving boards but they all cost extra and worst of all: there is NO HOTTUB! What kind of water world is this?!

We retreat to the 'slow' swimming lane and do laps (the closes thing we've had to exercise in weeks) we're quickly short of breath so we decide we're over this place. Before heading to our lockers we spot a steam room and sneak in (the extra $4.00 charge be damned!) then take the longest showers possible. Jordan gets peeped on by a small child, twice.

We leave and go to our overnight parking spot at the Glenmore Club, it's a $10 lot but has a couple patches of grass and some sparse trees. In the morning we are Raglan bound, we've had a couple of bites on the fruit picking front but we're not convinced. Life in Raglan is our goal.

We get into town and can immediately see why Tofitians are always moving here: it's a more tropical Tofino in every way. It's stunning, full of hippies, surfers, good and bad energy.

A drunk woman yells at us while we pass: “I can tell you're not from Raglan. If you were from Raglan you would have said 'Hello.'”

I turn, “Hello,” I offer weakly. She flips me off (as I write this, she is the second stranger to flip me off here.)

Jordan has an interview later so we wander around and handout resumes. The first sport I see is called “The Black Sand Cafe” so I leave a resume. Five minutes later I receive a phone call asking me to come in tomorrow for a training shift. Take that all you nay-sayers who told me I would never find a job here!

We go to the backpackers, but they're booked up months in advance and they're not looking for any WWOOFers. We go to the iSite and the woman working tells us about “Kev's Place” the cheapest car camping around (this ends up being a lie, we eventually find cheaper camping at a more convenient location) its a little ways out of town but ends up being worth the trek because the grassy camping field is perched high above and overlooks all of Raglan. Kev lives in a old boat he has converted into a house, there are two cute residential dogs and loads of little paths leading to outhouses and showers (yes, showers!) We are up bright and early(ish) so I can go to my training shift. After, we hit all the backpackers looking to work for accommodation. All of them tell us they don't need anymore help. Disheartened, we head to the library and send out masses of emails in hopes of finding somewhere to live. We run into Tom, Kev's WWOOFer. He is also job-hunting albeit rather unsuccessfully.

We stay at Kev's another night and then move onto 'Scott's Accommodation.' It is also out of town and features a furry companion (a dog named Kelly) but it is built out of his house, has power and WiFi and boasts all the free ice cream you can eat. We stay there for a few days before moving onto Kariori Lodge, beautiful, more conveniently located, but no WiFi. Jordan gets the job at Harbour View Hotel and the two of us continue to desperately search for accommodation.

To be continued....

Nelson Shenanigans

I'm back in Nelson to see the beautiful Jules and attend the Katchafire show. The drive is long and boring. I listen to my same old boring playlists, I slam energy drinks and try to stay entertained. I stop for chicken kebabs and am accosted by a hungry cat (and here I thought birds were my only problem.) 

On the way I debate picking up beer. It is a Saturday night, after all, but then again the girls may want to rest up for the show. I decide against it and immediately see the error of my ways. When I get to Jules' house I meet her incredible friend and roommate Kelly and the girls are a couple beers deep. They offer me a drink and I quickly catch up. We decide to go out to the pub and why not? Nelson is a bustling young town and besides, I have not yet experienced any of New Zealand night life. We go watch a band at The Sprig & Fern (well, Julez and I spend most of the time obsessing over the word jumble posted on the wall, we eventually give up and ask the manager for the answer... it's 'brokerage'... who would have thought?) We continue to consume beers at a faster rate and then Julez and I start to literally following men around town. A beautiful man on the bike calls to us, “Everyones going to 'Free House'” so we follow suit. The name is very deceiving and we sit on the patio drinking our $10 beers and bitching about how much men suck (and then we're astonished when no guys approach us.)
We attempt (attempt is the key word here) to play the piano in the bar. We then go to a preppy night club and meet some Kiwis who tell us to meet them at a different bar. We go to said club and when we see them, they ignore us. We see Jules' co-workers, who also ignore us. We meet a cool Canadian guy and the three of us go to Liquid and rip up the dance floor despite the fact we are the only ones dancing.

The next day we're all feeling rough, but none as bad as me. I vomit intermittently throughout the day. I lie on the couch in agony and we watch some terrible Maggie Gyllenhal movie called Secretary (for the love of God, don't ever subject yourself to the horror.)
The show starts at 6:00. We need to get gas, food, stop to print the tickets and then drive to Moutueka so we decide to leave by 5:00. 

5:00 is fast approaching and my vomiting has mostly ceased. I feel better so I drink an ice tea. This proves to be a bad idea, because as we drive to the venue I find myself taking deep controlled breaths. Once we park I immediately puke up the ice tea.
The setup at the Riwaka Hotel is nothing as I expected. The hotel bar itself is small and simple so I had pictured a very intimate show. Instead, the grounds behind the hotel are set up like a music festival: an enormous tent covers the dance floor and stage, various food vendors surround the ground and liquor is being sold and quickly consumed. We chat with the couple in the van parked next to us and ask them if they are also planning to try and camp overnight. She is from France, he's from England, they met in Western Australia and are incredibly beautiful and cool and so very in love. We adore them and yet kind of despise them at the same time. Since I can't hold down water and I can't hold down pop, I decide to try my hand at a beer, rationalizing that maybe some hair of the dog is just what I need to recover. I get half way through my ginger-y beer (strategically chosen in hopes of helping my stomach) before I run to the side of the van and puke it up. The beautiful couple looks concerned.
“Don't worry,” Jules assures them, “she's been doing this all day.”
We enter the grounds as Kings of Zion are wrapping up and we take out place on the floor with some of Kelly's friends. They all seem concerned and keep asking me if I'm alright. I suppose my smile looks more like a grimace. Even though the tent is relatively empty it is still blistering hot and everyone around us is chain smoking. The combination of the two is making my heart pound and my skin break out in a cold sweat; I know what's coming next. I excuse myself and speed walk to the porto-potties just at the Black Seeds come on stage. Amazingly I don't chunder. I force (FORCE) myself to eat and stand at the back of the tent, alone, nibbling fries with a pained expression on my face: this is my life. The five fries I manage to finish do wonders. I make my way back to the floor, find the girls and manage to muster an action somewhat resembling 'dancing.'
The Black Seeds are unreal, but I'm relieved when Jules says she's too hot and asks if I want to stand off to the side. We make out way out and stand by the fence taking in the music and watching all the people go by. There are so many beautiful Kiwi men present, but I'm in too much pain to even entertain the idea of talking the them. During the break I recover enough to eat a corn dog and drink a beer. I'm ecstatic. Katchafire comes on and the entire crowd is dancing and singing along, the positive energy is contagious. Everything everyone told me about this band is true. I'm so happy to have survived one of the worst hangovers of my life and that I made it to the show. When it ends, Jules and I join the growing crowd clamouring for greasy food and then head back to the van to wait for Kelly. We chat with our pretty neighbours and then a guy comes sprinting out of no where.
“Heywatchoutfortheseguysinavanwithnolightsonthey'reuptonogood,” he exclaims in one breath.
“What?” we both ask, perplexed.
He repeats himself even faster and then launches into a rant about cops being dicks and how he's waiting for his friends. Apparently he's on acid and he's thoroughly entertaining. His name is Sam but Jules lovingly refers to him as DJ Docker, because he tells us he's a DJ and one of the first things he asks is if we know what 'docking' is (don't Google it.) He's very taken by Jules and asks for her number. He brings me a dirty piece of plywood and insists I keep it in the van. The owner of the hotel comes over and informs us that camping is prohibited. I've only had one beer so we just decide to drive back to Nelson. DJ Docker calls Jules immediately after we leave asking what she's up to. 

We sleep like angels and the next day we enjoy coffee consumption, smoothy sipping, shop browsing and berry picking.

When Jordan returns we head back to Nelson as we want to be there to celebrate new years. We re-stock on groceries and campout in a parking lot downtown (legally, I swear.)
On New Years Eve we meet up with the girls and cook an incredible stir fry with stuffed peppers and mushrooms (how I've missed you vegetables!) We start to respectfully drink. Jordan and Jules jam out some Amy Winehouse songs; we all perform one interpretive dance for each other; then we're off to the square just in time for the countdown. We make it to the festivities just in time for the 5-4-3-2-1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!
POP the champagne we concealed under our sweaters is flowing and we're drinking it down quickly before the cops notice. I ask a group of brown guys if they want me to take there picture (as they're all crammed together attempting a selfie) apparently this makes their night because moments later they are asking for photos with all of us. We meet some Swedes, Jordan learns a cool new jig, but the champagne bottle is empty so we head to the bars. Some people in t-shirts that say “Freedom” tell us we can have free sausages.
“Free?” I ask, bewildered.
“Yes, free. All you have to do is tell us what freedom means to you.”
Jordan answers that freedom is being present in the moment.
I go on a long rant about how lucky I am to come from a country where I can do what I want, say what I want, be who I want, and love who I want. During my speech I can't help but notice they're not writing my response down.
Jules comes charging around the corner and loudly announces, “They're Christian! They're using the sausages to try and convert us!”
But it doesn't stop us from going back for seconds.
(Side note: Oddly enough a 'sausage' is literally a sausage on a piece of sliced sandwich bread while a 'hot dog' is a corn dog. When I lament to Kiwis about this they think I'm insane.)

We start to the bar, but on the way a girl comes flying by us, balling her eyes out. We all intercept her.
“Sweety, no don't cry! What's wrong?”
She's crying because of a guy (of course) her baby's daddy is being a jerk (alright) she only just turned 20 (okay...)
“Don't let some dude ruin your night!” we insist. “Come out with us and have a good time!”
She perks right up, “Okay! Help me get my shoes on.”

They're platforms and I can't get the buckle done up. I halfheartedly interweave the straps and announce:
“There! Good to go!”
Her name is also Jordan or 'Jordi' and she's a real firecracker.

Jules leaves before us and Jordan and I have a hell of a time finding her house and the van, but we make it back somehow.

The next day we're all a little worst for wear. We throw together our version of huevos rancheros and I make coffee the consistency of sludge. I drive poor Jules to work and then Jordan and I grab greasy burgers and hit the beach. Kelly joins us soon after and we all fall asleep in the sun only to wake up covered in 2 inches of sand. Jules gets off work and also joins us. We're approached by two guys,
“Hey, we're having a sand castle building competition, you should join!”
They're wearing Freedom shirts. Nice try, not this time Freedom Church.

We managed to get most of the san off of ourselves and we got the jazz festival in the park. It's awesome: the music is great, old people are dancing up a storm and we sit on the grass, soaking up the scene.
We go into town and check out the Gypsy Swing show at Sprig & Fern. The music is different than what I expected, it's a cool atmosphere. We meet Jennifer Anniston's doppelganger (she's a French hippy), Jules gets accosted by some old people for smoking (even though we're outside) and then for standing in front of where they have dragged their chairs up to the stage. “I can't do anything right!” she yells at them. We sit around telling tasteless jokes until the bar closes and they kick us out.

The next day is much of the same: we refuse to leave and want to relive yesterday's experiences. Besides, the jazz fest and gypsy swing shows are still in full gear. Jules ducks out due to exhaustion, but Kelly, Jordan and I go to the Honest Lawyer (where we JUST miss the band performing) then back to the Sprig and then to the jazz show and finally back to the gypsy show.

The next afternoon we all hangout on Jules and Kelly's porch. They're ready for another night out, but it's Jordan and my turn to bow out. We say our heartfelt goodbye, exchange huge hugs and are so thankful when they tell us we can use the shower, watch a movie and make ourselves at home before we leave. We take glorious showers before returning to our favourite parking lot.

Come morning we're off to the North Island to begin a new chapter on this journey.

Christmas

I'm back in Christchurch and picking up some supplies for Christmas.
I've finally been met with some good weather.
When I get to Lyttelton, Aileen invites me to join her and her friends on a walk along the Cass Bay footpath to Corsair Bay.  After, we sit on the deck sipping wine and soaking up the summer evening.  They're all such interesting and inspiring ladies, I sink into the warmth of good wine and good conversation.  The next day is Christmas Eve and Aileen and I do some prep for the big day.  We attend a barbecue at the home of Vanessa's friend, its an eggnog party.  I'm surprised, I admit I didn't know Kiwis drank eggnog.  Everyone assures me that they don't, this is homemade eggnog and incredibly boozy.  I stick to my cider.  We grill up all the meat and help ourselves to a selection of salads, its such an awesome feast that I quickly go into food-coma mode.

Christmas day fast arrives and the family comes over for brunch: Neo, Vanessa, Arlo, Lucinda and Hoff are all present (plus the fur babies: Mika, Rico and Junior.)  We gorge on bagels, croissants, chocolate, fruit, every kind of spread and preserve, its heavenly.  I watch them exchange gifts and sheepishly offer them my impersonal gift baskets I put together (in plastic bags no less as time quickly got away from me.)  To my total surprise they give me a lovely gift of paua earrings, scented beads and an awesome New Zealand tote bag.  I'm close to tears.  The kindness this family has show to me is overwhelming, words cannot express my appreciation.

I Skype with my dad and brother and the first thing they say is: "We miss you, when are you coming home?"  I'm a few drinks in and I feel myself getting teary eyed.

More of the clan arrives for a barbecue/potluck: aunts, uncles, cousins, friends.  We all sit in the shade sipping cool drinks and then gorge on the incredible array of food.  I feel like I might actually burst but still go for dessert.  I finally try my first pavlova cake and I'm immediately hooked.  The day winds down, people peter off and I feel about 20 pounds heavier.

The next day we all feel pretty sluggish so myself, Aileen, Ollie, Lucinda, Vanessa and her friends Becky and Christy all hike up the rapaki track.  We are greeted at the top by stunning Christchurch views.  Finally getting exercise is such a treat, I realize how much I've missed it.
After, we snack on cheese and crackers and go to Cass Bay to float out on the water.  We have a light dinner and I Skype with my mom and the Eaton clan gathered at Bruce and Betty's.  They're all drinking wine and wearing Christmas hats, surrounded by a gaggle of dogs.  I bit my lip and try to control the overwhelming homesickness creeping into my psyche.  I remind myself that I'll feel less emotional once the holidays pass.  Ollie brings out the standup paddle board and I finally experience my first SUP session.  It takes a few minutes to get the balance down but soon enough I'm flying across the bay.  It's such a relaxing experience, I can't wait to get out again.

The next day I say a heartfelt goodbye to Aileen and Ollie, promise to keep in touch and hit the road. Back to Nelson I go.

Solo Adventures

I drive and drive and drive... for what feels like centuries, but in reality is 4 hours.

The sun is shining through my window on one side, giving me a lopsided tan and burning my hands and my legs (through my tights I might add! Damn you depleted ozone layer!)

I want to get to the bottom of the South Island and hit the west coast before looping back to Christchurch for Christmas.

I turn towards Kakanui. I navigate multiple turns through endless farmland to a raved about free camping site. When I do finally arrive it's all worth it because, oh my GOD is it ever spectacular! It sits perched above an infinite beach, which is also easily accessible. It's surrounded by lush plants and trees and even contains (GASP) grass! I gladly pay the $5 suggested donation and run down to the beach to watch the surfers. I feel like I'm back in Tofino.

I spend the next day in Oamaru, a funky cool town that boasts “Home of the Steampunk Headquarters.” In the Victorian Quarter all the old buildings are made of limestone and the shops sell Victorian clothing, art, nicknacks. People ride down the street on old bicycles decked out in full Victorian garb. It's so enchanting that I spend the entire day there, before returning to my amazing camping spot. I want to catch a glimpse of the yellow-eyed penguins, but don't want to pay the $20 to see them. I decide that if I'm meant to see them, I'll see them naturally.

The next day I'm off to Dunedin. On the way I stop at a public library to do some writing and by the time I leave it's already nearly 4:00. The drive into Dunedin is treacherous: intense winds blow as Deisi struggles up and down the steep hills. A heavy fog settles in the mountains and I truly feel as though I've just arrived in Scotland. The town itself is busy, hectic. It's best known as a university town and I can see why: it's bustling with young people and tourists alike.
I stop to explore some of the ancient architecture, but I don't end up staying long... College kids yell out car windows to one another, a gaggle of teenage boys catcall me in the square and two girls, who appear to be 12 years old, sit in an alley passing a pipe back and forth. This is so not my scene and I have a splitting headache so I head towards one of the free campsites on the outskirts of town to relax. The site allows for only 5 vehicles to camp and all 5 spots are taken, every other spot is marked with signs that decrees: NO OVERNIGHT CAMPING. I park as close as possible to the arrow indicating the camping area and hope it'll be okay. When I come out of the bathroom I see a security guard speed off and I spot what I assume is a ticket. Thankfully, it's not. It's a pamphlet entitled: “Where to Camp in Dunedin.” Yeah, I get it, thanks for the subtle hint. The nearest free spot is way out of town in the direction I just arrived from. Great. I make the journey back. In the morning it's still foggy and grey and I am so annoyed with this place that I make no effort to see any of the beaches and instead head straight to Balclutha and then down into the Catlins. 

 The Catlins are incredible. I do countless rainforest and waterfall walks and explore the endless beaches. I stop and ask a nice German couple if they would like me to take their picture. We talk for a while and they tell me I should go to Curio Beach to see the yellow-eyed penguins. I consider it. Back at the DOC campsite in Papatowai I chat with a friendly conservation officer. She tells me about her time living in Canada. She insists I MUST go to Curio Beach at dusk to see the penguins. I take this second recommendation as a sign, hastily eat my dinner and make the long drive out to the beach. I'm so glad I did. The penguins make their way one by one up the flat rocks and into the bush to feed their nesting babies. They are so cute as they waddle up the rocks, hopping from one to the other, they even stop as if to pose for photos. The German couple is there and we chitchat. They've just come from school in Auckland and recommend some North Island sights. I return to the campsite and watch The Walking Dead till my laptop dies. One of my best days in New Zealand for sure.

The next morning I want to see more of the Catlins but my lack of navigational skills leads me down a long gravel road. I see some of the rain forest, but end up turning back in frustration. On my way back I get caught in a massive herd of sheep and have to pull over as hundreds of bleating wooly creatures swarm past my van followed by a farmer on an ATV. I'm so thankful to return to paved streets and loop back to Balclutha and all the way to Alexandra where I stop for supplies. It's hot and muggy so I sit for a while by the river. I go to make lunch and make a terrifying discovery: the entire back of the van is covered in a thick layer of dust. All the blankets, cooking utensils, every surface, I can hardly breathe. Awesome. I drive all the way back to Wanaka and find a laundrette in town. Wanaka is a popular tourist destination and the gas station laundry charges $10 a load. I'm disgusted by the price gauging, but even more disgusted by the dust. I know I have no choice, I can't sleep in this filth and can't shake out the blankets on account of the oncoming rain. As my laundry finishes I consider using the showers, but they are $1 a minute. I'll stay dirty, thank you very much.

I drive out to the beautiful Boundary Creek Campground where I stand in the pouring rain wiping down every object and item in the van. It's worth is though to settle into an immaculate van, I almost feel my retched body is unworthy of climbing into such clean sheets.

It's still raining in the morning so I head out towards the glaciers. The Haast overpass is quite stunning, lined with tremendous waterfalls. I stop in the Haast Township (which includes two restaurants and one motel) for coffee and a rest. I'm hesitant to go back out as the weather has become monsoon-like, but it seems like it's going to get worst before it ever gets better so I begrudgingly hit the road towards the next DOC site at Lake Papanui. I can't believe that people are still flying down the road at over 100 while I maintain 80 at the most and let every other vehicle pass me by.
Finally (and not a moment too soon) I arrive at my destination. I spot a sign that says: “During High Rainfall Water Can Reach This Point.” I park as far away from the sign as possible. My arrival is well-timed as the small campsite fills up with like-minded motorists. I retire to the van to continue perusing Truman Capote's In Cold Blood (I like it because its the literary version of Dateline NBC one of my guilty cable pleasures.) I make the foolish error of opening my trunk for all of 10 minutes to make spaghetti and when I return to my nest of blankets the van is crawling with sandflies.

This is a new talent I've developed: killing sandflies. The buggers have covered my feet and face with bites, some of these bites have become bruised welts they're so bad. I have tried to live in peace with them, I tried wearing socks and using bug spray and keeping my doors closed, but it's no use. I have no choice but to destroy them. It's not something I enjoy, you see they can't just be swatted, they're too fast and they see you coming and evade the oncoming hand or book, plus if you do make contact they'll just flutter off, stunned but no worst for wear. No, these demons must be pinched and squished to death. I track them around the van, clutching a handful of toilet paper, waiting for the right moment to strike. Luckily I've discovered their favourite places to congregate: at the top corners of the windows where they stay undetected until I fall asleep. I've become a woman obsessed: my eyes flitter about the van, waiting for one to dare show itself. I'm scared to leave my van even to use to toilet for fear of more getting in. I slather myself in bug spray every few minutes, because I swear if I get even ONE more bite I will fly back to Canada that instant (obviously I am being dramatic, I will, however unleash a string of obscenities the likes of which my fellow campers have never heard.)

The next day its still raining, but its eased up, so I head to the glaciers. I stop at Fox Glacier. But because of the river swelling and landslides the park has been closed and the viewing point is 200 meters. I can't see shit. I try neighbouring Franz Josef, viewing area is at 2000 meters. Great. I hike up a little ways in hopes of catching a glimpse, but get caught up in another downpour (and never do spot the glacier.) I'm seriously bummed. 

 In the Franz Josef Township I enquire about a day pass at the YHA Backpackers.
“$15” the man at the counter says.

He must catch my expression of shock and horror cause he quickly asks, “Do you just want to use the shower?” I nod and I guess he recognizes my desperation cause he lets me in for free. I can't thank him enough. (Whoever you are, I love you!)

I talk to JD on iMessage and tell him about my day. He tells me how awesome the glaciers were when he saw them (SALT ON MY WOUNDS!)

I consider staying but have no idea when the trails might re-open and need to escape the rain so I head up the Westcoast to Hokitika, a cool little town with a fabulous beach walk. I go to the nearest DOC site that is out of town and in the middle of no where, nestled amongst sparse farms. It's the strangest spot I've camped yet. A weird, chicken-like creature lurks around and I am forced to park in the mud. It looks as if people have been camped for months, yet no one is around. Eerie.

I put the blinds up and watch Seinfeld (thanks Vanessa and Neo!) until my laptop dies. I've foolishly rushed through through In Cold Blood and am out of reading materials so I go to bed.

The next day I start to Punakaiki (aka the Pancake Rocks.) I stop frequently along the winding west coast to dip my feet in the ocean. It's the nicest day I've had yet. The pancakes rocks are SO COOL! Layers and layers of rock emerge from the roaring ocean and intense blowholes. I love that the formation of these rocks is speculated on, but ultimately still a mystery. The whole walk around them is only about 15 minutes so I go into town in search of a beach. The one I find is the nicest yet: more layered rocks line a deep hidden cove surrounded by trickling waterfalls, whitewash explodes onto the rough shore. I lay in the sun and since I'm sans book, I stare off into space. 

Time has flown by and since I don't want to be stuck in holiday traffic I start making my way back to Christchurch down Lewis Pass. I stop to camp near Victoria Forest and sandflies immediately accost my van. No matter, I've gotten good at reaching my cooler without getting out of the car and I've grown quite fond of peanut butter sandwiches.