New Zealand Cronicles Part 1

5/20

So tired, so very tired from the long, long day. Christchurch is a flatter city than I expected, but it wore me out today, toting my backpack all over—to Starbucks, to the travel information center, to the department store, to the art museum, to an Irish pub. It must be the backpack I’m not longer used to carrying that lit my back on fire. It’s only 7pm and I’m exhausted. I haven’t even begun my travels within NZ, and I feel worn out. My dinner tonight will be sleep. I’ll eat dreams and wake up before the sun comes up. I slept for about twelve hours last night. I woke from time to time and listened to the sheets of rain pelting the window of the dorm room, and I felt happy and warm on the top bunk, hidden and protected from—from what I’m not sure. Maybe the unpredictable weather patterns. Or maybe protected from having to make any decisions about anything and having no worries, no pressing matters at the moment, no existential crises, no obligations, no weight on my back.

5/21

There is some stupid scenery, just retarded, ridiculous scenery on the trip from Christchurch to Queenstown. I took a bus called the Atomic Shuttle. I now know why it’s named atomic. It’s because the bus does 120kph+ on two lane highways that twist and wind through mountains. A stretch of about 10 miles had some snow spattering the road and the scenery was an immaculate white that blended smoothly with the solid grey-white clouds. Is it a cloud? Is it a mountaintop? These are good questions and I thankfully spent more time considering these questions than the more dubious How is our little bus staying on the road?

The passage from Cromwell to Frankton (not to be confused with sprankton n. a disease you get from chewing too much) was particularly Lord of the Ringsy. Bluffs, cliffs, river rapids, waterfalls, rocky snow covered peaks, green-yellow-brown mountainsides, one-lane bridges, wineries, vineyards, bungee platforms—I felt like I was in fiction.

And to think this is just the start. I don’t know if my jaw can take it. I don’t know if my camera can take it. I don’t know if my pen can take it. If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many words can are your our visions worth?

Click click click I take pictures out of the bus window and take even more here in Queenstown, but why? Nevermind the overcast, drizzly weather, that doesn’t matter, the scenery is still ridiculous—why bother trying to capture this? In the end I’m already convinced no amount of words and no number of pictures can capture these scenes. I think I’m starting to understand these people who tell me that New Zealand is just something you need to see. And lemme tell ya, you must.

5/21 (li'l later)

Oh god oh god, I finally found some great beer. It was in NZ all along! It was hiding. Sonofabitch! Well, I’ve found it and I’m consuming! Delicious!

5/22

As much of the bullshit I spewed yesterday about not having words to describe what I’ve seen, I have even fewer words today. Here are some pictures. They’re stupid. This is all stupid. Don’t look at them, just hop on a plan and get to NZ as fast as you can.





Reminder: to see the whole picture, you need to click on it.