The Thinker

You know all of this traveling around, meeting new people, experiencing new things, and seeing this great creation of a world has really gotten me thinking....

The Backpacker Blackhole

There are some places in the world that solely exist to cater to the backpacker sort. (or solely exist because of the backpacker sort). Corfu Greece seems to come to mind. They have everything that a young 18 year old fresh on their gap year would need. A beach, gobs of alcohol, cheesy nightlife to serve the alcohol, one small natural wonder to make it a legitimate stop, but (and most importantly) heaps of other beautiful bodies of the opposite sex all exploding into ripeness due to their leash being recently untied. Combine all of this with a bad lack of judgement and you have what I call a Backpacker Black hole. These are the kinds of places were people show up intending to spend two days and two and half weeks (and half their trip budget) later they are finally getting on a bus to go somewhere else. As they get on that bus they have little recognition of their time spent there and have put at least two of the local bar owners kids through college. I have concluded that Bryon Bay and the whole of the Australian east coast is such a place.

These places at the same time tend to attract a certain breed of people much like a black hole swallows light. It"s definitely a moth to a flame syndrome. Take my roommates in Byron Bay for example. In my dorm room I was placed with eight other 18 to 20 something British girls who, while being nice enough, had a knack to talk loudly, gossip incisively about the boys that they have kissed on their travels, and constantly walked around in their underwear despite my presence in the room. And speaking of room-they had this amazing ability to create chaos where ever they went. By the end of my two day stay our dorm room had became a bottomless pit of clothes, bags, playing cards, empty bottles, hair products, and women's underwear. Everywhere. Now don't get me wrong. Not that I mind a bunch of girls in the prime of their lives with hot accents walking around in their underwear. They just weren't exactly my cup of tea. I would say more along the lines of a strange mix of milk and soda.

So how do you avoid the effects of a black hole? You skim the horizon, take a good look into the center void and carry on to your next destination before the forces take hold of you and you are caught. Needless to say, I am keeping a pretty regimented schedule and sticking to it as I head up the east coast. But that doesn't mean I am impervious to the effects of gravity from time to time.

Most of my time in Byron Bay was taken up with planing the next two weeks, trying to meet sane people and surfing. And before I go on with my little story about gravity I would like to interject once again about surfing. I wanted to clear up my previous post about surfing. -I don't dislike surfing. I am just not very good at it yet. In fact, I have found a good spot near the "Wreck" and the right sized board for me and I have been able to get up quite a bit and it is a goal of mine to surf as much as possible while I am here. Just today I attended a surfing contest in Noosa.-but back to my story about gravity.

My second day in Byron Bay I was surfing and while taking a break on the beach I met a fellow from Norway by the name of Chris. Mind you the first clue that I was about to be sucked into the Black hole would have been the fact that Chris has been in Byron Bay for 10 days. He invited me over to his hostel for a BBQ. He was a nice enough fellow, I hadn't really met anyone to hang out with and it was St. Patricks day after all so I said yes.. Upon arrival I found that the BBQ was an endless sea of backpackers and tables full of cheap beer and boxed wine. (they call it Goons here for some reason). After 2 hours of endless drinking games and pre-drinking we ended the night by visiting to well known Bryon Bay establishments. The Beach Hotel (Aussies sometimes call their bars "hotels") and a funny little place called "Cheeky Monkeys" were people dance on the tables all night. The next thing I knew I awoke the next morning fully clothed in my dorm bed. Apparently I had the will and determination to make it back to my bed and to retrieve my alarm clock from my bag. But somewhere between retrieving my alarm clock and actually setting it I fell short in the task. I awoke with alarm clock in hand fully poised to set the actual alarm. The time was 8:30 am. The girls (plus two extra boys they seemed to collect in the night) were passed out in their beds-luckily for me still in their underwear. I had missed my 7:30 am bus to Noosa and the were not others going that day.

I wondered if this was how people get stuck in Byron Bay for ten days. They want to leave but who can argue with gravitational forces?

Remember in my previous post when I talked about controlling things and letting go when you travel such as this? This is a good example. In the end I was able to catch an evening bus to Brisbane for the night and from their catch a bus to Noosa the next day before I headed up to Rainbow Beach for my grand venture into Frasier Island. I had wanted to hit both Noosa and Brisbane but was forced to pick only one due to time constraints. Because of my delayed departure from Byron Bay the bus schedule actually worked out better to hit both and I got what I wanted with out controlling anything. Sometimes its best to just let the forces of the universe work things out for you.

Speaking of buses I want to leave you with one side thought. I bought a Greyhound Australia bus pass that allows my to hop on and off what ever buses they have running up the east coast. And I just need to really point out that they have really gotten it right. Now keep in mind that this is not the Greyhound that we have come to despise in the States. Its definitely not the smelly, dirty bus with the guy in the back that has been traveling for two weeks with out showering and who is currently cutting his toenails in the back of the bus. No Greyhound Australia, with it shining new red buses and middle age drivers who wear blue shirts and shorts with knee high socks and who actually load your baggage on the bus for you, is a far cry from its brethren in the States. The drivers even seem to dish out their service with a smile and a good sense of humor. And magically they produce a list with my name on it to board every time I add a segment to my pass on line.

If only the universe was so tightly run.

Me, A Bus, And the Dark of the Night.

If there is one thing that I have learned from this trip thus far, it would be the fact that people have this great capacity to love. And when I love, I love hard and usually unconditionally. It really can be boundless sometimes. I am certainly not half ass about what I love and what I don't love. It both gets me in trouble and allows me to soar sometimes. Most people don't understand that capacity and if they do usually they either become my friend or lover. But with such great ability to care comes great responsibility. Sometimes if I think if I didn't care so much about things my life would be easier. As I said, when I love, I love hard; And there is nothing more important than finding people and places that remind you of your capacity to love the world and the people in it. I think that measurement can be distorted by day to day life, job and obligations. And every once in a while you need a place or an experience to dust that measurement off and make it clear again. I think Sydney was one of those places for me.

(or perhaps Australia as a whole-as I write this from my moving bus window a rainbow has formed over the Australian countryside in the wake of a passing storm-it rains sideways alot here).

I felt as if I lived a whole other life in Sydney. I watched as a whole city rise to wake every morning and came alive again with young people in the evenings. I visited several beaches..Coogee, Bondi and Manly and surfed the later two. I visited the Blue Mountains for two days, where I witnessed herds of wild Kangaroo jumping through the bush. I witnessed Sydney's Gay Mardi Gras and drank plainly in front of the police openly on the street. I went sailing in Sydney Harbor under the Harbor Bridge and in the shadow of the Opera House. I was even allowed to sail the 38foot yatch for a while (above). I watched Slumdog Millionaire, Lost, Run Fat Boy Run, and The Dish. I visited the botanic gardens and ate in the southern hemisphere's highest revolving restaurant (Sydney Tower). I even attended a Purim Party (the Jewish Equivalent to our Halloween) dressed as a Viatcong. I hung out at the University of New South Wales and spent my Saturday nights in the "Rocks" district. I ate Pancakes at 1am. I had a picnic under the Harbor Bridge . I even attended a Pakistani Funk Music Show in the famed concert hall in the Sydney Opera House. I shopped at Paddy's Market and drove a manual for the first time on the left side of the road (much to Leeron's dismay). I had fish and chips in Watson's Bay and took in the glory of the bay from Camp Cove. I slept in, I got up early, I rode the bus, I had coffee in Darling Harbor. I ate out and I ate in. I laughed and I even cried a few times. And I did all of that as if I lived in Sydney. Or as if the city lived for me for a while. Its a great place.

As I head up the east coast now I wonder what is important to me in a place. At what point in your life do you finally have the courage to say what is important to you in the long haul and what are you willing to give up to have it. People make those kinds of descions every day and they make it seem so easy. Its hard to find a place in this world. The people who do are good at compromising and weighing what is important to them. That is hard to do when you have so much love to give and the grass always seems greener.

But I ask ..what if it actually is?

I head up the east coast now where apparently I hear there is a lot of love to go around. First Byron Bay, then Brisbane, then Frasier island, then the Whitsunday islands. At the top of the east coast I will end up (hopefully) at the largest living thing on earth - The Great Barrier Reef. But for now a very long and dark bus ride through the night. And my own thoughts to keep me company.

An American in Sydney

Or shall I say...A Stupid American in Sydney. For the story I am about to share with you clearly outlines my knack for disregarding the common sense and whole heartily pointing my head in the direction of doing stupid things. I am also a stubborn bastard sometimes. But the difference between me and other stubborn bastards is the fact that I am a lucky stubborn bastard. Lucky stubborn bastards get away with the stupid things they do (for some reason). Just ask my mom. And if this story doesn't prove that then I don't know what will. I have no pride. Otherwise this would be a made up story. Unfortunately it is not and the events that I am about to relay to you are 100% percent true.

I have been enjoying my time in Sydney. It is a young vibrant city with lots to do. One of those things to do is to visit one of the many beautiful city beaches at its disposal. This story starts with Sydney's most famous beach of all...Bondi Beach. Nestled between to coastal cliffs and squeezed out of the town of Bondi Beach, this small beach has all the bark and the bite. Being the most famous beach in Sydney it also attracts the crowds both local and international despite its relatively small size. Leeron (who has been the most gracious of hosts) and I decided to take a day and visit its tranquil ocean front and trendy vibe. We made our spot on the beach our own and soaked up the rays of the sun for a couple of hours. Maybe it was too much sun or too much peanut butter... I don't know... but the next thing I did was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. Neither of us had been in the water yet and we both wanted to sample a bit of the Tazman Sea before the weather turned sour. But what to do with our stuff? Had it been NZ then I would have left it but this was Bondi Beach after all. As a compromise I decided to take what most would call "their life" and buried it in the sand. When you travel the things most important are your drivers licence, credit cards, debit card, bus pass, phone card, student card and five dollars in cash. So that is what I lightly buried next to my towel. And I thought I was being clever. You can guess what happened next.

Lets put it this way. I was back at the house waiting for Leeron to finish up a meeting for school and nearly 9pm that evening before I remembered that I had done that. And I was by myself. When you lose your entire identification and means of pulling any money out of your bank account in foreign country you suddenly feel like a fish out of water. I had nothing but my passport and a twenty dollar American bill. I could cancel my cards, but how would I get money? I wouldn't be able to rent any more cars with out my licence. And do you know how hard is to get a new licence from the state of IL? I felt my trip would get increasingly harder. Worse off I had done this to myself? Stolen I could deal with but it was my hand that dug the hole that I found myself in. They still had to be there buried somewhere on the beach? Right? I suddenly became determined. I could grab Leeron when she was done, see if we could get a refund for our tickets to see Slumdog Millionaire (which we were able too-only in Australia) and systematically comb the beach starting from roughly where we are sat earlier this afternoon. I phoned her cell phone:

"You have a headlamp and a rake?"

Now when I think back..there are but two problems with a plan like that. The first is the fact that because of the change in tides and no visible land marks but sand and more sand- you have no real fixed reference for where you are or were on a beach. Especially when you come back hours later and in the dark. The second is the very obvious fact that finding a stack of cards 2inch by 4 inches long buried on a beach that is at least half a mile long is like finding a needle in a hay stack. I think the chances are greater that Elvis really will come back from the dead than finding that stack. But I am stubborn. And before I continue with this, let me interject with another short story to just illustrate how stubborn I can be.

Take surfing for example. When you really think about it surfing is a stupid sport. You get all waxed up, get a big piece of wood or fiberglass that essentially acts like a giant sail and fight your way against crashing waves. This is not even an easy thing to do and we haven't even gotten to the sport part yet. That giant piece of wood you are holding onto likes to float and each time it gets hit with a force of a wave picks you back up again and deposits you twenty feet back closer to the shore. At some point you manage to get on the board and paddle further out into more crashing waves each one pushing you back ten feet for every twenty you paddle. This usually goes on for about 20 minutes until you can reach a point where you feel as though you are in the right place whatever that means. Then you wait. And then you wait some more. And then you wait for a little while longer. All the while trying to avoid stinging jelly fish and currents that could sweep you out to sea. Searching for the perfect wave of which you have no idea what it looks like. When one finally comes along you try to position yourself with the wave behind you and paddle as if your life depended on it. (most of the time it does..). In a perfect world the wave pushes the board forward and you get up on it and its Hawaii Five-O. That usually doesn't happen. What usually happens is you paddle like a madman, the board gets pushed upright, you get thrown off, the board shoots out of the water like a bullet, the world fills with water, the sky tumbles over and over again, and in the end, you hope to God that the board doesn't come back and whack you in the face. You find yourself back where you started on the beach to start the process over again. Repeat and then you have something like surfing.

And that is supposed to be fun? I had gone out to Manly Beach north of the city to repeat that process over and over again. And after about four hours of repeating that process I got up on the board but twice and for only a brief 20 seconds. Four hours of life endangering hell for 20 seconds of standing on a moving board. Why? Because I am stubborn and I wanted to say I did. I suck at surfing. But now I can say I have sucked at surfing in Australia.

So comb the beach we did in the middle of the night. Each taking a large square of beach that I would section off and pushing our feet through it in the hopes of finding buried treasure. I am sure the romantic couples strolling on the beach had no clue what these two strange people were doing wearing headlamps and walking back and forth-back and forth for hours. After a while I lost Leeron as she headed back to the car to nap and to wait out my stubbornness knowing full out that this was an impossible task. (Bless her sole for even helping). I was left to the beach, the emptiness of my situation and a lot more ground to cover. Four hours later and six skinny dippers later I had accomplished nothing more than to make a huge geological pattern in the sand nearly a football field long. I silently wondered if this is why crop circles were created. It was 1:30am and I was tired and defeated and alone on Bondi Beach. I guess I had learned a lesson. Don't be so stupid and lax with your credentials. But then again I was stubborn and I covered ever square inch possible? Maybe someone had stepped on it? It wasn't buried that deep.

Upon returning home I phoned the New South Wales Police at 2am to report my missing life. The gentleman on the phone was a pleasant bloke who not only took the time to make a report for me but also took the time to give me phone numbers to cancel my cards. He even urged me to get some sleep afterword. Perhaps the Aussies have got the social services right. I felt as though I was ordering something off the home shopping network not the usual "I don't care because you are an idiot" attitude that I have come to expect from the police. I went to bed exhausted and confused. We were to leave for the Blue Mountains the next morning and surely I shouldn't do that. I was try one last option in the morning before giving up.

When I awoke I phoned the Lifeguard station on the beach. When I asked them if they had found anything on the beach the Aussie on the phone told me to wait a minute. He asked me my name.

"Yep..no worries mate...we got it right here".

That MACK truck that had been parked on my shoulders for the past day finally started its engine and drove away. The clouds parted and the sun came out. I think I heard angels singing somewhere.

In the end miraculously someone had found my little buried stack and had actually walked it over to the lifeguard station and crammed it underneath their door in the middle of the night. Think that would happen in the states? Possibly? Possibly not. But it did. And I got my life back. Minus the five dollars in cash that was also in the stack. But they can have that five dollars. And I am embarrassed that I didn't have more money in the stack to "give" them for their good deed.

Am I lucky? Yep. Am I an idiot for burring my stuff in the sand? Yep. Moral of the story? Don't be clever. Chances are you are just being stupid.

Australia!

I really wanted that movie to be good. Didn't you? I mean for the first time Hollywood was focusing its sights on a country that until recently has gotten little attention from the western world. Here was the possibility of the first big Australian Western epic. And unfortunately it fell into the hands of Baz Luhrmann and in the end made a better trailer than a movie.

Lets hope for my sake that this is one of those times that life does not imitate art. The point of this entry is to inform you that I have arrived safely and soundly in the "land down under". I have little doubt that the real Australia will disappoint. But lets think about this for a moment? Why do they call it the land down under? Down under what? Down under denotes almost a negative quality to something. Like a rat crawling to its little home in the basement? "Down under"neath your bed is where all the monsters used to dwell when you were afraid to turn off the light before going to bed as a kid. Do all the monsters of the world reside in Australia? Maybe so. It has more things that can kill you then anywhere else in the world. I read recently that of all the worlds most 10 poisonous snakes all reside in Australia. Even caterpillars here can kill you. That sounds pretty "monstrous" to me. Hmm..I have seen more cockroaches here in one week then I have seen in one whole year in NYC. Hell is considered down under. Australia is one of the hottest places on earth. Hell is supposed to be really hot...hmm....maybe someone is trying to tell us something here?

All aside I have arrived and arrived with a nasty cold and have taken to being bed ridden for the next three days. So I am bunkering down in Sydney for a while. How long you say? No clue...but that is the beauty of traveling the way that I do. In my exile however I have made already some conclusions about the place that I found myself in.

For starters. Australia (especially Sydney) is not like hell at all. Its a lovely place. With beautiful cities (I have only seen one so far) and pretty beaches. In fact it quite reminds me of the states in many ways and at times I have often forgotten that I was in foreign country at all. Put then every once and a while something pops out that reminds me of my tenure in hell. (or my tenure away from Hell-the USA-depending on how you look at it). After all they do call all of thier bars "hotels" for some reason. For starters they too like their New Zealand brethren drive on the wrong side of the road. No big surprise there. With the exception of some fashion woes (aka..some older people really like there knee high socks with shorts) the people are actually "laid back" here. They stop their cars for you as you cross the street by foot. In fact they are so laid back that it has even slipped into their speech. Abbreviated slang is the norm here. Sunglasses are "Sunnies". McDonalds is "Maccas" (don't ask me where that one came from) and the ever present mosquito is a "Mozzie". I had visited the Sydney Tower Restaurant the other day and politely asked if there was a coat check to check my bag into while I ate. The accompanied silence and blank stares that ensued from behind the reception counter did little to put me at ease. Some where off in the distance a car horn squeaked and a dog barked. I could have crossed the grand canyon twice in the time it took them to answer me. These people clearly had no idea what I was talking about.

"You mean a cloak room"? Accompanied by a strange look.
"Sure" I replied.
"No".
"Hmm"-as I cleared my throat. "I see".

Either its so hot in Australia that people don't wear coats even to one of Sydney's premier restaurants or I have a huge language barrier to get over. I thought Aussies spoke English?

They do however make the best Peanut Butter in the world. Ya..and Aussies are supposed to famous for their Vegemite. For those you who don't know what Vegemite is...its a rather disgusting black gelatinous-goo made from yeast that is supposed to be their rival to peanut butter. I would rather eat lint than digest such a thing. So I have focused rather intently on their peanut butter. Actually it was all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I was making for all my treks in New Zealand that put me on to it. Most products in New Zealand are Aussie made. Why is it so good you ask? Its the creamiest peanut butter in the world...even the chunky light kind. And its just different. You have to trust me on this one. The biggest reason I was excited to have that plane touch down in Sydney was the prospect of getting straight off the plane..walking to the nearest grocery store buying a case and shipping it home. Ayers Rock? The Great Barrier Reef? For get that..I am here simply for one reason. The Peanut Butter.

They also have one of the greatest inventions ever made. The deep fried Mars Bar. It is what is sounds folks. Yes the Aussies are so bad they have actually taken something that is 100 percent bad for you, deep fried it, and made even more bad for you. I would say somewhere around 125 percent bad for you. Maybe this hell? Only a place as bad as hell can do that. I sampled this fine cuisine one sunny day while visiting Bondi Beach in the eastern suburbs. I am surprised to announce it was quite enjoyable even though I needed a gallon..excuse me..a litre of water to wash it down with.

But the biggest difference I have noticed is the wildlife. You should see some of the common birds here. Some days..when I am casually walking down the street in Sydney..I feel I am in the jungle. I haven't even left the city yet. Wild bird calls and shrieking monkeys. And you should see the size of the bats here. But what can I expect from a country that harbors the like of the duck billed platypus? And herds of wild kangaroos that I witnessed "jumping" across the plains when I visited the Blue Mountains just west of the city. To put it in Aussie terms-there is "heaps" to explore here in that regard. Yet there is nothing to explore as their is literally nothing for miles. (Australia population is roughly 25 million and occupies about the same land mass as the US).

I am excited at the prospect that I have landed in the biggest city "down under". Yet beyond it is a whole empty expanse to discover. I know out there, there will be strange things, indigenous only to Australia that I will have never seen before. Including the best peanut butter ever made.

Bill Bryson is an amusing writer. I am reading his book In a Sunburned Country all about the Australian experience. It was a gift from my friend Katheryn. He has inadvertently become my guide and companion as I read his book and explore "Oz" at the same time. I think he put it best.

"This is a country that is at once staggeringly empty and yet packed with stuff. Interesting stuff, ancient stuff, stuff not readily explained. Stuff yet to be found. Trust me, this is an interesting place."

I love spending the night in Airports..

I knew there was a reason for me to go on this trip....I spent the night at the Auckland Airport and this is what I found. After watching this for twelve straight hours I believe I fell in love. On lap 361 I think she actually smiled. Or maybe she had something stuck in her teeth. I couldn't tell.

New Zealand Twilight

As most of you know I was supposed to leave New Zealand already. But then again the date I had set to leave was arbitrary. Blindly set nearly six months ago when the lady from Quantas Airways on the other end of the receiver needed a date to complete my set of airline tickets. I had pulled a date miraculously out of the air. That date was February 12th. As you can see that date has come and gone. In the end I have extended my stay in New Zealand an extra twelve days. They were an extraordinary 12 days and I will fondly refer to them as my New Zealand Twilight. Fitting I suppose as New Zealand is the first country in the world that sees the light of the new day everyday. I guess in that regard every dusk I witnessed was the first for that day as well. Its amazing this concept of time travel when visiting this part of the world. You skip a day by arriving here but also the time flys by so amazingly fast the next thing you know you have been here for two months. I shall have to organize a national scientific committee look into this phenomenon upon my return to the states.

On the Milford track I had met two Israeli girls. Their names were Leeron (which means " I have song") and Tal (which means "dew"). I found them to be good company so I hiked with them for the last two days. There wasn't much else to look at on the Milford so we talked alot and I got to know them very well. When I arrived back in Queenstown after my Cascade Saddle adventure they happened to be there as well. Well when you are traveling alone sometimes that is all it takes. They would be my traveling partners for my last days in New Zealand. (more on Israel later..)

After a brief walk on the glacier in Franz Joseph we made our way up the West Coast to the Nelson area in which we were to use as our lunch pad to venture into Abel Tasman National Park. Abel Tasman National Park is on the northern most end of the south island. It has another great walk called the Abel Tasman Coastal Track. We picked up a forth Israeli (Hiem) and we kayaked up the coast into the park to a lovely place called Anchorage. There our packs were waiting for us (the place that we rented the Kayaks from did a bag drop for us off the water taxi that frequents the park) and we hiked up another four hours to Bark Bay where we camped for the night next to the beach. It was a bit of an overcast day, and it even rained some while we were sea kayaking but it was amazing to explore the nooks and crannies of the coastline.



Mark Twain once said about the Midwest, " If you don't like the weather...wait five minutes". I think Mark Twain had never visited New Zealand. In fact..I am sure of it. If he had..he would have definitely said that about NZ. The next day was glorious. Not a cloud in the sky. And as we hiked back 6 hours to our car we finally saw what the weather did not allow us the day earlier. The full glory of the Abal Tazman. When the sun is out the water is this amazing teal blue and the hidden beaches along the coastal track are straight out of the Caribbean. We even were able to cross one of the tidal flats at near low tide. We had finally found a little bit of everything in New Zealand.






Distance Kayaked in Abel Tasman: 12.4 km (7.7 miles)
Distance walked in Abel Tasman: 21.9 km (13.6 miles)
Distance walked on trip to date: 253.20 km (157.33 miles)


Upon returning to Nelson we stayed with my Kiwi friend Sally for a few nights. She had a huge dinner awaiting us (and she didn't even know how many of us their would be). We dined on her patio over looking the sea. Feeling normal again and eating normal food. Sally has to be one of the most amazing Kiwis I have ever met. We will be forever indebted to her for her hospitality.

Two days later we were headed down to lesser known Nelson Lakes National Park for what would be my sixth NZ national park. Our plan was to hike up to Angelus Hut for a night. The hike up to the hut is very steep on at first which after about two hours you find yourself up on a very exposed ridge line all the way to the hut. Which is nestled far up in the mountains between two hidden lakes. We had a glorious day that day with views as far as the eye could see. Its topography reminding much of the various ridge lines found in the Rockies of Colorado. This would be my last back country experience in New Zealand but as it would turn out..New Zealand was not done with me yet. The next day we awoke to a torrential down pour. (coincidentally it rained at least one day on every major trek I did in NZ) We decided to take the easier way out and bypass the ridge and head down into the bush via the Speargrass Trail which follows Speargrass creek, taking only six hours to walk out. However two hours into our downward trek later we were still no closer to tree line. The trek proved to be one of the most difficult I would face in NZ due to the fact that we kept "loosing" the trail and had to cross the swollen creek several times as the trail wound down the mountain. After our third crossing we gave up on the idea of a dry crossing and began crossing the stream (boots and all) by simply walking through it. We were soaked anyway. It had been raining for hours. And then there was the mud. We are not talking get your boots dirty mud, were talking mud that would sallow you whole mud. Like getting stuck up to your knees- quicksand kind of mud. At one point, Leeron fell into it bottom first with me laughing and pointing the whole time. It just got hysterical after a while so it didn't matter. In the end we made it out but it seemed that New Zealand didn't want to let us go without a fight.

Distance walked in Nelson Lakes National Park:32 km (19.8 miles)
Distance walked on trip to date: 285.20 km (177.21 miles)

After Nelson Lakes we took a day and drove through Queen Charlotte Sounds. Here I had finally come full circle. It was here over a month before that I had taken the ferry from the North Island and begun my South Island Adventures. It was good closure for me. I felt as if I had done what I had come to do and I even got more than I bargained for. My last days in New Zealand were filled with adventure, moments of relaxation and the best company one could hope for. Knowing I had at least that makes it easier to move on...