This photo has nothing to do with Day 100

I’ll just give you a quick summary of what I have been doing for the past week, since I arrived last Friday and I just got into Kansas City this morning.

After the long bus day to Auckland, I stayed with the Heinrichs for two nights. The full day I had was spent doing laundry, buying souvenirs, and packing. I also had to make sure my shoes and tents were immaculate to pass through California customs.

The next day was the longest day of my life – 45 hours long to be exact. I took off from AKL at 3:15p.m. on January 21 and landed at LAX at 6:15a.m. I waltzed through customs – they didn’t even care that I described New Zealand as “one giant farm” – and took a shuttle to the train station. I took the Pacific Coastliner Amtrak to San Diego to visit my good friends Brandon and Katie.

During the next week I relaxed with the newlywed Laughridges and tried to figure out how to get back to KC. Fly? Too expensive. Buy a car? Potentially more expensive and too risky. Transport a car? None available. Rideshare from craigslist? Too much of a headache. I finally landed on taking the Amtrak from San Diego to LA to KC. I left Wednesday afternoon and 38 hours later I arrived at Union Station.

It feels good to be home, but it also feels cold. I’ve been spoiled by my extended summer.

I’d like to thank everybody who read about my New Zealand trip. I hope to be fortunate enough to use this blog in the future on other adventures. It kept me sane to be able to write it all down, because I did a lot of absurd things and met a lot of crazy people. I’d also like to thank those who commented, especially Mrs. Knipp.

Photos and videos coming soon! Within the next couple of days, look forward to seeing a bunch of media uploaded.

The Amazing Mt. Cook

It was not too bad, actually. When we left Queenstown there were only 9 passengers on the bus. I’m used to full buses with 30-40 other passengers. Everybody could have their own space and it was easy to get to know each person. Also, Tim was our driver. He has his act together and is one of the best Stray drivers.

A Day with the Cook

Gazing at Mt Sefton

Alex from Sweden was up for a long hike as well, so we decided to head toward Hooker Lake. He had only been in New Zealand for a handful of days so he was constantly gushing about the scenery and taking photos. He was also one of the most complimentary people I’ve ever met, and it nearly got creepy.

We decided to “get off the beaten track” – Stray’s mostly-false motto – and trudged through bushes and rocky hills to the first swing bridge. It took us much longer than the path would’ve, but we at least got the consolation that we probably killed several plants along the way. From the bridge, we stayed on the path to the lake.

I don’t know what it is about mountains, but they just inspire awe. Nothing makes you feel smaller than standing at the base of a snow-capped mountain. I’d already seen Mt Cook from the other side in Franz Josef and Fox Glacier, but from the east it was even more commanding.

At the lake we snapped photos and Alex gabbed about how majestic the scenery was. I have to admit – he was right. It’s not every day someone from Missouri is surrounded by a towering mountain range. This was the exact type of scenery that inspired me to come to New Zealand in the first place, and I knew that I had to soak it in because in one week I’d be back in the States.

I took some really great photos, and I’m only days away from being home to upload them.

A Day in the Church

Cathedral Square in Christchurch

Christchurch is still under heavy construction following the 7.2 magnitude earthquake in 2010. They continue to receive aftershocks, and just a few weeks ago a strong aftershock ruined even more buildings. I didn’t feel any while I was there, but I didn’t feel any in Wellington either, and they have several small quakes a day.

A Day with Some Fish

Kaikoura peninsula

I’ve been to loads of beaches over the past three months. Beaches alongside the Pacific Ocean, the Tasman Sea, the Foveaux Strait, and loads of lakes. I figured Kaikoura would just be another beach for me to nap on.

I probably sound like a jerk, bragging about these beaches when everybody reading this is most likely under several inches of snow. I’ll be there soon, don’t worry.

Anyway, we got into Kaikoura and the weather was the bee’s knees. We drove up the Kaikoura Peninsula to spot some loose seals then checked into our Shining-esque hostel. Most people went on an overpriced whale watching trip, but I opted to explore the tiny tourist town and enjoy the beach. I baked in the sun for awhile but I didn’t burn. While checking for sunrise times later, I found out the UV rating was off the chart and sunbathing was highly discouraged.

But how was I supposed to stay indoors? The sun was shining and everything was crazily photogenic: the ocean, the beach, the mighty mountain range bordering the sea. It was a good day to be in Kaikoura.

After having tasty fish and chips for dinner (Kaikoura means “food crayfish” in Maori), I was upset that it was too cloudy to see a sunset. I went to bed and woke up to watch the sunrise, but the clouds were lingering so I went back to the hostel and back to sleep.

Reruns

After we left Kaikoura, we only went to places I’d already been. We drove straight to Picton where we only had a bit of time for lunch before boarding the ferry to Wellington. The South Island faded into the distance, and I know it will be a long time before I ever see it again. There are too many other places to see before I return here.

In Wellington I went out to dinner with friends I made on Stewart Island. The next day was a free day in Wellington, so Marieke and I went to the zoo. It was a quaint little zoo, but they are aggressively expanding. I went back and had a quiet final night of my Stray trip.

I woke up early the next morning – 5:45am – but the bus didn’t pick me up until a quarter after seven. There were only 12 people heading north, and we hit the road on our long direct path to Auckland. I’ve been on the bus for six hours and still have about four left. I guess it is fitting that my last day of the bus tour is spent entirely on the bus.

Tonight I’ll be back with the Heinrich’s, and tomorrow is my last full day in this beautiful country. I then fly to LA over the international date line which gives me two Fridays. I don’t know exactly how or when I’ll reach Kansas City, but I have some ideas. One thing is certain: I’ll keep you updated here and on Twitter!

While I was at the Aspen Lodge over Christmas, I booked three nights around my Routeburn excursion. It was a great plan for my last hurrah in Queenstown before Straying back to Auckland to fly home: return on the ninth, pack on the tenth, hike the eleventh and twelfth, and I’d be back on the thirteenth to celebrate.

Best laid plans, eh?

On the morning of the tenth I woke up late, took my sweet time getting ready, and eventually waltzed down to the DOC office at around 10:30 to pick up my tickets. The kind DOC lady printed off my tickets and read them aloud to me: “Lake Mackenzie Campsite on the tenth, Routeburn Flats on the eleventh.” My heart instantly dropped. Today was the tenth.

I left the DOC office in a daze. Would I be able to get everything sorted to be able to hike the famous track? or was I screwed? I knew I was longing for adventure or excitement, and I guess the universe delivered.

I rushed back to Aspen and the wonderful ladies who run the place, Mandy and Sally, let me rearrange my nights. I then bought groceries and packed before heading to book my shuttle.

The Routeburn’s amazing vistas come with a price: remoteness. The track starts in Glenorchy and ends at “The Divide”. Both ends are in the middle of nowhere and a shuttle has to be chartered unless you park your car and double back. The shuttle is cheaper to Glenorchy so I planned on doubling back to save some dough. Plus, it’d be easier to hitchhike from the Glenorchy end than The Divide if need be.

I managed to get on the 12:30 bus to Glenorchy which arrived at the start of the track at 2. According to the maps and signs, to get to the Lake Mackenzie campsite, I’d have to hike for seven to ten hours. That would put me into the campsite anywhere between nine and midnight.

Luckily I have well-conditioned legs for nonstop trekking over a mountain. I tightened the waist strap on my pack and headed out.

For the next six hours, I hiked myself into a sweaty, wheezy mess up a constantly uphill track. No joke: 90%+ of the first six hours was an incline, and my pack wasn’t in its lightest form. But I still conquored the mountain and passed through the highest part – the Harris Saddle – in high spirits. I was pumping with endorphins for having salvaged my hike, and the thrill of the sunset deadline fueled me up the mountain. I had completed two normal days of the Routeburn in one turbo half-day.

Walking the Routeburn

At around eight o’clock, after six hours of constant uphill calf torture, I finally started on the final downhill stretch to the campsite. On the way, I ran into a girl from Denmark who had sat atop the mountain meditating and eating dinner until the sun began to set. She was as late as I was to the campsite, so we walked together and talked until we reached the campsite. Because she had a four person tent all to herself, she offered me a place to sleep so I wouldn’t have to use my tiny blue coffin. Of course I accepted. As handy as my coffin is, it sure isn’t the flashiest of accomidation.

I had to make a decision: either wake up early and have another long day of hiking back toward Glenorchy, or continue down toward The Divide for some new scenery. I opted for the physically easier yet more adventurous route: The Divide. Hitchhiking from there was sure to be a nightmare.

Lake MacKenzie

I slept fantastically until eight the next morning. Sometime over the night, word of my presence had spread in the sandfly community and I was greeted by swarms of the devilish pests. I quickly ate and packed. After a foggy walk, I reached The Divide at nine thirty.

I was thrilled at having completed the Routeburn, even if it was a bit hectic. Then I got down to the pressing matter at hand: getting the hell out of this forest and back to Queenstown.

I stood by the road for ninety minutes with my thumb out, and only a handful cars and campervans passed. I wasn’t getting too concerned, it only took one kind soul. However, from past experience I’ve learned that tourists don’t have souls and only Kiwis pick up hitchers. And this highway was only used by tourists.

I noticed two trekkers leaving the park and loading up their car. Time to use the ace-in-the-hole of hitchhiking: approaching someone in a parking lot. They have no choice but to talk to you, and usually guilt will take over and they’ll give you a lift. Works like a charm. Turned out I didn’t need to guilt anyone, as one of the hikers was on my shuttle from Queenstown and knew my predicament. I rode along to Te Anau, where we parted ways.

In Te Anau I found another hitchhiker going to Queenstown. Two are harder to pick up than one (unless one is a girl) so I went up the road to try my luck. He got picked up within ten minutes, but I had to wait nearly two hours for a ride. Also, a Dutch girl came to hitchhike and was picked up before I was. Agrivating, but that’s just the nature of hitchhiking.

I did catch a ride with a Kiwi tour guide heading home to see his mom. He dropped me off in Frankton and after and hour of walking along Lake Wakatipu I was back in Queenstown. Hurray!

Checked back into Aspen, had Fergburger for dinner, and treated myself to a lazy night. The thirteenth was a lazy day and to celebrate my final night in Qtown I went out to the bars with some Aspen friends. I said farewell to everyone and left the next morning with Stray at nine.

I’ll miss Queenstown. It is my favorite city in New Zealand. There are places with better scenery, better activities, and better prices; but I’d be hard-pressed to find a place with a better group of people than the Aspen Lodge. I’ve come close, but I know I’ve left a little bit of my heart in Qtown.

One half of a chain on Stewart Island, the other in Bluff, the southernmost part of the South Island

For some reason, the rude driver wasn’t the only thing bothering me. The weather was dreary and the “scenic” route to the Catlins was nothing more than grassy fields. The Catlins weren’t too spectacular either, with the exception of Nugget Point which happened to be the only sunny part of our day. It had been a while since I had seen the Pacific Ocean, but it was just as blue and wet as I left it.

I got back on the bus and was still sour. It wasn’t that I was tired of traveling. It wasn’t that I was homesick. It wasn’t that I wanted a lazy day. I eventually figured out that I was bored of the Stray bus. I didn’t come to New Zealand to take a bus tour, and I have always considered buying the ticket a compromise of my entire concept for this trip, no matter how handy it has been.

Nugget Point

And there was one thing that could do the trick: a little bit of hitchhiking. I’d already decided to thumb my way back to Queenstown to do the Routeburn track, so I figured I’d find my adventure the next day.

Stray took us to our pre-arranged hostel in Dunedin safely and on-time. Boring.

Dunedin seemed nice but I couldn’t seem to find any citizens in the city, even though it is the second largest city on the South Island. Everybody was out celebrating their summer holidays. Dunedin in a college town with the country’s oldest university – The University of Otago. Walking through the ghost town campus and surrounding streets I was reminded of Columbia. The pizza and sandwhich shops. The liquor stores. The notice boards advertising crappy bands. And darn it all – it actually made me miss Columbia a little bit.

The next morning I was on the street with my thumb out, looking for a ride to anywhere closer to Queenstown. This was everything I was looking for: something unpredictable, something unplanned, and something that could leave me in a predicament.

Not ten minutes into hitching, I was in a white car heading south with a student from the university. She was nice to talk to – a change from the “I’m from the USA traveling for three months and I’ve done X, Y, and Z” conversation I’ve had a zillion times. An hour later our paths parted and I was standing outside Milton with my thumb in the air. I figured Dunedin was a large city, so easy to hitchhike out of. Milton, however, is a small town with no major highway leading directly to Queenstown. Now it’d be challenging.

Not ten minutes later was I in a car with a married couple from Dunedin heading directly to Queenstown. I was there in a couple of hours and back at Aspen Lodge – my home in Qtown.

It certainly wasn’t as adventurous as I hoped, but I enjoyed it much more than the previous day. So far, things have run a little too smoothly on this trip to be the “spontaneous New Zealand adventure” I originally planned. Little did I know that this would all change the next day…