Off to Oz

Wake up, pack my bags, and head on out. This was made easier by my lovely, and charming host, who took me out to the airport bus, and spent the half hour before it arrived drinking coffee with me. I had a gingerbread latte. I felt a bit like a drink snob having something with a name and delicious flavour such as that, but – it was good. So that's that. I guess it's fine to drink more than just “coffee.”

I was soon off to the airport, a little shocked to see how much Antarctic information they had, a huge American center, and what not. But there was no time to see this, or check it out. I had a plane to catch. Thirty minutes of free internet let me post some blogs, and add a few more photos. And then I was in the air, watching Battle Royale on my laptop. I was impressed that my laptop had enough battery life to stay alive for the whole thing. But there it was. And it was pretty good. I'm sure having read the manga and being able to fill in all the spaces in between made it a lot easier to follow. The movie jumped around a lot, and you didn't care about many characters, and it was not nearly as distressing to watch as to read. But still – quite entertaining. If that's the right word for it.

I then put myself in and out of sleep, until we landed, and I made my way into the city. Southern Cross Station was quite near to my hostel, and it was only a five minute walk to reach. Checking in (once the reception staff decided to show) was no worries. From then on, I made my way to the pizza place to grab a large pizza. It was big – but it was less delicious than it could have been.

I ate it watching a movie about a guy travelling around. It was good, it was entertaining, it spoke of freedom. And then I realized that it was Into the Wild, which meant that character was destined to die at the end.

It was less entertaining to watch from then on.

Still, I'm glad I saw it. The only thing I question was the end. The protagonist claimed he was happy when he died, having found bliss in his last moments. Based on his journals, he wouldn't have written this – as, he died. But it's the story his parents want to believe, and it's the story the filmmakers wanted to leave. And that's important too, yeah?

It passed the time while I ate pizza, and berry fruit gummies.

Then off to my room. I had to wake up early enough to meet up with two girls I met in the deep south. Not the American one, but the real deep south.

I tell you though, I had to have a shower first. And the shower here? It was – and I believe this holds meaning now – the worst shower in the world. Out of the six showers? One was locked forever, one was bolted so that no water could come out, three had no hot water, and all gave only the slightest trickle of water. I've showered under trees in Africa. That was a better shower. That's all I'm saying. Somehow my hair was washed, and I could get the shampoo out of my hair.

Good for me. Off to bed.

I may also have started doubting travel, never wanting to stop, and not really sure of what I was doing. Or what I'd be getting into when I stopped. But never mind that. This was a transition day. And I never think straight on transition days.

How I Met Your Modern Warfare

Today – was a day – of nothing.

But one of those good ones. One of those ones that you crave, and want, and embrace – because it was your choice.

I got up, had some oats, turned on the bed heater, and proceeded to watch four hours of How I Met Your Mother, catching up on the current season until its finale. Now – never mind that they didn't really introduce the Mother character. Never mind that the writers and producers are full of lies. My fear is that this will become LOST. Somehow, despite the fact, that in the first episode they made it so the character Robyn can not be the kids mom (and thank goodness they did that, otherwise they would have – for sure – just become lazy and ended it as such) I still feel it's going to end that way. If the Lost writers can reneg on their “it's not purgatory” ending, well then so can these guys.

So that was a good chunk of my day – but when will such blindingly fast internet access be available to me again? And without having to pay terrible amounts for it at hostels? Curse the strange internets in this part of the world.

So, what did I do when I emerged from my hiding place? I'm not too sure. I have no memory of those few hours. Certainly one internet event couldn't lead into the other – but I think it did. I started adding photos to past blogs. Lordy are there a lot that I neglected. So from Hong Kong to the end of Shanghai now has images up. Mind you, two days in Hong Kong still seem neglected, but it may just be their luck in life to stay that way, lest I can find those pictures once more.

And then it was time to eat. I was taken out to a Japanese restaurant which – yes it did – served Okinomiyaki. My most favourite of all foods, with delicious brown sauce of mystery! I love this food very much. It was Osaka style, not Hiroshima, but who can hold that against such a tasty treat? But what was it called on the menu – because, as I said, no one outside of Japan would go for the real name. Here? It was called Japanese Pizza. Sure – whatever, just fill me with your goodness!

Oh and it was good. And there was unlimited miso soup. And I love Japanese food so, so, much. Why is it the best? And why am I just now learning of it? If a month of it didn't bore me, and I still think to it and crave it, well then it must be doing something right!

And then it was back home. My host had to go study – apparently exams are important, being with 90% of the final grade (who does that?!) but her brother was around – and trading back and forth we powered our way through Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 in five hours. Sure, it was on easy mode, but I just wanted to get through the story. There will be time to play and enjoy when I have it, myself, later on.

And oh lord was that a fantastic game that made some bold choices. There is the one level that you always hear about, if you're into hearing about such things, that takes place in an airport. You are undercover as a terrorist, and you slowly march your way through shooting everyone in sight. Women, children (there probably weren't children – but maybe), and men with suitcases all run, and fall, under your gun. You then fight your way through the police, and try to escape. The terrorists you are with, however, know you're an American agent, and shoot you in the face, leaving you to die, and spark an international war.

Red Dawn approaches, and Russia launches a sneak attack on America.

Starting in Afghanistan, you wander through a base there, listening to soldiers talk about the war, and watch as some play basketball before their next patrol. You run through training, and you see the helicopters fly above the desert. Another level puts you in Brazil, where you run through slums – fully developed, with houses, and decorated hotels, courtyards, posters at bus stops. But there's no time to fully look around, as you dodge a hailstorm of bullets.

Then there was the aforementioned airport level – which is in every ways a fleshed out airport. The levels are beautifully designed – including one on an oil rig in the Russian arctic, which reminded me of my time spent amongst the icebergs down south.

But it's the levels in America that strike me most. The ones where you fight through suburbia, and hole up inside a Burger Town (Burger King). The ones where you make your way through the streets of Washington DC, and fight to reach the White House.

Playing through these levels – a world only available through artistic expression, and hopefully it will stay that way – allows a glimpse of what life could be like. And what it is like for so many other parts of the world. It's hard to imagine fighting in the streets of Suburbia, but all through the European campaigns of World War II that's exactly where the battles were. Still – there was no porches with swinging chairs, and energy efficient fans there. No tanks rolling into fast food parking lots. No modern life turned upside down.

And no Washington Monument shot to pieces, white house in flames, capital building destroyed.

Again – I'm not sure how these games can be anything but art. It's not just that you walk and shoot, but there is a world all around you that seems to move and live, from the highly animated actions of a solider performing CPR seen only once, and only if you look in the right spot – but still the work to make this happen, to create a living world, was engineered.

There is nothing else that can put you into these possibilities quite like interactive media such as video games can. All I'm saying, is if we're going to say that novels are art – that giant science experiments are art – that movies are art – well these works of fantastic exploration and engagement that required years to construct, with a team of many many people, well... it's art too. I've still not heard a good argument from Ebert why they are not, but – he'll say what he'll say to stay in the press, and stay relevant. If he's not bashing Twilight though, I've had enough of him.

So that was my day – in one room, but exploring the world nevertheless. And for some people, this is the only way they'll see the world outside. And what's so wrong about that?

My one complaint – and it's not a complaint as much as something that could be easily accomplished and add a new perspective – put a living mode into the game. Either strip the game of enemies so you can just wander around, or add pedestrian AI. In the levels such as Brazil, or the airport, they could be wandering around, just living their life, allowing you to explore the levels that have been painstakingly crafted. In the destroyed parts of the world, you could have people trying to rebuild. Workers on the oil rig.

Much like the passive characters in the first level, before war breaks out, that would add a new aspect to the game. And one that would take away the only real defense people have, claiming art can not be a, “murder simulator.” And – again – it would let me see all the work that went into the project, rather than trying to avoid being blown to little bits.

That was my day. That's how I spent my last full 24 hours in New Zealand. And, it was lovely.

High Art in Christchurch

Today was a day for art. And a day for sun. Of course it's only the one day that I decide to walk where it rains. The rest of the weather here has been just lovely. But never mind that: Art!

Off I went in search of the Christchurch Art Gallery, and stepping inside I was – underwhelmed. I'm not going to lie. Me and art have never really seen eye to eye. I like graffiti, I like comic books, I like video games. These are art to me. Why some people claim that video games aren't art (I'm looking at you Ebert) is beyond me. If Saving Private Ryan is art, how could anyone deny that games like Modern Warfare 2 (which I happened to play some multiplayer recently of) are not? They're no different – except for perhaps that the video game allows you to enter the world, and creates more fear, tension, and emotional connection with the characters as you feel partially responsible for their safety. But never mind that – more on that tomorrow, when I sit down and give it a good go.

This art gallery? Some pictures. Some paintings. Some sculptures. And then there was an exhibit that made me reconsider things. As I've mentioned before, I don't like reconsidering things, or have new ideas brought to me – well I do like it, but if I've missed this, what else am I failing to consider?

This room – it presented science as art. It had basic experiments, some shooting little sparks as a pendulum scored oak like a giant wood burning kit – everyone's favourite childhood toy, until safety became an issue somewhere in the early nineteen nineties.

Science as art. And why shouldn't it be? Again – I didn't really like any of the pieces here, but as a concept, I thought it was very interesting. Much like the blue room upstairs, which features art of all types and forms that happens to be blue. This would have impressed me much more if I'd seen it before google added the colour filter to their image search program. Looking up “green” and then clicking to find all “red” results? That entertains me far more than it should.

As I made my way from the art gallery I headed for food – food that could be purchased with a credit card, as I'd been trying to avoid taking another withdrawal hit from the bank my whole time in country. Plus, I remembered that I earned points with my credit card. I don't really know what I'm going to do with these points, but I'd rather have points than no points, so credit card seemed to be the way to go.

Burger King.

Man, I tell you – I have probably tripled or quadrupled my lifetime Whopper intake in the last few months. Who knew it was so good? Who knew. If one graphed it, there would be a huge 2010 Whopper spike. But moving on, I made my way to the library after eating, where I planned to read the four “Sleeper” trades. Unfortunately, shelving them together yesterday may have been a mistake as all four with now withdrawn. Never to fear, I found the two Vinyl Underground trades. These are comics I'd been meaning to read for some time, and ones that came back on my radar a few months back while reading the news for such graphic-novel magazines.

Vinyl Underground: It's about these kids in London being paranormal detectives. But it's better than that, in that it gives you a really good history of some of London's prominent, and less prominent, locations. And, as it was canceled early - but with warning – it tells a nice complete 12 issue story, that feels only slightly rushed towards the end. Better than the hanging ending of Books of Magic though. Poor, un-concluded, Tim Hunter.

After spending a few hours digesting, and once more falling comfortably under the spell of, the comics I headed out of the library to find the contemporary art gallery before it closed. Just down the street from the public library, it was not a hard challenge. But the gallery itself? Also less than impressive. What was a good selling point, thought, is that this was a sales gallery. Sure it was an art gallery, but one where every piece had a price tag attached to it. Just as the – dare I say – heroine in Shopaholic craved so much for. You could see the pieces, and then think, huh? Eight thousand? Really? Before coming across much better pieces prices at the still unreasonable one thousand. I think that artists must be the most ridiculous of people. I mean, honestly, either their audacious or mad.

One piece was a number of Warhammer figures, uncut from their grey square containment, unpainted, lined in a row. The price? Five thousand. Anyone could recreate this for one hundred dollars. Therre was nothing special, no deeper meaning, much like a construction paper book opened and framed. Now – to as that price, they either believe that they've created something profound – mad – or they know it's crap and they're trying to pawn it off – audacious.

Art. Modern art. Ridiculous. Now drawings, paintings (that look like something – even if stylized, that look like SOMETHING) those I can go with. An if you show me some original Humberto Ramos sketches? Well then we'd be talking – but Warhammer figurers? No thanks. If that's art, then just about every geekshop in the world is an art gallery. They cut, and paint theirs too. Line them up and put them on sale for tens of thousands! That seems about right in this market, yeah?

Only so long could be spent around such foolishness before I tired, and took the bus back home, where more Modern Warfare 2 was played in terrible multiplayer action, leaving me quite defeated more often than not. I remember when I was the young one, and – you know – good at these things. How times change.

Whatever, I've been around the world! (And thus the travel snob begins to emerge. I must beat it back away into the dark where it belongs. No one likes a travel snob. Any story that begins, “when I was in...” is destined to fail.)

The Christchurch Museum, and - you know - stuff

So, I woke up, yeah? And then I peeked outside. It was grey. It was not happy. It was time to go back to sleep. And then I, like, woke up again and so when I looked outside, right, it wasn't better. Actually there was this ice falling from the sky and it was hail and so I said back to sleep and then I went back to bed. But then, like, the next time, right? The next time, I woke up and the sky was blue, so that was good, and so I got up and that's how my day began.

After I got out of bed I made my way for the kitchen which I was told was poorly stocked, but stocked none the less. I'm not going to lie, I have come around to oats. You get your oats, you put in your boiling water, and maybe some brown sugar? It's great. I started off with this as a food option when we were taking the truck through Africa. Then I forgot it for six months – but now? Now my love of oats are back. Maybe a little jam in the future? Perhaps some yogurt? I'm not sure. But I will keep my kitchen stocked with this in the future. And a kettle. That would be good too.

All these things that normal people discovered when they were younger, I had no concept of until I was aged. Oats is just the tip of a very large iceberg. Examples:

Eggs – I had them once when I was five or so, and I did not like them. It wouldn't be until I moved away to university that I discovered how wonderful a fried egg could be.

Mayonnaise – I discovered this the same year as I discovered eggs.

Nutella – I just came around to that this year, and my lord what have I been missing out on? Chocolate for breakfast? For some reason Canada refuses to allow the sale of Cookie Crisp, but this chocolate spread is fine and dandy?

Then we get onto things like asparagus, and tomatoes, and – well – anything that isn't white bread (ohh rye bread – that changed my world! Also during the university years.), kraft dinner, ketchup, cheddar cheese in giant orange and white block form (real cheese – what an eye opener that was.) and – ohh burgers. Yeah, I knew them. I want to say there were some more things I knew, and surely there were – hot dogs, pickles, and... yeah that's it.

Strangely enough I didn't like hot dogs back in the day. And for those following this years worth of posts, that might seem a terribly impossible fact, as I am now willing to say I am a hot dog connoisseur – much as it pains me to admit.

But enough of this. Oats are good. Let us move on. When I finally stepped outside, I thought – hah! Foolish weather, it's beautiful out. I didn't need to take a bus to town. And with a price of 2.80 I was not feeling too hard done by by giving up this ride. Of course, fifteen minutes into my walk, the blue was replaced by grey, and the sky opened and down came the rain in large heavy sheets, just as I reached the park – pride and joy of this Garden City.

Not to worry though, as I was about to head inside, to the museum, the rain cleared and the sun came out again.

The Christchurch museum, apart from being free, is actually quite lovely. It has one section that reminds me of the Royal Manitoba Museum (quite possible my favourite of all museums that lacks dinosaurs.) The objects from the last hundred years of local importance are arranged in recreated storefronts, and within constructed buildings. You learn about the town by walking through one recreated. Plus – they had a penny farthing you could get on and peddle. Who knew it was named after the two coins the wheel sizes represented?

There was just one section I did not see – the shell hut. It looked like it would have been interesting, but it would have required checking my bag, and I had no patience for that. I missed out, I'm sure.

There were dinosaurs here. Albertosurus. Sweet.

Next up? Rutherford. Apparently he's a big deal – you know, Nobel prize and all? You can walk through a recreation of his offices here, and have him talk to you through pseudo holographic magic and – well – actors. It's only slightly strange, mind you then you walk into a lecture hall and his invisible ghost starts writing on the chalk board while addressing you, so things don't get less strange with time.

When I was done with my spectral experience I headed off to the library. On my way I took a picture of the Cathedral – the sky was still blue, so it looked peaceful. It would rain a few moments hence. Strange weather they have here. I bought a German sausage from a cart with that castle down in Fussen on it. There was free sauerkraut and that was lovely, grilled onions too, but... then I had to choose what one of many mustards I wanted. Just one? Ai ya. I think I would have preferred it if the pieces were all on a plate, then it would have seemed better value. Don't question my logic.

The sausage? Not Germany good. Not Singapore good. But then I've been told that, unlike many places in the world, food on carts in New Zealand? Sub-par rather than the best.

Right – the library. Sat down, read some comics, and a WWE magazine (I have no chance of catching up with that nonsense.)

Comics. I quite like them. Fact. They're quite comforting. There was a graphic novel – Flood – it was a sequel to Blood Song. Who needs words to tell a compelling tale?

And then? Then it was a quick bus back to where I was staying, to be greeted by the brothers of she whom I knew, all playing Modern Warfare 2 on the 360. Some time may have been lost to this. I may have died – a lot. But then, as I realized there was no point loss for suicides, I grabbed the rocket launcher and started to rise through the ranks, much to the screams of the twelve year old claiming I was, “cheap,” and couldn't do anything without the, “noob tube.” Pssh – whatever? Big talk from a, “camper” sniper.

Again there was food. I love food. And dinners with large families. Large large chaotic families. It's always good fun. At one point the youngest started to make a new shopping list, and it was as wonderful as anyone could have possibly predicted.

Shopping List
Marshmallows
Ice Cream
Chocolate
Assorted Junk Food
Lunch Stuff
Bread.

It reminded me of Kevin. I got the milk, eggs, and fabric softener.

Across the Snowy Pass

A good a day as any to leave Queenstown, I reckon. Not that anyone would ever want to leave Queenstown. When you think of New Zealand, this is what you think of. The deceptive small town, paid for by tourists the world over, the mountains caging you in, waters to reflect the scenery, and beautiful vistas only an hour away. If you come to New Zealand, you come here. And I'd venture to say that if you don't make it this far, you've probably not seen all that New Zealand has to offer.

Sure you'd miss out on the Burgerfuel from the North Island, but who has money for that anyway? You'd have avoided the capital, Wellington – and the largest city (though I can't imagine why) Auckland. But you'd be able to say, quite honestly and directly, that you'd seen New Zealand if you stop for a few days in quaint, charming, and drunken backpacker filled, Queenstown.

I wonder what the upper class staying in the five star hotels think of the louts wandering around looking for their next beer? It's a lovely coming together here. The town is too small for the classes to stay apart. And at the end of the day, well even the well to do stop by Hell's Pizza for a quality slice.

This was not the day to be thinking about how great the town was though, this was a day to put the town behind me and move on to my last New Zealand stop, Christchurch. I packed my bags, and bumbled my way out of the hostel around seven in the morning. I can only imagine how distressing this must have been for the girl who just came in from her night - drinking, bed hopping, doing whatever it is young girls do when away from home for the first time – only an hour earlier.

With all my gear in hand, and my key returned, I headed out to the bus stop. When I got there around eight o'clock (I may have killed some time in the hostel by eating freely available jam sandwiches) I was not prepared to discover that the bus stop here in this must active tourist spot was no more than a strip of asphalt with a little awning over it. It was cold. It was windy. It was raining. I should have known, of course. Using zen mind tricks I made the hour pass without incident, and was soon throwing my bags under the bus, and taking my seat behind two homosexual cowboys from the fly-over states in America. They did not look like Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Ledger. Those movies were clearly a lie! One resembled Robert O'Reilly and the other Marc Alaimo. Fitting - but slightly terrifying. It was as if you'd not be surprised if they turned out to be the nicest guys in the world. And yet if you discovered they had a penchant for human taxidermy that wouldn't really shock you either. In fact, both could have been true of them. Lovely conversationalists.

The journey was one passed both in and out of sleep until we entered the Mountain Pass. It's almost as if the designers of the highway wanted it to have inclement weather. When my eyes opened the world was that of white. Snow was falling. Cars were backed up thirty deep. People were affixing chains to their tyres. Not tires, of course, not out here. But tyres.

I'd never seen a tyre chained, I don't think it's legal in Ontario, but here the message was that they were essential. A car full of teenage bucks thought they knew better, having just arrived from America, or Australia, or Canada, or other country full of dumb youngin's that think they're smarter than the dumb yokel locals. When they ended up swerving into a ditch, plowed deep into the snow, I think they realized otherwise. And when a passing grader tried to help them out, and instead ended up dragging them partially into he nearby river bed – well I'm glad I wasn't them. Sometimes a bus is the better way to go. Or, you know, put chains on. And if you don't have them? And you see thirty cars backed up thinking it's the right call? Maybe you should head back for the day, yeah?

When we were good to go we began pressing on. Two other buses thought they knew better – that they were powerful enough to make the climb. When one rolled into the other causing some motor vehicle kissing confusion I think they may have regretted their decisions. Our bus moved smoothly past.

An hour later we would learn that a car soon hit the two buses, blocking the entire road, and leading to it being shut down for the night. Good for us, not screwing up like so many.

Due to the time we'd lost – and oh how we'd lost time – we were making only one more stop. I stocked up on juice, grabbed some food, and saw what appeared to be two deer over the back of someones pickup truck. Clearly they'd been hunting. Their dogs were still in the back of the truck with the fresh kill.

Were they deer? They looked like deer. Are there deer out in these parts? It's hard to determine the exact type an animal is when it's tied to the back of a truck, unless you happen to be one who often ties animals to the back of trucks – which I am not. Though, ever if i were, I think I still might have some trouble, as so much of my identification comes from the head, which seemed to be missing – or perhaps just lolled back. The bloody dots on the chest were my primary focus. Though, again, not being one with much dead animal car decorations, I quickly moved on and found myself back on the bus.

We met a girl who tried to bum a ride – we were the last shuttle of the night, and with the road closed there would be no others. We agreed to take her, she just needed to get her bags. Really? She wasn't ready? We waited ten minutes, and then drove to where she should have been staying, seeing if we could see her on the road. We did not. We drove on. Lesson learned. Two lessons – one, if you're trying to get a free ride from a coach, be prepared to board straight away – two, you can bum rides from coaches in New Zealand.

The rest of the trip was without incident, at lower ground the snow became rain, and as we pulled into Christchurch, there was little to do but get out, grab my pack, and look for a pay phone.

A girl I'd met back in Poland had offered me a room to stay at while I was here in Christchurch. Unlike China, these phones took credit cards. Thank you NZ. With the call taken care of and a car on its way, I only had to wait. The pub I was to meet at was closed due to it being the Queen's Birthday (June 7.) I did get a good view of the cathedral reflected in wet stone, with a giant blue neon art piece beside it. I was later told it resembled a giant joint. And to be fair, it did seem to have a marijuana leaf the top. It's hard to deny these things.

Into the car, off to a warm dry place, and – provided with food?! Food! I love food! And it was good tasty food. Sigh. So wonderful are people who feed you. I'm very easy to please, and to get on my good side it's really all one needs to do.

After food I got the lowdown on the city and the things to check out. I was even met with a bus map and a route guide. If someone comes to visit me, I must remember to keep these on hand. What a wonderful thing to have without asking, before even jumping out into the real world.

It's good to meet up with people met on the road – Europe doesn't even seem that long ago. It seems more recent than Thailand, and Africa, and yet – there it was all the way back in the beginning. Poland was before I'd even met up with my friends for the first time. Perception of time – it does strange things out here.

I also discovered the magic of bed warmers. A sort of heat blanket beneath the sheets that warms up the bed before you get in. What a brilliant thing! Why don't we have these? Is it because they often burst into flame killing people terribly? Because that would be upsetting – but for now? I'll take it!

A Day in Milfordsound

Music on the bus is like a best of the 90s mega mix. Treble Charger plays and I feel like I should be 15 again, in love with Helen Hunt watching her risk life and limb to track the patterns of Pepsi sponsored tornadoes. And then I'm at one of my first concerts watching Placebo with people around me not quite saying, “those don't smell like normal cigarettes.” But – glasses were broken.

Out the window, mountains and fiords pass by in what just might be the wettest part of the world. Inside I drink from my 1.5 liter coke bottle, purchased as it was cheaper than the 500 ml counterpart. Typical New Zealand delightfulness.

The boys and girls on the day-trip sing along to the music, and I giggle silently thinking of how they would have been hardly born when the music first played. I myself was young, at a stage where I could talk unashamedly about unrequited love without a sense of meta-irony. Times were different when my head lulled to The Verve for the first time.

Looking around me I am surrounded by passion, love, and lust filled youth. More of us need to escape our home towns when we are still nineteen. When we are the type of people who believe the best way (possibly correctly) to get a girl is to tussle your hair roughly, and cement with a bit of gel. When we are the type of person who wakes up at 6am to prepare for a 7am bus trip, knowing full well the importance of spending an hour applying our MAC makeup just so.

Bless them. Bless their hearts. And if they're the type to shoot out the window of a moving bus, in the dark morning, with flash engaged, wondering why their pictures aren't turning out? Well they're still out here, aren't they? I don't want to judge. Not while the music is telling me that, “New Kids on the Block had a lot of hits,” and that, “Chinese food makes me sick,” reinforcing the fact that, “I think it's fly when the girls drop by for the summer.” When? “For the the summer.”

The bus took out out to Milfordsound, yet another world heritage site. I really do need to make a check list and see how many I've knocked off. There are less than nine hundred. Don't get me wrong, that's a lot – but I'd like to think I've seen my fair share. You go through some towns and you can click off a few. Sometimes just for the town itself.

We stopped and went on short little ten minute walks around mirror lakes, and through overgrown forest, reminding me of the Canadian rain forest that few people know to exist. The lake did not mirror, and the forest was less than beautiful, even with the gorge below carving out the rock wall. The sky was grey, and the rain was pouring.

While this detracted from images fired, when we came out the other side of Homer's tunnel, into a world reminiscent of that from the biological theme park, built on a small island off the coast of Costa Rica, the cliff faces were covered with dozens of waterfalls breaking up and joining together, like lightening bolts seeking the most direct route from sky to ground.

Beauty exchanged for wonder.

Alpine parrots hopped along while precocious teenage girls looking for potential partners, perhaps to be realized over drinks at the bar later in the evening, chased them. The male counterparts laughed on; the photographers were less than amused. I took my photos fast, and early. Do not underestimate the actions of hormone fulled Brits and Aussies away from home for the first time. The statistics of how many return with all sorts of fun STIs is shocking, until one thinks about it, then it just seems as if the guess were low-balled.

We boarded a boat and spent two hours travelling through the canyons, mountains cropping up all around. The first half hour was spent eating a hot buffet. There would be time to look outside when that was done. And there was. Standing on the observation deck I was one of a half dozen from the two hundred below, willing to deal with the winds and the rains. I would only be here once, and eight degrees is cold by no means. Especially when there was a heat exhaust nearby, keeping my camera lens warm and dry, if not myself.

Waterfalls, and scenic vistas turned a haze of blacks and greys presented themselves. Known to be one of the most beautiful places in the world, I will take their word. For me it was dark, and moody. Charming in its own right, but not something to make my top list. Still – with greens and blue bursting, I'm sure it could have been wonderful.

The boat let us off, after passing fur seals lounging on rocks by the shore, at an underwater observation centre. Descending down stairs, labels reading up and down seeming like optional suggestions to some of the visitors, we made our way to the bottom floor where portholes allowed us to view fish feeding, and black coral (white from that which covers it.)

What makes this centre so special is that due to the temperatures of the waters, the ten meters below surface simulate a depth dozens of times what it actually is. Fish that would not venture into these shallow depths make their way only here. It is a rare opportunity that could not hold many eyes, save for the, “two starfish having sex over there!”

Six voices screamed in a row, “I can't believe it! I have an aquarium setting on my camera!” Although, the ocean depths are not an aquarium, despite the fact that looking through glass animals are seen. More realistically it is us who are in a terrarium. But never mind that, too many voices screamed how they'd seen better aquariums elsewhere. It would be like going to a wildlife park and commenting on how you'd been to better zoos elsewhere. It was wonderful.

[note: listening to a music mix I've created, I just thought – Hey! That sounds like Matty P. And it was Matty P with his “Solo Slumber.” I forgot that I had/dug on this song. Good for you Matty P. You go Matty P. Send me more of your creations.]

The bus ride back was filled with sleeping, and for the last two hours, Team America World Police. Eh.

Back in the hostel I talked to people in my room for the first time and realized what this week could have been like in a social environment such as this. It was not to be. But there are still a few weeks left of solo travel to figure out.

Showered, and packed, I headed down to the movie room to watch one more flick – The Life of Brian. How had I gone this long without seeing it? I'll admit – British humour? It can be alrght, sometimes. Very rarely. But sometimes.

And that's that. Good-night Queenstown.

[note: I'm listening to “Gravity” from Glee. This is one where the guy wants to sing the song, so he has a sing off with the girl, and he stumbles and throws the competition by not hitting the right note. Am I the only person who thinks his version was terrible, and that even if he did hit the right note he still would have lost, on – you know – the fault of being terrible?]

At the Sound of the Beep

At the sound of the beep I will have been pain free for twenty four hours.

I'm sitting in my dorm room now, a girl sleeps on a bunk across from me while her boyfriend sits on his, directly across. He types away on his laptop, as I type away on mine. The Kooks sing about falling in love by the sea side, and I question the meaning of songs, something for the younger generation to be sure.

But then they can make the best recommendations as well. Dealership takes over with California, and it strikes me that before I know it August will be upon us, and I'll be back over on the west coast. Music will, in theory, be back in my life. The creation, the practicing, the writing – not just the listening to of canned prerecorded bliss.

Today started differently than others. Notably, I was not shivering as I stepped from beneath the covers. I was warm. The room was warm. The sun looked warm, and were we a few miles closer probably would have felt that way too. But the day was beautiful.

Never mind that the clouds were grey, and everything looked a wee bit upsetting. I was walking into the world without needing to pop a pill, or look at my drugs wondering. I could feel a dull beat in my side, but it was nothing more than an echo of once was. Still – I'd been fooled before, and knew that the drugs from last night (only one pill to get to sleep, rather than many) might be in the process of wearing off.

I made my way down to McDonald's to put some food in me, and connect to the internet. I don't really like to get political, but every now and then I care about things that straddle the lines of acceptable table talk and unacceptable. And what I was looking into today falls on that line. I'll try to make this brief.

A few days ago the Turks sent ships to Gaza, they were boarded by Israelis, and nine people were murdered. The IDF would probably use the term killed, but since I believe it was the founding people of Israel, in it's modern form – back in the forties - that decided that the term for civilians killed by soldiers was to be murdered I figure I'll keep that going here.

This was a terrible terrible thing to happen. Even if the people on board were terrorists, even if they did attack with knives first, to murder nine of them is a terrible terrible loss. And aside from the news agencies trying to report on it, the internet flew into flames. Some of the best parts of the CNN webpages were the comment sections. If you've never read these, you really should – or never should.

It quickly became a breading ground of pro-Israelis screaming, “I'm glad they were killed – all the ships should have been destroyed!” They weren't all that bad, some simply claimed that, “if a ship gets through it means Hamas has won!” The rational voices, as in most public forms, crying, “the loss of life on any side is a tragedy. And while Hamas may have control over Gaza, all sides should be thinking of the civilians.” This voice is quickly quashed by people screaming about how, “maybe Israel would care if they stopped firing rockets!” as if the babies being murdered were pushing in the launch codes themselves.

I quickly turned from the comments, and tried to read the posts from both the Isreal post, and the American and foreign press.

People have asked me why I don't go to Israel, and they talk about how beautiful it is. The answer to this question shouldn't be a hard one – it's the same reason I didn't go hang out in Dubai. Going to a country ruled by a crazed religious party terrifies me. Few things scare me more than religion ruling a country, and yes I recognize that America has strong ties with Christianity. And yes, America does worry me now and then. I've mentioned that more than a few times.

But the difference between America and Israel is this – you can speak out against the actions that America takes without people screaming at you that you're anti-Christian and that you hate God, and that you are pro-terrorist. It seems that when you speak out against the actions, especially these current ones, but there really have been so many to choose from over the years, it's not Israel's governing body that you're attacking. No it's the entire Jewish people, and culture – as if religion is in any way connected with citizenship. It's hard to voice an opinion when people are so quick to mention how back in the 1940s six million people were killed. (I guess I've switched terms again. This is more the word I'm in line with anyway.)

So what has happened today? Today the Irish ship, MV Rachel Corrie should [[BEEP!]] have entered into Gaza. Not having net access right now I'm not sure what has happened. But a number of terrible things could have gone wrong. I can only hope that at the worst they have been taken to a port in Israel where their humanitarian goods will be held for years without people who need them ever seeing them. But, as we saw a few days ago, sometimes things go wrong.

With a twitchy trigger finger the IDF could have destroyed the ship. With the eyes of the world on them now, though, I'm thinking they'd rethink that option.

But, my stance here is one that things need to change. The common cry from Israel itself is that no change is required, and that no other country gets treated this way. Every other country is allowed to treat it's territories how they see fit. Never mind that no country in our time as such auspicious origins as Israel, look past that and see that their leader's claim simply isn't true. I seem to recall a lot of protest about Taiwan, and Tibet. I seem to recall that that is ongoing.

In fact, there are a number of contested countries, and a number of governments that are being criticized for their actions. And you can be sure that in America murdered any aid workers that the whole world would come down on them hard. But, unlike Israel, they would probably bow to political pressure, and apologize rather than standing firm and cutting themselves off from an important ally. Sometimes taking the political route isn't a bad thing.

What bothers me is that no country aside from Ireland seems willing to make a move. The UN has made motions, but nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. America and Canada remain silent or seem to back Israel, urging the Irish ship to change course, or to bow down.

It's hard to imagine a country formed out of rebellion, bloodshed against external and internal enemies, would dare to tell another country that they should back down in their effort to take a stand. Especially when taking a stand is delivering construction materials, medical equipment, and toys to people who have been trapped, living in poverty, under a terrorist government for decades.

How millions can be raised for Haiti, and how actors can speak for the children there, while every top musician in North America is willing to get together and sing a song about how we need to bring peace to the world because of an earthquake, and then stand silent while this goes on is just beyond me.

It's as if a gag order has been slapped across the world. Do not criticize Israel. They're the one stable voice in the middle east. Really? They run over American relief workers (whom the Irish ship is named after) with Bulldozers. I remember the Chinese doing something like that, and being lambasted. In fact it's impossible to step foot in Tiananmen square an not think of that. Believe me, I was there. They answered a few rockets with hundreds. These were killing civilians. The Israel government claims that they need the terrorists to know they'll answer in force. That would be like decimating a village because the mayor killed one or two of your friends. In this decimation the mayor would be far away on vacation, as well.

Do not criticize Israel? Please. If any country was acting like this we would all rally against them in force. It seems to me that it was blockade runners, and first aid relief forces, and people willing to step up to the terrorizing actions of a seemingly crazed government that allowed for the creation of their country in the first place.

I'm not saying that I dislike the people of Israel. The few I've met, they seem like good people. Solid military training, not crazed, some play in great bands. Not the type I would picture murdering aid workers. I'm not saying I have a problem with Jewish people (I don't know where that idea would come from – but, you know – I did talk about Israel, and that seems to be enough some times). I'm just saying the actions of their government terrify me. And in recent hours have been most distressing.

That's it. I'll climb down off my soap box now. I am not in line with the terrorists. I certainly don't want them grabbing any more power, and I understand the awkward position that Israel is in. But if one of Canada's territories – say the Yukon – were taken over by terrorist forces, I'd like to think that we'd try and do more than put up a fence around them, and hope for the best. And when the world tried to bring them aid, I'd like to think we'd let that aid in. And if we didn't? Well then I'd have a problem with my own government as well. In the voice of Reverend Lovejoy's obnoxious wife, “won't somebody please think of the children?”

So that's what I did for a few hours. I read the news. And I read some comments. And the comments terrify me. But you get that everywhere. Someone posted on my video taken at the Oslo sculpture park that it wasn't beautiful art, it simply proved how perverted Norwegians were, and how all they want to do is slaughter marine life. It's the internet, and people aren't answerable for what they say. Looking for logic there is a fools errand, and like pulling slots – if you win once, you're only destined to keep at it, until you've fallen further behind once more.

I made my way to the library after that point, and spent some time reading children's comics about Anne Frank (very informative actually, although since it was written for kids, it had a terrified Anne saying things like, “ice cream is delicious.”) I also read the story of Shackleton's antarctic expedition where his crew was trapped in ice. It too, being for children, had them saying things like, “we are better now that you have returned! Our pain is forgotten!” This is after months on no food, killing and eating their dogs, and watching their fellow sailors suffer terribly. But, you know, what can you do? I also read the history of Wolverine.

When I made my way back to the hostel I grabbed a large pizza from Hell's and then booked myself on a day trip for tomorrow.

In the TV room I watched The Hurricane (who knew he lived in Toronto? - seeing the CN Tower did make me a wee bit sad to be away) and then Avatar. It was the first time I was able to read the Na'vi speak. And to be honest – it was better when I just had to guess at what they were saying. The translations? A little silly.

This makes the fourth time I've seen it on my travels.

Alright then – time to sleep. Big day ahead. twenty four hours, and twenty two minutes without pain. By the time I wake up I'll be a full day drug free too. And that will be wonderful. I felt the haze lift today, and no longer were all my thoughts and actions clouded. I quite hope I don't need to take the painkillers (which, apparently should not affect people like that) again.

Another Day in the Haze

Oy. Just think of all the money I'm saving.

Were I in Queenstown under normal mindspace, I'd have dropped a few hundred and gone out for a day trip today, and yesterday I probably would have thrown myself off of something high, and there are all sorts of other trips that the next day would be offering me. But nope, I need not worry about them. Not here, and not now. Now I just need to worry about drinking god awful bottles of water, and just bringing back the fog in the form of tiny little white pills.

Tiny little white pills which are nearly out. At first I thought this might mean I should go back to see a Doc in order to get more. But no – in this country codeine is available over the counter, no prescription needed – so every drug I need is ripe for the buying. And then I thought that perhaps if the drugs were running out it was because I should be better – but no, an internet search led me to discover that kidney stones can pass in hours, or pass in months. Let me tell you how excited that made me feel.

I found internet today, by the way. That was my big mission and I used it for the hour an a bit until my batteries died. Sure I could have paid 4.00 a hour to use it in the hostel and keep charged while I was typing, but McDonald's offered me a better solution – free with purchase. Sure it only worked in the McCafe, so no burgers for me, but the – I don't remember what it was? Some sort of frosted spiced – ahh, citrus slice, that's what it was. Yes. That's what I had. Only 2.60 and it let me surf for over an hour, so better value – and it came with the food, yeah? So forget you pay internet. God this city is blanketed with pay internet. The whole city. It's like pay toilets. Nothing good people, nothing good.

Once more – in the middle of Africa if internet is free for people on their crank wind up laptops, it should be free here too. Come on Billy G, divert your money to free slow speed connections around the world – pay for upgrades if you want. Farmville proves this system works. You only need a fraction of users to pay. Here's looking at you music distribution system.

So yes, that was my mission for the day, and by two o'clock it was completed. Leaving me with – with lots of day left, but not much to do. I hear there's a bookstore around here? I might seek it out, though it probably closes early as. Is that the right way to use the term? Or can it only follow sweet?

I'm going to level with you all, much as I've tried not to make them a focal point, I will right now. I want off of these bloody pain killers. I do. They're god awful. You can feel the haze in your mind, and you can feel how they make you feel differently. I don't know if it's obvious for all, or just because I'm looking for it – but when I thought jumping out of an airplane strapped to another person was a good idea, yesterday? That was not me thinking. Actually I probably would have done it today, did I not wake up without any drugs in my system.

I had a huge pain last night, and chomped down on far too many – waiting thirty minutes between batches hoping the god awful would just go away. When it finally did, and I slipped off to sleep, I slept and slept. By noon I still did not feel anything. Never had I woken up without anything.

All it took was two minutes out of the blankets for it to come back though. But – from my internet searching, I'm not sure what that meant. Because the pain – I read – is not from the stones. It's from the muscles trying to force the stones out. So if this is true, then waking up super bloody effin' cold, and shivering would be enough to agitate those muscles even if they weren't forcing anything. But no – with my luck – they're probably still there.

I thought I might not take any drugs today, see how it felt. About thrity minutes with the feelings back at about 20% and I realized what stupid idea that was. Chomp chomp chomp. Though I'm trying to stick to the no-name Tylenol, and keep far away from the codeine. The Ibupren does weird things too – and while it works the best, it slightly terrifies me too. I do not like painkillers. I do not like drugs. And that I'm now dependent on them to get through the day really really bothers me.

The internet also told me (I don't know how true it is) is that the more I drink, the more likely I will be to pass the stones. Think of every liter of water as a new chance. With that thought I will drink and drink. What could possibly go wrong? It's not like anyone has died from drinking too much water. Wait – what?

I can not read my novel – I'm at a part where the main character is using scissors to cut off part of his flesh that is bringing him pain, and I'm not willing to deal with that – with the flesh being too slick with his blood to hold on properly – this is not the comedy I was promised. And I've watched most of the movies I have. BBC news in the TV room doesn't do it for me.

But I have found a lovely couch near a plug socket to jack in and type, and listen to podcasts without shivering as I have been doing in my room up until now, and so there's that. And that's actually quite a lot at this point.

I have rolling headaches, and I'm always tired. And it's annoying because I feel like I'm wasting my chance to be in such a fantastic place. Mind you, I know I'm not. I've seen the city, gone up the mountain, hit up the luge, and driven hours outside of town and wandered forests. I've made good use of my time here, and when I look back on this time my memories will be nothing but good. It seems most of what people do here is go drinking anyway. Lots and lots of drinking. I just ran into someone, before two pee em, trashed in the bathroom. And I salute him and his efforts. But that is not for me. Not right now.

And like I said, oy. Just think of all the money I'm saving.

More people have moved into my room – and shock of all shocks, the heating system was on. I have no idea how they did this. I pushed every button on the machine. I ripped chunks off of the machine and tried to place them back as best I could, to ensure there was nothing inside that I could touch to make it work. But here it was spitting beautifully hot air.

Look – I wasn't going to complain. Gift horses, and mouths, and all that. Mind you, you really should know if your free horse is in good condition. Or, if you want to mix metaphors, you should probably fear gift horses unless you slice their bellies open like tauntauns and check for soldiers hiding out inside.

That sounds like a reasonable thing to do, yeah?

So I wasted the day. I can admit that. I did nothing today, and it wasn't a good nothing. It wasn't my choice to do nothing. If I wanted to do nothing, and I did nothing it would have been beautiful, but that wasn't the case.

I did – however – learn why I liked the taste of this McDonald's coke so much more than any other coke I'd had recently. It tasted like REAL McCoke. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but fountain soda from McDonald's is inconcievably better than Coke from any other source, bottled or otherwise. And I had forgotten this fact. It took me back to the summer of $1.00 sodas where a super large McSoda was only a buck in Toronto. What a terrible time to be a diabetic. But still, it was oh so wonderful. And here was that soda again.

I wonder why the other McStations around the world don't use this syrup mix? Never mind – I was home in my ice-filled refillable (in theory, I've never tested it here) beverage.

As the night turned I headed back to the tv room, and watched Pelhem 123, and then the movie Blow. Followed up – at last – by Time Travellers Wife (which I'd seen earlier in the year on an airplane.) I've tried to read the end of the novel in bookstores, and it seems they do not end the same way. But who has time for all those words? Ah! I know – wiki will tell me.

More drugs, a quick shower, and then off to bed. A warm, warm bed. Bless these new people.

Up the Peak; Down the Luge

Wake up, grab some food – quarter pounder combo (I'm not willing to be experimental with my food these days. Surprisingly McDonald's is actually staying down, unlike in years past, when it has been nothing but awful. Unfortunately, I think my stomach has re-adapted to McFood as if I were a raging teenager.)

With food in my belly, and the sun shining over head, I had no choice but to throw myself out into the beauty that was the day. I bought myself a pass to head on up the gondola to the peak, overlooking the city, and I also grabbed myself two rides on he luge up there. Now – the last time I was zipping down a steep hill on a plastic luge, I was perhaps twelve years old. And the luge flipped over, dragging me down the concrete for some time, slicing up my leg. But hey, that didn't stop me then (I had a ride all I could pass, and I wouldn't let a thing like a bleeding leg stop me) and the memory of such wasn't about to prevent me from doing it now.

Getting up the hill however? That was going to be something. I do not like gondolas. I do not like not touching the ground. Airplanes? I'm down with them. But some rickety cable car suspended over the ground? Look – I was in San Fran and we had a few cases of the cable car losing control, or not working properly, in my week there. That was on the ground though, and getting out and giving a push to get it moving again was all that was required, or a little extra stopping distance. I was not suspended over a rocky outcropping.

I've been known to hike up mountains to avoid taking the gondola to the top. This is a true story. Out in British Columbia, back in Oh Six.

But there was no other way up, and the view was said to be magical. I'd seen some shots of it back a Angie's place, and there was no way I wasn't going to check it out. So into the gondola I stepped, and up we started to traverse. Nothing like a good 35mm cable to get you from point a to point b. I find that if I watch the world through a lens in these things I tend to feel removed enough to appreciate the beauty without, you know, the terror. And as a bonus, I ended up with a good number of pictures this way too.

Up at the top people were all dressed up in their winter gear, for the girls: bright pink toques, white woolen scarves and jumpers; hoodies for the boys. Gloves for all. Me? I had my hat on. And my thermals. There is no way I can exist anywhere in this city, outside of the t.v. room, without thermals.

Up at the peak there was a lookout point from which you could watch the mountain's shadow creep across the city far too early in the day. There are those locations where the sun rarely reaches, and it is there that the frost builds up tricking the unexperienced eye into thinking a snow has fallen. Here on the hill a blanket of white covers all, but it is not the fresh powder of a late night's snow. Instead it is the jagged crystals of frost and ice. A much less welcoming cover for the ground.

From the main station, to the wee little chairlift I walked, grabbing a green helmet on the way. The helmet? It was to protect me when my street luge went sailing over the edge and sent my plummeting down the mountain. At least, that's what I assume it was for. Maybe it was for when I feel out of the chairlift? You know – on second though, I'd rather not test either of those theories. So onto the chairlift I hopped, and travelled to the top of the top. Well, the top of this top. Surely there was still another bonus, hidden, top just around the trees.

As a paraglider came sailing past from above, my thoughts were confirmed. How he got there to launch, I'll not know as the take off ramp is clearly signed as being lower down the hill. Mystery elevator?

I jumped into my luge and was taught how to use it. Pull back to go slow, push forward to go fast, but not too far forward. If you push too far forward you'll engage the parking break, and be sent catapulting through the air in a spectacular dismount to the viewing pleasure of those stationed along the side of the track. So – back for slow, kinda forward for fast, real forward for doom. Got it.

And I was off. Down the scenic track (read: slow track.) You need to start off on the slow track and get a stamp, and learn how to do what you're doing. Scenic, I don't know about – not much to see from the luge, but then it was up the chairlift once more for my second run down the grown up track. This time I was willing to embrace my inner Katherine, who is situations like this is far more reckless (adventurous, perhaps?) than I and setting the luge to its top speed I whizzed down the track, making the banked turns, and hoping that the slow down sign was more of a suggestion than a requirement.

It turned out that it was, though I'm sure I pulled back a wee bit. Again – being launched over the edge? Not my idea of a good time. Maybe some people would enjoy it – but then there are people who enjoy being suspected by metal hooks pierced into their body. So – it takes all types, doesn't it?

Me. I just got to the bottom, took of my helmet, regretted not buying the pictures their automated cameras took (they really grab some good ones on the lift) and then headed back up to walk down and take some snaps along the way.

Being up there on the hill totally justified my use of the day. If I did nothing else, the things I was seeing were beautiful. And it was amazing to watch as the shadows covered the city. So rarely does the town below get light during the winter, due to the tall peaks. And from up above you can see why. You can see the frost lines, where the sun never reaches. Trying to imagine hiking up to the top in the fifties to look down below before the early trails were cut brought thoughts of great adventure, but then also the realization that I'd have had no desire to hike 480 meters up. Been there, done that, moving on. No more hikes. Hmm – in this part of the world, would that be better expressed as No More Tramps? I would like that on a t-shirt. I would like that as a name of a band. OR – the name of the leading album from Advice4Stew. Here's Advice4Stew, with their top single [insert name], off their latest album No More Tramps.

Yeah – I could see that working.

I stayed at the top taking pictures for all number of people, and having them take all number of pictures for me, until the chill started to kick in, and I knew it was time to head on home. Back at the hostel I managed to grab myself some meat pies (I don't know if I love them, or if I hate them – it could go either way.) and then consume far too much water and juice. With that being done it was in to the TV room for some warm warm relaxing.

Unfortunately, around ten o'clock the pain in my side decided that it was sick of being ignored. And as such came up with such a fury that not even my fist full of homemade drug cocktails could put it at ease. Right when Flight of the Conchords was starting too! Bah.

I tried to throw myself off to sleep.

I no longer had the room to myself.

Well, hopefully there'd be no waking in the night in pain – I'm sure that would only slightly creep out the new guy, just like when I got a charlie horse in Santa Monica. Hello, yes indeed I am the guy who screams in the night. Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well!

Following the Lord of the Rings

Well, I didn't wake up quite so late as I thought I would. 11:00. It's no post-noon, but it's no seven to nine for free breakfast either.

I think this is the first time I've not ripped myself awake for free breakfast. I've been known to wake up, eat, and then go back to sleep again. But not now. Another hint that something not quite right is upon us.

When I did get up I thought long and hard about what to wear. It was cold in my room, and if that was any indication of what it would be like outside (it wasn't – it's colder in room than outside... bloody hell) then I should put on my thermal top and thermal pants. In full butterfly outfit, I then dressed for the day.

Two hours before I had to meet the Land Rover for the LotR tour, I had some time to wander the town and explore a good five of its ten streets. When looking at a map of Queenstown, I can't help but think I was handed one of those abbreviated maps. One of those maps that shows the major streets, but none of the minor ones in between. But then you're out walking, and you discover you've crossed half the town in about ten minutes.

There is a mall here. I don't know much about it, but I do know it has a food court, and in that food court is a McDonald's supplying me with a BBQ Bacon cheese burger (sweet! It was a giant thick slab of bacon, the type you'd never expect to find at a McDee's, and the BBQ sauce? Not from their packets – no. It was very close to, if not the same as, McRib sauce. This was a treat.

Then there were the six McNuggets. Which would have been fantastic, were there not only five nuggets in my pack of six. Returning to the counter, I was met with dubious eyes – but who would lie for one nugget? And while I felt somewhat petty, that was 80 cents of chicken.

Hey – remember when McDonald's changed their nugget recipe a decade or so back, and started the big “100% white meat” campaign? Well – and I just had this pointed out to me – what the blood would they have been before? Chicken only comes in one colour of meat – white. It's not like we're talking turkey here.

With meal in belly, I wandered away down to the water. I passed a number of cafes offering free wifi. We'll see, cafes, we'll see.

Down by the water I made my way onto the pier to grab shot after shot of the mountains. I've said it once or twice already – I never get tired of looking at mountains. Never. They're constantly impressive, one might say remarkable. After all, the range I was shooting didn't happen to be called the Remarkables for nothing.

And then it was time to go wait at the top of my street for the ride out to Middle Earth, or some such thing.

It seems impossible to come to New Zealand and not see something Lord of the Rings-esque. Even ten years later, it's all the rage. And for good reason – it's not just that these locations were used in the film, it's that these locations are beautiful.

I took Nomad Safaris: Safari of the Scenes – Trip B: Glenorchy (not the gentlest title, but descriptive. I've managed to find the brochure with all this information and spelling, you see. Who needs the internet when you have advertising materials?)

The tour took us past Isengard (they're taking the hobbits to Isengard, to Isengard, to Isengard), the Camp of Ithilien, and the Forest of Lothlorien (which brought back terrible memories of the theatrical production which featured a five minute song of a girl just singing the name Lothlorien over and over again. You can't imagine something this terrible. I don't care how good the Balrog was before the first intermission – who watches this and thinks, ah, this is high quality art?)

Our guide had a book to show images of the scenes as they existed in the movie, and how they looked now. It was interesting to see them come together, but I found myself wandering away more often than not to take a picture or two beyond the range of their lengthening shadows.

Yes, they were just more pictures of mountains – but mountains are like giant chunks of floating ice. You need to photograph them from every conceivable angel. Nothing less will do.

And when we entered the forest, I went for a wander. It should be said that we visited, also, the forest which Treebeard called home. The only real difference between the two is that Treebeard's had smaller trees – which acted to make him look much larger on film. I had no idea he wasn't CG, but in fact a giant puppet.

The New Zealand landscape was a breathtaking one, and if I never manage to get myself out of the city again, I'm glad to have made my four hour escape on this day. Every moment there was something to swing your head around to look at, and check out, and be impressed by.

The greens, and the blues of both water and sky, were things I'd not seen in some time. And they were things I'd undoubtedly miss. I was told the South Island held the country's beauty – but after my bus ride from Auckland to Wellington I found that hard to believe. Not anymore.

The highlight of the trip? Well – not highlight, but moment that made me giggle... other movies are filmed out here. X-Men Origins: Wolverine was filmed here. And the guide, while describing it (as we all said we'd not seen it... which wasn't true, I had – but was in a haze and not 100% comprehending) claimed it was some movie about a man who turns into a wolf every now and then, and runs naked through the fields. You know, the more I think about it – not entirely inaccurate. But far from the truth. You'd think she'd have picked up a plot summary once or twice? Still – the license plate FR0DO leads me to forgive easily.

When finally I returned to the hostel, the the frozen confines of my room, I saw that I was still alone. Another long shower to be had. I also watched The Usual Suspects, not having had the ending ruined (somehow after all these years) but not being too surprised by it either.) Everyone talks about it being this great shocking ending, and once you watch it, you need to watch it again to see what was really going on – but nothing seemed all that out of place. It as more or less how I expected it to be.

Mind you – I do believe the movie was created in those days before shock endings were normal, with that M Night Shamalamanamalong guy, yeah? Still – this shock ending worked well in the Fight Club way to make you appreciate the movie more, rather than in the MNS way that made you just hate the entire thing: Aliens come to earth and are hurt by water. Really? Did they not see that that stuff falls from the sky? I mean what if it was raining when they dropped in on Earth, were they not even prepared with biosuits? And then that one where trees kill everyone, and at the end we're to believe that that would make the world take care of the environment, rather than clearcut every forest they could? Please.

I also finished up Once Were Warriors – not a happy romp through a magical wonderland, that film.

And then for good measure I explored the hostel, finding the TV room. And what greatness this was. Not because it let me watch movies until I was ready to pass out (that one where the girl becomes a boxer, fights, and dies cause some chick with dreads is a cheat – Hot Fuzz, yay! - Rise of the Foot Soldiers, which makes me wonder how many Brits are going to die horrible deaths this coming year in South Africa.) But, this room was heated. Really heated. Super warm heated.

It was wonderful. Pull up a bean bag, pop some pills, grab some juice, and tuck in for the night.

What could be better?

Wellington Airport to Queenstown

Well, early in the morning I was dropped off at Wellington airport where I was told I couldn't check in for some time. For the first time in my flying life I grabbed a trolley to roll my bags around on, rather than just carrying them. Yes, I may have felt a wee bit pathetic. But such is life.

Scoping out the area I found one plug socket on the floor next to the bathrooms hall. I would plug in my computer and watch movies until the time passed enough for me to check in. Again, though, it wasn't enough to watch movies. I had just sat in a new spot, and a such had to check for wifi. While there was said to be no free wifi here, it seemed as if I was sitting directly below their airport lounge. Their airport lounge which had three open networks for my high speed browsing.

Blogs, podcasts, and emails were downloaded – responded to – I should note I've started playing that terrible facebook game Castle Age, again. Time was spent.

And then I attempted to write the last few entries post here. Codeine was causing me to jump in an out of consciousness. Through the medical professionals told me that it shouldn't have any such effect, the box warns that it will affect driving. Not that I shouldn't drive – just that it will be affected. Whatever that means.

I blame the codeine.

Seeking out water, it was discovered that while free wifi can be grabbed the same is not to be said about water. A 750ml bottle? 3.99NZD. Ugh. Oh well, after I'd just paid 6.50 for a tasteless wrap, I didn't quite mind. And at this stage, skimping on food and water? Terrible idea. Seems to me that may have landed me where I am right now.

Finally I was able to self-check in myself, and then, collecting my boarding pass, I headed down to gate 13 – beyond the sniffing dogs.

The best part of gate 13? It opens and closes, an automatic door, letting people walk in from outside, on the tarmac. It really keeps you reminded that, yes, it sure is winter out there!

On board the plane we went up, and just as quickly we came back down again in Christchurch. Though I'd be spending some time in that town, I was not due to make my stay there just yet. Once more I went up, and came right back down again in Queenstown. This may have been my first short hop in a twin-prop puddle jumper.

It seemed strange that there was no x-ray of my items, no security check, I could take water on board. This is how flying must have been forty years ago. It's nearly impossible to imagine an airline / airport / country full of airports that simply lets you jump on board for your domestic flight.

Rather than being rushed for a 25 minute connection, I found myself with time to spare, waiting around for the boarding to begin.

But as I said, soon enough I had landed in Queenstown. The airport was more of a lodge than anything else, and as you might expect you simply grabbed your bag and headed out the door with nary a security guard in sight.

I grabbed the shuttle to my hostel (could have saved ten dollars by taking the bus, but I was in no mood to try and sort that out. As much as I'd like to pretend I am perfectly fine, and all better now, I'm more than willing to pay for convenience. This – of all things – should work to explain how I'm feeling.)

At my hostel I got checked in, and threw my bags in my room. The room was air conditioned to deal with the eight people that would fill the bunks there. The only problem? I was the only one in the room. It was cold. Freezing is a better descriptor. The room was freezing. Two blankets (one pulled from another bunk) were required for the illusion of warmth. On the plus side, the room being empty allowed me to spend as long as I wanted in the ensuite shower – with enough hot water than after forty five minutes, it still didn't seem like it would be drained anytime soon.

Yes, yes, I know, I read the sign saying limit your showers to eight minutes, but when it's the only place I can feel warm, zenned out, and at peace – a little disregarding is necessary.

When I felt ready to rejoin the world, I headed down to the travel shop and tried to book myself a day trip for the next day. There was one to a place called Milfordsound that looked interesting. Unfortunately it was fully booked. My next choice was a half day trip to Glenarchy (or something like that – it's hard to get proper spellings when there's no internet access. Ah yes – this hostel has no free internet access, and paying to surf? It just seems like bad form.) in a Land Rover stopping off at all number of Lord of the Rings sites along the way.

I wasn't so much as interested in seeing the Lord of the Rings sites as I was getting out of the city, and exploring the natural beauty that New Zealand offers.

Still – for the first time – it's hardly necessary to leave the city to see the wonders of this country. Queenstown could give Interlaken, in Switzerland, a run for its money. They're both beautifully set between the mountains, with lakes all around. The closest we have to something like this in Canada (and I would say it is quite close) in Banff. Were I to rank the three, however, Banff would take the bronze, while I desperately tried to figure out who was more deserving of the gold metal.

With day trip booked I headed out in search of pizza. I was not hungry – have not had much of an appetite lately - but I knew I should eat. And find some water to drink. There was a 24 hour shop at the top of the street selling everything you need for god awful prices, and a rather pricey pizza joint called Hell's Pizza just down the road. I had a medium Mordor (BBQ sauce, deer pepperoni, and things that I now forget.) It was pretty good. Pretty tasty. I felt only a little silly ordering a Mordor. Mind you, I was supposed to order a “Uncle Tony” (their word of medium) but just like a prissy coffee shops, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Pizza eaten, and no internet to speak of, I headed off to sleep.

at 3am we were all woken up by the fire alarm urging us to quickly leave the building. I had the presence of mind to put on clothes first. Many a girl wandered out in tank top and short shorts. It should be noted that it's winter here. Not Canadian winter, but real – in the shade, and when the sun is down – subzero winter.

Poor kids.

Into the 24 hour shop we all rushed until the trucks came, and we were told it was safe to go back in again. Real? Pulled? Drill? I don't know. What I did know was that being woken and sent out into the cold removed the effects of my late night pills. Time to pop some more, and then head on back to the land of Nod.

There's be time to figure this place out in the morning. The far far far from now morning. Some might even call it the afternoon.