We re-entered Chile for the last time, where the process would’ve gone much quicker had there not been the cutest little kitty in the arrival hall who was just begging to be tickled.
After a quick stop in Puerto Natales to pick up supplies and our guides, Maria-José and Alejandro, we drove into the Torres del Paine National Park for what would become one of the highlights of my entire trip: the 4-day ‘W-Walk’, a nomenclature which doesn’t require further explanation I assume. The first night’s campsite, on the shore of Lake Pehoe, took my breath away. It was flanked by the snow-capped Los Cuernos mountains, while the resident armadillo, Marcel, who chilled out with us, added a certain gezelligheid (apologies to non-Dutch speakers) to the whole scene.
The following morning, those of us who were doing the W Walk set out early doors in order to catch the catamaran which would take us to the start of the hike, and our next campsite, in the shadow of the Paine Grande peak. On certain sections of the hike we were able to drop some of our bag contents to lighten the load, however, having learned my lesson on my Machu Picchu trek that you really need very little, I packed a very small daypack containing sleeping bag and mat, a couple of changes of clothes and a small toiletries bag. I probably carried 5kg in total, as opposed to some of my fellow trekkers who huffed and puffed with 12kg. The first day’s hike was 22km in length; 11km along Lake Grey to the Grey Glacier and back again, taking around eight hours in total. Over the next couple of days, we continued with linear hikes, sometimes having to double back on ourselves but not really minding given the spectacular scenery afforded to us in the French and Ascensio Valleys.
The third day was particularly hot at 22°C, and it was somewhat comforting to see even our guides struggling in the unusually warm summer weather. Atter lunch we rested by a lagoon and took an illegal dip in the glacial waters.
Seeing the relief and joy on our faces, one of the guides jumped in with us, telling us it was the first time he’d ever done something like this. The cool waters were exhilarating and it was a much appreciated break from the walking.
On the final day, the hike went to the three peaks which give the park its name, however due to adverse weather, they were obscured and I therefore decided to stay at the campsite and indulge in some of the best coffee I’d had on this trip and catch up with my blog.
I have been completely blown away by the beauty in Chilean Patagonia (hence the rather brief blog post as I believe the pictures speak for themselves) and I can’t wait to explore more of the region on the Argentinean side.
And when I say blown away, I mean it both metaphorically and literally. The wind here is like no other I’ve ever experienced, at one point actually knocking me off my feet. Lord knows how perishing it is in winter, but I’d love to return and find out one day.
The high from the previous night’s meal in Santiago didn’t last long on account of even more diarrhoea coupled with an eleven hour day on the truck. I also said goodbye to Riley, a young and interesting Australian who had been my tentmate/roommate while Ian stayed with his lady friend who has also now left us. I’ll miss Riley for many reasons, the main one being that not only did he not judge me for eating five ice creams each day, he actively encouraged such behaviour by paying for them! Thankfully the drive to the Lake District distracted both Ian and I from our tummy troubles as we were yet again treated to some spectacular scenery. Our first stop was the quaint town of Pucon, which sits on Lake Villarica. Its cute streets are well maintained with roses used to separate lanes on the roads and the low-lying wooden buildings give it an alpine feel. In fact I was reminded of a place called Idyllwild in California, which has a very similar look and feel, and was the scene of a very happy holiday. The town is very small so I decided to go for a walk by myself rather than do the guided tour. While I’ve met some fantastic people on this trip, I do crave some alone time, so while Ian made friends with his bed I strolled around for a few hours, enjoying some time at the lakeside beach. You could walk around the whole town in around 30 minutes, but as I stopped to play with the numerous street dogs, I took rather longer. The town is very geared toward tourists and there are a lot of adventure sports on offer, including scaling an active volcano. Unfortunately, never knowing when one will need toilet facilities and not wishing for a repeat of rainbow mountain, I shunned such excursions and enjoyed a couple of blissfully lazy days. I stumbled upon a great cafe which I visited on multiple occasions, despite it being 30% more expensive than Amsterdam!! Oh no, I’m complaining about the cost of things; perhaps I am becoming more Dutch than I realised.
The next town on our trip was Bariloche, on the Argentinean side of the Lake District, which we reached via the incredibly scenic Ruta de los Siete Lagos (Seven Lakes Route). As you can see from the pictures, it does what it says on the tin. Bariloche sits on the shore of the Nahuel Huapi lake and is flanked by the Andes, creating a truly picture postcard setting. Similarly to Pucon, it is set up for lots of adventure sports however, arriving on Christmas Day, meant that most people took it easy.
Christmas Day was weird. After a disappointingly quick Skype (thanks to crappy WiFi) with my partner who was working on a job in Dubai, we set off on a ten hour drive that included an international border crossing, but one which was made bearable by the two adorable Labradors ambling around the waiting area. Upon arrival at our hostel, we were treated to Christmas dinner, which meant a traditional Argentinean ‘asado’: barbecued meats. The meal and the heat meant it didn’t feel very Christmassy to me, but the bottle of local Malbec and the easy-on-the-eye chefs helped us enjoy the festivities.
The next day Ian and I decided to go on a short hike up to a nearby waterfall but twenty minutes in he felt ill and so we turned back. Unfortunately, Ian’s stomach was getting worse so we took him to a local clinic for some tests. Over the next couple of days things didn’t improve and he had to leave the tour in Perito Morenoto see another doctor. I’ve been really impressed with the healthcare in South America and was so again, although the 90 second ambulance ride to our hotel seemed somewhat excessive. Ian had gone with me to the hospital when I had my accident in La Paz so it was an easy decision to stay behind with him and one of the tour leaders, Lars, while he sorted out his repatriation with his insurance company. New Year’s Eve was rather low-key however; Ian slept while I had two cans of beer before turning the lights off a couple of hours before midnight. Lars and I took a 12-hour overnight bus to catch up with our truck and we were treated to another incredible sunset. It’s just a shame that a) the bus played a ten-year old movie at full volume until 0130 and b) that I couldn’t drown it out with music because my iPod fell down the gap between the seats becoming irretrievably wedged. It was lovely to see the group again, but I will miss Ian terribly; he’s been on the trip with me since the very first day in Quito and quickly became a good friend. Both he and Riley live in Melbourne so I guess I’ll have to head there at some point!
The main reason for visiting Cusco was its location as the gateway to Machu Picchu, but we’d also heard there was a great trek up to Rainbow Mountain, known as Vinicunca in the Quechua language, and having ogled the relevant Instagram hashtag, four of us decided it was definitely worth doing. I’m not quite sure how or why we reached that conclusion given the following:
* The day trek requires a 0400 wake up call for a 0430 departure, and we’d return to the city at 1930;
* The hike would take us to 5,200 metres above sea level, by far the highest we’d been on the trip so far, and altitude sickness isn’t fun;
* We would be doing the 4-day Classic Inca Trail hike to Machu Picchu after Rainbow Mountain, with only one rest day in between.
Like I said, I’m not sure how we decided it would be a good idea, but nonetheless we paid the fees and off we went. It took three hours by minibus to reach the start of the hike which is located at 4,700m above sea level (Cusco is 3,600m). On the way we stopped for a very hearty breakfast, but as those close to me already know, I can’t eat anything before ten in the morning. I managed to swallow a few bites of a bread roll while my fellow hikers scoffed cereals and panqueques, a far more sensible preparation for what was to come.
The first couple of kilometres were relatively flat so we declined offers of ascending on horseback – something I came to regret later – and we set off purposefully, the rhythmic clackclack of our walking sticks the only sound to be heard. The inclines got steeper after the third kilometre and it became a real struggle, especially as we had to reach the summit by a certain time in order to be able to descend in daylight and return to the city by early evening. There were horses available at various spots on the mountain and Ian came up with the mantra of ‘every horse you pass is a victory Gazza’ which really helped by appealing to my competitive nature. However, by the time we got to the fourth kilometre, that competitive streak which has served me so well throughout my life decided to desert me when I needed it the most, and I finally gave in to the idea of completing the trek on horseback. The only snag, however, is that horses were forbidden from going any further from where I currently stood. I stopped and wondered what I’d done to deserve such a cruel fate.
The final two inclines were only another 400m or so, but were undoubtedly the hardest physical activity I’d ever asked my body to undertake. To give you some perspective, the summit of Rainbow Mountain is only 125m lower than that of Mount Everest Base Camp. Thankfully, on this final descent the level of camaraderie really swelled and there were lots of encouraging ‘you can do its’ and ‘you’re almost theres’ from not only the group, but complete strangers who knew exactly how I was feeling. They definitely brought on an extra spurt of energy and the sense of elation on reaching the summit was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. I think Ian and Matt were a little taken aback by the bearhugs they were subsequently treated to.
The view from atop the summit was something unique to me. So many different coloured soils were exposed, hence the name Rainbow Mountain. It was amazing to look back from where we had come and the realisation hit of what we’d achieved. After 45 minutes of celebratory back slaps and selfies (including one sitting on our guide’s shoulders, at his insistence!) we began the descent back to the start. The downhill terrain was much appreciated and we were making good time when I started to feel a bit ‘iffy’. It began with a splitting headache, and was soon followed by an upset stomach. Matt (who thankfully I’d shared rooms with already on this trip) and I sped up once I told him that I needed to reach the dreaded drop-toilet that we could see in the distance asap. We arrived just in time, however, upon squatting into position I realised that not only did the rickety door not lock, it did not even close shut. Poor Matt stood guard as my stomach fell out of me at quite a rate of knots, no doubt wondering what he’d done to deserve such a fate. I could see the hiking boots of fellow trekkers trudge by, and their footsteps increased in speed once their ears and noses were assaulted by indescribable sounds and smells. As I exited the shack, rather sheepishly I have to admit, Matt asked me if I felt better for the experience at least. I don’t think he was expecting my response to be in the form of projectile vomiting near his feet, and to be honest, neither was I. The combination of no breakfast and drinking lots of water meant that a constant stream of bright yellow liquid landed on the mountain for the next five minutes. Unlike in the drop-toilet, this time I could see the sympathetic faces of my fellow trekkers. It didn’t make me feel any better.
Matt, ever the gentlemen, accompanied me for the entire descent and I’d never been more glad to see a minibus in my entire life. Ian tried to make me feel better by telling me that another guy in our group had also puked, but I was too busy wallowing in my exhaustion to pay much attention. The drive back to the city was the best medicine and for every kilometre we descended I felt much improved. So much so that upon arrival in Cusco, I felt like I did at the start of the day. We treated ourselves to a carbtastic dinner and red wine before collapsing into bed, telling ourselves that it was good prep before Machu Picchu the day after tomorrow. My body was not convinced.
We had our shortest truck journey so far on this trip (five hours), to reach the town of Chivay. I actually quite enjoy the long journeys on the truck; there’s time for reading, chatting, sleeping, contemplating and gazing in wonderment at our constant companion, the Andes. I’m not sure I’ll feel the same way after nearly four months on the road, but ‘vamos a ver’.
We arrived in town on the same day that the Peruvian national football team were attempting to qualify for the World Cup for the first time in 32 years. I wouldn’t usually watch a Peru vs. New Zealand football match, but national fervour had been evident everywhere we had been in the past week. Everywhere except Chivay it seemed. I thought it would be a fun experience to see the game in a bar with locals, but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead I settled for pizza and an early night as we were up at 0500 the next morning.
The reason for the early start, and indeed the reason we were in Chivay, was to visit the incredible Colca Canyon and it’s famous Andean condors. Colca is the world’s second deepest canyon, and is almost 3,400m at its deepest point. And for all you geography buffs, no, the Grand Canyon isn’t the deepest canyon in the world. Colca is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, but the world’s deepest canyon is, in fact, the nearby Cotahuasi. Anyway, that’s enough geography for one day. We stopped at some truly breathtakingly scenery, before trekking to the best viewpoint for condors spotting. Our guide was very knowledgeable and sensed that the giant birds would in fact come to us and lo and behold, within five minutes of hiking, we saw shadows being cast on the foliage by the giant wings of a condor. A collective gasp went up when it glided directly above us, using the early morning thermals to get lift.
We continued hiking to the designated viewing platforms, but it wasn’t necessary given the show the birds were putting on for us throughout the walk. As it was a sunny day, and as we were technically not on a major road, we could ride on the roof seats for the journey home. We were treated to an incredible five-condor flyby while marvelling at the landscape from the unobstructed rooftop view.
The following day we drove to a small Quechua village called Raqchi, where we were treated to a homestay with a local family. I was a little anxious given that my Spanish is virtually non-existent, but I needn’t have worried; Papa Peo and Mama Concepçion were full of warmth that required no words, and one of our Peruvian guides was staying with us and helped translate where needed. Listening to Mama and Papa tell their story, I was filled with happiness as their eyes sparkled reminiscing about how they met and fell in love. It also gave me an appreciation for everything I have in my life, although it did make me miss my partner, Ken, and home.
Any homesickness was quickly dispelled when Papa signalled for us to change into one of his ponchos, and we headed to one of the other houses for a traditional ceremony to honour Pachamama, a goddess revered by the indigenous people of the Andes. Pachamama is the earth mother, and is toasted before festivities by spilling a small amount of beer before drinking. The indigenous community believe that we should give back to the earth before taking, and only taking what is appropriate. It made me think that I, and perhaps many of us, could do better at this. Once the solemn ceremony had been performed, the music started up, which in turn meant the dancing commenced around the fire. It turned into quite a raucous affair and everyone went to bed in high spirits.
The homestay was probably the one part of the trip that I was most anxious about, but my fears were completely unfounded. It turned out to be the most educational and thought-provoking; not so much in what we were taught in historical terms, but with regards to the local folks’ ethos for life, something I hope to apply to some degree upon my return home.
In my previous post, I said that the journey by road was the best I’d ever experienced. I lied, forgive me. The journey from Chugchilán to Cuenca has usurped the number one position on that particular chart, and I have a feeling it might be something that happens regularly over the next few months. The journey took 11 hours on the truck, but it really didn’t feel like it at all. I was so transfixed by the journey that I forgot to take many photos.
The journey took us past the dormant volcano Chimborazo, the highest mountain in Ecuador. The summit of Mount Everest is the highest point on the Earth above sea level, while the summit of Chimborazo is the farthest place on the surface of the Earth from its exact center, due to the fact that the Earth is not a perfect sphere but instead bulges out at its equator. Chimborazo is only one degree south of the equator, while Everest is 28 degrees north. Chimborazo’s summit is therefore 2.1 kilometers farther from the Earth’s center than Everest. And here endeth today’s geography lesson.
We drove along the Quilotoa Loop and I was constantly amazed by the little towns which seemed to be plonked at random on the mountainside. At one point, we saw a village which was completely engulfed in clouds, something I’d never seen before. It was very cool.
After eleven hours we arrived in Cuenca, Ecuador’s third largest city and from my limited foray in the country, its most beautiful. The colonial buildings made me feel like I was in Madrid at times and it is by far the cleanest city I’ve visited in Ecuador. We stayed in a nice hotel in the city centre and I was glad to be put in a room with Ian and Matt, the two guys I’ve bonded with the most so far. The next day I took a sightseeing bus around the city, having not been inspired by Matt’s suggestion of a run along the river (he doesn’t know me very well obviously). It was a great way to see most of the city as we only had one full day in Cuenca which, surprisingly, is home to the Panama hat. The name originated from the fact the hats were first sent to Panama before sailing for destinations around the globe and, therefore, acquiring a name that reflected their point of international sale rather than their place of fabrication. Gosh, I’m full of facts today. It’s almost as if I listened to the bus guide.
Here’s another one for you: the city of Cuenca has 52 churches so you can observe Sunday worship in a different church every week for a year, if you are so inclined. I’m not. There’s no denying the beauty and imposing nature of the buildings though and they fit in effortlessly with the surrounding architecture.
The bus took me to a viewpoint above the city that afforded a great view of the sprawl which is not really felt at street level. You won’t be surprised to hear that the best part of the whole day was the glorious Alaskan Malamute that I spotted during a coffee break. He was so chilled and very affectionate so naturally I left the viewpoint and spent the next twenty minutes petting him. I wonder if I can persuade my boyfriend to get a malamute when I get home in February. LOOK AT HIM!!
I also managed to find a hoody to replace the one I lost, although I’m still on the hunt for a pair of flip-flops which appear to be ever more elusive the further I travel in this continent. Who’d a thunk it?
Today is my last day in Ecuador and it’s been a great introduction to South America. I definitely want to come back and explore other areas, including the Galapagos which I wasn’t able to fit in this trip. Likes? Definitely the variety of amazing landscapes, from the towering Andes in all different hues of green and brown, to the varied cities and villages, to the biodiversity of the jungle. The people are smiley and friendly and the food has been delicious. Dislikes? Well, overtaking on the roads is a potential Olympic sport, and there were too many close calls for my liking. The absence of toilet roll in most bathrooms is also something I’ll never get used to, no matter how many reminders I’m given.
Leaving the jungle behind was tough, but I soon cheered up when I started reading about the next stop: Baños. Driving through the Ecuadorian highlands, we arrived just outside in a village called Rio Verde near the Tungurahua volcano. The mountain views from the campsite are pretty special but they’re not the best thing about our accommodation for the next three nights. That honour goes to camp doggies Bambu and Rita who are both tickle monsters.
My new bestie, Astrid, and I decided to break the tour company rule of single sexed tent sharing for solo travellers and I’m so glad we did as she wakes me up with a cuppa every morning. I needed it too after discovering that my water bottle had leaked during the night leaving me with only one set of dry clothes.
Baños is an adventure junkie’s paradise so naturally on the first day I decided to treat myself to a 90 minute full body massage. The accompanying pan pipe music lost most of its soothing effect given that the front door to the salon was wide open meaning the soundtrack was punctuated with the sound of traffic and trucks reversing. The massage wasn’t entirely relaxing. After being instructed to turn onto my back, the massage therapist proceeded to blindfold me before wafting something under my nose. Anticipating that I was about to lose consciousness and be robbed, I started to get up before realising that it was in fact lavender oil and not rohypnol.
Feeling invigorated, I signed up to go rock climbing up one of the many cliffs in the canyon with three of the guys on my trip; they’re from the UK, Germany and Australia. Sebastian from Germany squirreled up the first course, something I can safely say wasn’t replicated by the rest of us. The start of the climb was really difficult as the footholds were really far apart and my little legs struggled. After four failed attempts, I had a rest and instead took over the support ropes for the others. Meda, our instructor, encouraged me to have one final attempt and somehow I made it to the summit. Abseiling down, I wore the biggest grin and felt such a sense of achievement. Ian, who has a fear of heights, decided to try again too after only previously making it halfway, and soon reached the top. It was great to see his elation at conquering a fear, and we’re all planning to go again when we reach Huarez in a couple of weeks.
On our second day in Baños, a few of us decided to try canyoning which is where you hike up a waterfall before abseiling down through the cascading water. We were in for a nasty surprise at the last waterfall however.
After such an exhilarating day, I decided to treat myself to coffee, cake and wifi. There’s a great cafe which enables you to buy food for homeless dogs, so I gave them enough for one week’s worth. It felt good to be able to help, even just a little. It’s Ken and mine’s one year anniversary today and he sent me pictures of himself reenacting our first date. Alone. It’s probably the first time since coming away that I’ve had pangs of homesickness. Thankfully lots of others in the group are in similar situations when wifi enables news from home, and they are happy to chat things through. The other climber, Matt, got engaged two weeks before he left on his six month adventure!!
Tomorrow we have a long drive day to Chugchilán via the spectacular highland scenery along the Quilotoa Loop, where we will embark upon one of the ‘most beautiful day treks in the whole of South America’.
Anyone who knows me well will tell you I’m not a morning person. However, thanks to jetlag, I was awake early enough to witness an amazing sunrise in Quito. Unfortunately, I was a little non compos mentis at this hour and didn’t think to take some snaps in time, although the short video above should give you an idea.
I decided to get up and explore the city while it was still relatively cool. Unfortunately, I’m something of a sweater – as my friends who celebrated my recent birthday will attest to, and unlike my friend, Steffen, who can dance for hours without producing nary a bead of sweat – and it took all of forty minutes before the combination of the Old Town’s steep inclines and the altitude persuaded me to take it easy for the rest of the day. Thankfully, Ecuadorian Netflix has season three of How to Get Away with Murder (take note Netherlands) and I was happy to spend the evening in the company of the wonderful Viola Davis.
I awoke the next morning feeling much better, and by that I mean it no longer felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, so I decided to go for a hike in the surrounding mountains. I took a cab to the TelefériQo, a cable car which takes you a further 4,000 feet higher (the second highest cable car in the world no less), and to the starting point for the walk. Coming from Amsterdam where taxi fares are the 6th most expensive in the world, I struggled to keep the shock from my expression when the driver charged me the grand sum of $3.
I’d read online that the queues for the cable car can be up to an hour long, but due to my early arrival I was the only one in my carriage and was whisked straight to the top. Many reviews online commented on how the increase in altitude can be tough, so I spent some time sitting down while looking at the incredible views of the sprawling city and surrounding volcanos from this vantage point of 13,500ft, but after 10 minutes I felt no worse and decided to explore a bit further afield. During the next two hours spent hiking on the mountain, I only saw four other people. One guy was determined to get to the top but I wasn’t confident I had the required four hours of additional hiking in me so I descended.
I spent the afternoon relaxing (read: gulping in air) before heading out to try some Ecuadorian food for the first time. One of the things I had been most looking forward to on this trip was trying a range of cuisines of which I didn’t have much experience. So I bypassed the restaurant offering burgers for $1 and ended up at La Purisima which wasn’t too far from the apartment. After negotiating the una mesa para uno por favor, I was excited to see a menu filled with local dishes. I plumped for an appetizer of bonitisimas, a traditional savoury Ecuadorian dish of black corn encasing a potato and cream cheese filling, followed by Chancho ahumado como en Quinindé. That’s smoked oven roasted brisket to you and me. The pork was served in a potato, egg and mint ‘sauce’ which at first I was a bit wary of, but it was pretty nice. Egg and mint, who knew?! I decided to walk the meal off back to the apartment, although some streets seemed a little sketchy in the dark so I quickened my pace up the hills. Not my best idea given that I spent the next 20 minutes gasping for breath on the stairwell before heading to bed.
Today is my last day in Quito and I’ve really enjoyed the past few days, despite the altitude headaches. Everyone I’ve interacted with has been friendly and accommodating of my appalling Spanish. A smile never seems far from their lips either. I’ve also liked feeling tall for a change, something that never happens back home in the Netherlands where the average male stands at 6ft / 184cm.
This evening I met with my fellow tour group travellers and it’s the first night of room sharing. Fingers crossed I don’t snore. Check in was slightly bizarre in that not only was I given a key (attached to a maraca naturally) but also a remote control for the TV. We set off early doors tomorrow to drive into the Amazon for some jungle trekking. I have a great fear of spiders having been subjected to the film Arachnophobia in my formative years, and generally enquire of men on a first date if they can handle the eight-legged nightmares on my behalf should we ever end up living together. Needless to say, I didn’t get second dates very often. Fingers crossed we don’t come across any tarantulas in the next four days, or if we do, that someone in the group doesn’t mind a strange British man grabbing onto them for dear life!
My upcoming sabbatical was originally meant to begin with a trip to visit my friend, Lynsey, in New Zealand for round two of shenanigans that previously occurred when I visited her in 2015. Unfortunately, work commitments mean that I can only take four months away from the office and therefore Aotearoa was culled from my itinerary.
As part of the preparations for my upcoming holiday, I’m transferring photos from previous travels off my camera in order to make space and I came across some from an amazing holiday in the Land of the Long White Cloud which got me reminiscing. It was made amazing thanks to several friends who put me up – and who put up with me! – and Lynsey in particular.
When I moved to the Netherlands following the break up of my relationship, she was the first person to visit me. She made me giggle so much that for a moment I could forget that my life was headed in a direction I had never imagined just a few months earlier, when instead my head was filled with possible wedding venues. Our friendship was cemented after almost getting run over by a massive tourist boat while cruising along the canals of Amsterdam in a tin-can of a vessel, followed by dancing all of the next day at a beach festival in Bloemendaal, where we seemed to be the only patrons whose eyes were dilated the normal amount.
I should probably warn you at this point that this post may* contain rather a lot of photographs. If you ever go to New Zealand, you’ll understand.
*definitely will
Shortly after visiting me in Amsterdam, Lynsey began her own adventure, moving to New Zealand by herself to live a life that she’d always dreamed. Just another reason why I’m a little bit in love with her. She lives in the moment and is never complacent. She’s one of the strongest people I know and her mettle was severely tested after a few weeks in New Zealand as she was unable to immediately work in her job as a physio due to issues with her paperwork. One day, we were sharing a cup of Yorkshire Tea the only way two immigrants in different countries can: over Skype. Despite putting the world to rights, I got the sense that Lynsey was finding the adjustment to life in New Zealand a struggle. Beautiful scenery, even that as stunning as one can find in Queenstown, can only do so much to combat the loneliness felt by a recent immigrant, something I knew too well having spent many an evening wandering along the canals of Amsterdam by myself, feeling more isolated that I ever had before. Having hung up with promises to speak again soon, I went online to see how much flights were to Queenstown, and after spending, oooh, all of two minutes debating whether I could afford it without having to sell a kidney, I realised that some things are more important than money, so I texted Lynsey and told her to pop the kettle on* and I’d see her in a few weeks.
*disclaimer – they do have electricity in New Zealand and it doesn’t take a few weeks to boil a kettle in order to make a cup of tea, but it’s a figure of speech so just humour me. Thank you.
Given that I was travelling to the other side of the world, I decided to stretch out my visit – under the guise of buying myself a present for my own birthday as I was single and lonely and nobody else, after all, was going to buy me anything – and began with a few days visiting friends in Sydney, after which I hopped on the plane to Queenstown.
The various flights I took over New Zealand were the most incredible I’ve ever experienced. I stared out of the window as we swept over vista upon amazing vista, so much so that I got a crick in my neck. Upon disembarking, Lynsey was there to greet me with her wonderful smile and I immediately felt that amazing sensation of being in the company of someone who just ‘gets’ you. This feeling of contentment was, however, in danger of dissipating rather briskly when instead of driving me to the nearest open bottle of wine for a natter, Lynsey thought it would be ‘fun’ – her words, not mine – to first go for a hike up Queenstown Hill. A hike! I’d just schlepped four hours on a plane, and let’s not forget the 24 hours I’d spent on planes just a few days previously to get to that side of the planet in the first place. However, following a quick change in a public car park, using both Lynsey and the car door as a modesty curtain, my tiredness soon ebbed away as with each step taken, the view became more and more stunning.
We soon reached the summit, where we were greeted by the ‘Basket of Dreams’, which seemed rather apt considering that after just a few hours on New Zealand soil my dreams were indeed coming true. We treated ourselves to a lay down and a wee natter before we re-energised ourselves in our favourite manner: JUMPING!
I discovered how fun jumping could be when on a weekend break to Warsaw with my then flatmates in 2009. It was freezing cold and raining, but after ten too many vodka shots – why, oh why, would you flavour vodka with chilli‽‽ – it seemed a legitimate way to keep warm. Especially as it took about 20 minutes to get the shot given the fact that this was in the pre-smartphone days and digital cameras had only just been invented!!
Over the course of the next week, Lynsey chauffered me around this gorgeous part of the south island (the benefits of not knowing how to drive). We took a dip in the waters of Lake Wakatipu which, despite the blazing sun and cloudless sky was, in actual fact, make-your-bollocks-fly-back-up-into-your-body-so-fast-you-can-barely-breathe cold.
We kayaked in the fjords of Milford Sound, well, I kayaked. Lynsey spent most of the time perving on our instructor slash guide slash eye-candy. We threw out gender stereotypes in Te Anau when the car needed an oil change and Lynsey rolled up her sleeves while I scoffed crisps in the passenger seat.
We hiked up Mount Iron to gaze out over the beautiful town of Wanaka. And we jumped. We jumped at every opportunity, because there’s no way one can jump with a friend and not feel exhilirated and happy. And isn’t that how friendships should be? If you don’t have a friend with whom you can jump with, just holler, you know where I am.
I’m gutted that I won’t get to see Lynsey during my sabbatical, but I’m hoping to revisit Queenstown next year, this time during winter so that we can jump while doing our favourite activity together besides necking wine: skiing. Well, snowboarding for her because she’s much cooler than I am. Not that she embodied coolness that time in Rome when we were belting out Whitney’s ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ so enthusiastically that we broke the hotel bed on which we were dancing, but that’s a blog for another time, although the photos below should help you begin to understand how we found ourselves in that particular pickle…..
Tea & Tulips 