Vitam vas v Ceske Republice

Imagine being a baby again, but being as aware as you are now. Imagine not having the ability to speak properly & only having the capacity for a few simple phrases. Imagine what it is like being in this situation for days on end, only grasping the threads of conversation as they fly past at lightning speed. It’s exhausting. Like the thick grey fog that obscured Prague airport on our descent, I had now entered a vast linguistic cloud, that light could barely permeate. It was going to be a bumpy ride.

The first thing I noticed on arrival is that when people know you don’t understand, they don’t tend to direct conversation towards you. This is only natural as it would probably feel as ridiculous as talking to an animal, but it has a way of making you feel invisible. I felt disjointed, like a ghost hovering in the background. Thankfully, some forms of language breach the international barriers, and I was brought back to existence, with a firm handshake, a warm smile, and the chance to use a few of the expressions I did know. I instantly liked Lucie’s uncle.

That evening, the whole family gathered at her parent’s house to welcome us. Lucie had warned some of them of our impending visit, as we’d acknowledged the need to fuss and prepare in some, but her brothers and sister had been left in the dark. It was therefore, a great moment of joy and relief when her sister (two & a half years old) hugged her at the door, and didn’t want to let go the rest of the evening. Her brothers managed to take the moment more casually, although both were extremely overjoyed that she was home.
The evening was manic. So many happy faces, so many hugs and kisses, and so much I didn’t understand. Lucie translated as much as she could, but wasn’t often given the time before another question or piece of news was sent her way. Two and a half years away from a family home tends to promote conversational overlap and obliterate any chance of pauses. I picked up on what I could, and answered as many questions as possible in Czech, but largely I must have looked like an attentive dog - eyes following every word, but a vacant expression giving away my ignorance. Whatever I did manage to say, was greeted by her grandmother as if I’d danced on water, and my successes were immediately announced to the room. I look forward to the day that I can have a conversation with her; there’d be champagne & fireworks afterwards.

Much as our visit to the UK, our main reason for being here was simply to see the family, so I didn’t expect anything more. True, I would’ve liked to explore Prague, but I accepted this would be left to our next visit. It was therefore, a pleasant surprise to see a little of what her home town, ‘Pardubice’, is famous for. No, this wasn’t a demonstration of ‘Semtex’, although the action was just as explosive. ‘HC Pardubice’ are likened by her grandfather as the Manchester United of European Ice Hockey, due to their popularity and excellence. They have been the starting point of many players that now frequent the NHL (Dominik Hašek, Otakar Janecký, Aleš Hemský, Jan Bulis, Milan Hejduk, to name a few), and always guarantee an exciting match.

Less famously, but even more cherished, both Lucie’s father, uncle, and grandfather played here, and her younger brother, Vojta, currently plays in the youth team. Perhaps it was because of these connections, and not the fact her grandfather is in the ‘Ice Hockey Mafia’ (as suggested by her uncle) that we were able to attend the sell-out game without buying tickets and entered the stadium through the players’ entrance. We watched them trounce Ceske Budejovice and managed to catch up with one of Lucie’s friends in the process.

We only had two full days in Czech, and two half days when travelling in and out. We knew it would go fast, but I don’t think either of us expected it to be so tiring. There was barely a moment’s rest with always people to see or something to do. My fatigue was also partially attributed to the amount of alcohol I consumed. Lucie’s family’s hospitality towards me bordered on forced alcoholism, as nearly every meal was accompanied by beer and wine. On one occasion, this was with my first meal of the day, although admittedly, I’d slept in and was having an early lunch.

Despite our energy (and toxicity) levels, I greatly enjoyed our time in the Czech Republic, and look forward to returning. I hope that some day, we will explore this country as much as some of the others from our travelling. Perhaps, by then, I will be speaking the language fluently but I don’t expect that to occur for many years. There doesn’t seem to be a single word that is similar to the English version, there are soundings that are practically impossible to pronounce, and seven case endings to contend with (nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, vocative, locative, instrumental). At least, I have a willing teacher to help me along the way.

Round the world & back again

Two months of planning / eight weeks of lies and deception. What started as a simple suggestion in a text message, led to one of the most memorable Christmas Day’s ever. It was going to be a road-trip around NZ. It became a globe-trip.

It was the initial reaction that we’d been particularly looking forward to, and it didn’t disappoint – mainly because there were no heart-attacks or paramedics involved. My parents walked into the room and we came into view. A confused look of strained comprehension fighting against logical thought, forged lines across their brows. Then their jaws dropped, faces lit up, and eyes opened as wide as the doorway. Dad accepted the reality fairly quickly and his smile came easily. Mum, however, seemed to want to cross the room, and make sure we wouldn’t disappear when touched, before giving in to her joy. It was magical. The happiness spread from face to face like wildfire. When they had us in their arms, and resigned to the truth, their eyes shone like the sun, and tears fell to cool their cheeks. Sentences were restricted by emotions to single words and monosyllabic exhalations. They held us like a kid hugs ‘Santa’, and we returned the feeling ten-fold. It’s a moment that I believe will stay with me forever, and I’m eternally grateful to my brother for making it possible.

Many similar moments of surprise followed as we saw other family members and friends, but none were as emotionally potent as the first. Some people managed to act casual in their greeting but confusion reined supreme on their faces. It was obvious that people wondered if it was their eyes, memory, or knowledge that had failed them.

The main afterthought to this surprise was realizing how well, Lucie, I, Stuart, & Em, had all managed to lie so convincingly over the previous 2 months. Granted, this was made distinctly easier by the fact it was highly unlikely to occur, but the web of lies was still intricate and compelling. In our defense, I can only offer that the cause was just.

In total, we only had around 4 full days in England, broken up in the middle by a trip to the Czech Republic. We’d traveled around the world and back again, and barely had time for our bodies to adjust to the time difference. Our reasons for such a short trip is mainly attributed so a limited annual holiday allowance at work. Every extra day we stayed in the UK, would be the loss of a long weekend exploring New Zealand. There was also little point in hanging around into the New Year as people had to return to work. It would only be delaying the inevitable.

I managed to catch up with a couple of friends, but as most had even quicker visits planned to their respective family homes, I missed many more. In truth, we didn’t do all that much when back – we ate loads and slept loads. We lazed around in front of the fire, sank into sofas, and wrapped ourselves around booze. People back in New Zealand asked me afterwards (amongst other questions) what the weather was like. I told them, “it was cold, wet, gray, and miserable – it was perfect.”

There are many different opinions offered on what home is: “where the heart is”; “the place you can never be turned away from” etc. And it is those things, but to us, we noticed it is the place we felt completely relaxed in. When walking into both Stu & Em’s, and my parent’s places, we felt worries dissipate & warmth surround us. Cynics may utter that this is the wonder of central-heating (a novelty not seen in most of New Zealand), but others will think about their homes, and know exactly the sensation I describe.

Sulphur Searching...

There wasn’t much cause to stop in Hamilton. A museum, a zoo, and a Mormon temple are among the top attractions. However, there is another option that offered us something more appealing.

We’d taken a Friday off work in reward for successfully Christmas shopping for 14 people on the previous weekends, and now sought a relaxing long weekend. The botanical gardens 3 km south of Hamilton city-centre seemed like the ideal place, both geographically and psychologically, to make our first stop on this journey. The place is a multitude of contemplation arenas brought from across the globe and its ages. A Chinese scholar’s garden from around the 11th century is a good place to start, before you drift, ‘Shoin’ style, into the Japanese offering of Zen. Moving forward, we passed through the Italian Renaissance, felt more at home in 19th century England, and ended up in American modernism. Ironically, as the world changed around us, it felt that time stopped and our stress evaporated. Our only reason for finally moving on was the hunger that awoke us from this state. Our stomachs craved similarly deep nourishment to that our minds had received and we retreated to the car seeking sustenance.

We made the rest of the distance to ‘Rotorua’ in good time, and after a little phoning around, it wasn’t long before we were collapsed on our bed, and rejoicing in relaxation. We agreed that we wouldn’t worry about money this weekend (as much), and would consequently free ourselves from one of a traveller’s biggest concerns. Technically speaking, we haven’t been ‘travellers’ for some months now, but while we’re still seeing new things, have others still to see, and haven’t won the lottery, we still worried about the most cost effective way of doing everything. With our grand plans, this may remain our disposition for quite some years.

My parents had previously recommended the ‘Stone Grill Dining’ restaurant in ‘Rotorua’. There is another one in Auckland, not 20 metres from my office building, but as we were new in town, had no intention of cooking, and were getting hungry again, we went to that which was known. It didn’t disappoint. The novelty of this restaurant is the fact your food is brought to you, with the meat uncooked, and served on a slab of rock that has been heated to approximately 400 degrees Celsius by a custom designed oven. The extent of cooking (or secondary murder, in the case of steak) is then down to your discretion. Plate-licking is not recommended.

The next morning saw the only event that had a strict schedule, and therefore commanded some form of organisation and coordinated movement from us. At 10:15am every morning, the ‘Lady Knox Geyser’ at ‘Wai-O-Tapu’ begins her aquatic firework display to an audience drawn from afar. Those already sceptical of this reliably predictable event are correct to suspect. It seems ‘Mother Nature’ needs a little help these days, and is aided in this instance, by a few hundred grams of soap powder. This decreases the surface viscosity and sets off the show. Not exactly 100% natural, but at least it cuts down on the waiting and provides an impressive display.

If this did disappoint, then the rest of the ‘thermal wonderland’ would more than make up for it. I’ve never seen such amazing variety of colours in mud, lakes, and rocks. These included an amazing collection of pools and submerged terraces of incredible contrasting colours appropriately called ‘The Devil’s Paint Palette’, and the famous ‘Champagne Pool’ – a 60 metre wide explosion crater with bubbling green waters and deep orange borders.

On the way out, we stopped at the mud pools and spent far too long desperately trying (and mostly unsuccessfully), to capture the moment the mud bubbles burst, before returning to town. This left us the afternoon to explore the local thermal option, ‘Whakarewarewa’. It lacked dramatic impact after our morning’s viewings, but made up for it in cultural offerings – despite feeling somewhat Disney-like. There was a ‘Maori’ village, live sculpture carving, and an educational show demonstrating ‘Maori’ customs, dances, and songs. For lunch, we opted for the traditional ‘hangi’ – a mix of chicken and vegetables, wrapped in leaves and cooked underground.

In the evening, we reached the climax of relaxation - a post-dinner dip in the hot pools of the ‘Polynesian Spa’. This was built on the site of ‘Priest Springs’ and offered 31 hot mineral pools ranging in temperature and pH value, the majority of which overlook ‘Lake Rotorua’. We watched the clouds turn pink, the sky a deep orange, and the first stars appear. The air cooled and we sank deeper into the warmth. If we’d taken drinks along, we’d have stayed for hours.

The next day, we took the long way back to Auckland. Stopping first at the local adventure park, to see where ‘Zorbing’ was born, and then at ‘Kaituna Falls’ – a 7m drop that we intended to white-water raft over at a later date. Next it was an hour or two on the beach at the Bay of Plenty before a reluctant drive back to Auckland and an end to our break. We found ‘Rotorua’ to be a great escape with many colourful surprises and many adventures left to tackle. We never did quite get used to the sulphurous smell that engulfs the town, but it wasn’t as bad as we’d expected. The hint of eggs was there, but they weren’t quite rotten yet.

Warming up for Christmas

In the run up to Christmas, we felt at odds with our surroundings. The warmer it got, the less festive it seemed. As everyone moaned about a patch of cold, wet weather, we experienced a whisper of what felt more right.


The days grew hotter and the evenings longer. It became customary for us to take our dinner to our bedroom, climb out the window, and dine on the roof – drinking red wine until the sun went down and the warmth left the glass.


At the start of December, we were visited by some friends of traveling past. Olli & Rikka, a Finnish couple we’d first met on Fraser Island in Queensland, and later said goodbye to in Cairns, were passing through Auckland on their way home. Both of our travels had ended for now, although Lucie & I were a lot farther from where we started. It was a nice feeling to catch up with old friends, in a new place, and as if no time had passed. We swapped our amended traveling resumes and toasted our onward journeys. I’m sure we’ll see them again, but in what country or year, remains to be clear.

Abel & Willing

North of Kaikoura, the road and the coastline flirted like teens until the dominating terrain of the ‘Marlborough Sounds’ distracted the courtship, and we cut across to ‘Picton’. Being the marine gateway to the south island, and thus by definition (we assumed), a major port, it was a pleasant surprise as to what ‘Picton’ was actually like. By the low population (under 5000), and lack of gross developments, its simple threshold status seems never to have been surpassed, and it remains beautifully true to its surroundings of rainforest and golden coves.

Our unexpected appreciation of the area led to lunch and a short wander, and though we’d have liked to stay longer, all of us knew that another destination was calling. The distance to ‘Nelson’ was short, but the roads were procrastinating, so we didn’t arrive until early evening. This reduced our exploration to a hunt for the nearest decent meal, and we never saw more of the ‘world’s most art-deco city.’ Instead, when morning came, we journeyed away from the city and towards ‘Abel Tasman National Park.’

The road came to rest at a tiny bohemian-like village called ‘Marahau’, that held the keys for exploration in the park in the form of kayaks and water taxis, and sheltered a fleet of wood-carving herbalists, whose artistry was displayed in a makeshift gallery.

The park offers some of the best walking tracks & beaches in New Zealand, with an infinite supply of golden sand, perfect blue waters, rainforest interior, and limestone caves. The most appealing way of exploring the area was a 2-day kayak tour. This involves roaming the waters and resting on beaches during the day, feeding from barbeques, and sleeping through the nights under the watch of the stars. We imagined that it would be an amazingly relaxing getaway, and look forward to visiting the area again to try it. Unfortunately, our time was now finished in the south island. After only an inadequate wander on one beach, a drink in the café, and a chat with a hippy, we were forced to return to ‘Nelson’, drop back the car, and board the smallest plane I’ve ever been on. We thanked the heavens that the flying conditions looked perfect, and put our trust in ‘Air New Zealand.’

We used the last of the weekend to relax with my parents, and show them around the local area. Then it was back to work for us, and a little trip to ‘Rotorua’, ‘Hamilton’, and ‘Hobbiton’ for them. They joined us again on Tuesday evening, racing back from their new adventures outside Auckland, for a culinary seafood adventure at our place. The next evening they returned the favour, by taking us to the ‘Orbit’ restaurant at the Sky Tower, and we toasted our travels in New Zealand. Similar to the hellos that were said two weeks prior, our goodbyes took place before work commenced, and once again the moment seemed unreal. It was a different style on this occasion, but denial was undoubtedly the same culprit. It had become so normal for them to be living just down the road, popping over for dinner, or meeting us in town, that I’m sure we didn’t want to believe the truth was going to be a 24hr flight away again.

For many years now, I have considered my parents as friends more than guardians. This is not solely attributed to my independence, or my father’s immortal immaturity (don’t ever change dad), but due to the relationship that exists between us. True to any friendship, there were moments on the trip when fighting was imminent and distance was tempting, but on the whole, it’s a holiday I’d happily repeat again and again. The only possible problems would arise from our livers and hearts in attempting to cope with all the alcohol and fry-ups.

3 is a Magic Number

Wildlife has always played an important role in the attention connected to 'Kaikoura' (pronounced ‘Ki-ko-da’). Excavations have shown the area to have been a moa-hunter settlement approximately 1000 years ago - in fact, the largest moa egg (or pieces of) ever found (240mm long, 178 mm wide) was recovered from a burial site near the present ‘Fyffe House.’ This was built by George Fyffe after emigrating from Scotland in 1854 to join his cousin, and is one of the last remnants of that era. Robert Fyffe had previously established the first European settlement here in 1842, in form of a whaling station, and it remained the whaling centre for New Zealand until 1922. After the whaling ended, deer & sheep farming and agriculture flourished, until 1987 when once again the aquatic giants rose back into the spot-light, and the country’s first commercial whale spotting tours were established.

The reason for their abundance here is attributable to the convergence of warm and cold currents at the base of a steep continental shelf. When these mix, nutrients on the ocean floor are swept up into the light zone, attracting a vast array of organisms ranging in size from krill to the might blue whale.

Other guests to this nautical buffet often include dolphins (Hector, Dusky, Bottlenose, & Common), fur seals, orcas (killer whales), pilot whales, and the charismatic sperm whale. From the skies, attendees include shearwaters, fulmars, petrels, and the magnificent royal and wandering albatross.

Any of these contenders would be a welcome sight on a voyage, but the star of the show is undoubtedly the sperm whale. As nature can never be relied upon to put in an appearance when desired, it is recommended that you allow a few days in the town to increase your chances of a sighting. We arrived late on a Wednesday morning and immediately reduced our chances by foregoing the trips available that day, and instead opting to go the next morning. It wasn’t the whales so much that we were thinking of at the time, but hopes of perfect conditions.

We’d escaped the worst of the weather, but were still within range of the storm’s mighty breath. It carried across the land in a piercing cold wind that made the people haunch over, and whipped the sea into frenzy. However, the end of the tunnel was well lit. The locals assured us that a cold wind is always followed by a calm sea and a content sky. As ever, we remained optimistic.

The afternoon was now free to relax, but never being able to sit still when there is exploring to be done, we were up and out of our accommodation before the 50th wink was reached. We wrapped up in pretty much every layer available and headed out to the fur seal colony. We encountered our first furry colonial, not a step beyond the car park, and with each step after, we noticed another. The trick wasn’t so much in spotting them, but in trying to not spot the dead ones, being stripped of their layers by the opportunistic gulls that resided next door. Thankfully, the undeniable beauty of the area, made the truth about the seals more deniable; in the end we reasoned that some of them were just a little thin and other were just taking a little nap.

That night, we dined on the town’s namesake, ‘Kai’ – meaning ‘food’, and Koura meaning ‘crayfish.’ Expensive and ultimately unfulfilling in terms of appetite, it was a delicious traveller-necessity of visiting the area, and I’d recommend a half to anyone.
Morning arrived and our hopes had been rewarded. Not only were the skies a perfect blue, but the mountains had been blessed with a covering of snow. The backdrop to our day was looking perfect. Now, all we needed were the whales.

I was impressed with the set-up of this trip from the moment we walked through the reception, past the gift shop, and into the departure lounge with flat screen TVs - The business of whale watching was clearly fruitful. This was obviously aided by the distinct lack of competition and thus monopoly on the experience gained by only one company having Maori consent to operate.

We boarded our assigned vessel and sat back to watch the mandatory safety video, before enjoying a special effects feature that illuminated the dark world beneath the surface. This was coordinated with our boat’s progress away from shore and out over the ocean trench, upating us on how quickly the shelf was dropping away. From there on out, it was a question of waiting, enjoying the view, spotting albatross, and waiting for the call from above. Spotter planes are the bringers of light on this expedition, which is why bad weather has such an impact on the success of finding whales. When the call comes in, and the coordinates are relayed, it’s hands to rails, and top speed to the vicinity.

The first thing that you can see of the whale is the spray from its blowhole. Apparently, this can be seen from miles around, but I question whether if not using magnifying apparatus or the eyes of a hawk.

It appears as nothing more impressive than a floating log at first, and doesn’t really get more exciting for 90% of the rest of the time it’s in sight. The strange thing is the effect that these things have on you, when they’ve had enough fresh air and take another dive. It’s this moment, when the body arches, the head dips and the tail rises to curl majestically before slipping below the surface, that grabs your attention like a perfect sunset. This is the moment that is captured for posters, postcards, and imaginations around the world. It’s another one of those things in life when the penultimate moment is followed swiftly by the end of the experience; once the whale dives, it is unlikely that you’ll see the same once again in that trip (being champion athletes, these swimmers can hold their breaths for up to an hour). So with a flip of the tail, the whale provides a final salute to the world, and a wave more recognizable than the Queen’s.

Into Hot Water

Our hopes of aerial exploration were renewed the next morning with the idea of doing a flight around the glacial region, but once again the weather decided otherwise. We walked around town with one eye on the shops and one on the skies, but knew our chances of flying were lower than a Bin Laden's. We checked out the famous glass blowers, and saw some Kiwis (birds not humans) and tuataras (native reptiles), and then got back on the road. We’d decided that if the mountains were bringing down the rain, then we’d have to cut across country, and go beyond their reach.

The route across the south island at this point cut through a natural gap in the mountain range and consequently was a far straighter, easier, and faster drive than further south. It meant we arrived at the spa town, ‘Hamner Springs’ by early afternoon and had plenty of time to relax in the thermal pools.

This town strangely seemed to mark the furthest reaches of the rain as it was carried across the south island. The clouds approaching from the west looked dark, furious and unrelenting, but by the time they were above, their temperament had calmed, and only a light mist fell. If this pattern continued further east, then the future would be bright.

An Icy Reception

Heli-hiking on Fox Glacier was probably the main thing we were looking forward to doing on this trip to the South Island. It would be a first of many things for us: flying in a helicopter, seeing a glacier, and hopefully exploring some ice caves. When you’re looking forward to anything in life, you can’t help but picture how you think it might be. If you’re an optimist then this will always be perfect – perfect weather, perfect experience, and everything that you hope for. Unfortunately, the same curse that ridiculed our vision of ‘Mitre Peak’ in Milford Sound was back to taunt us again. Nothing personal; I've now discovered it's just an effect of meteorology and geography - the South-Westland lies in the path of a band of wind known as the ‘roaring forties’. Once this wind rises to pass the Southern Alps, it cools and drops its cargo as rain and snow. On the plus side, this is what feeds the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers and keeps them in existence, but it doesn’t help much when trying to view them from a helicopter - our flight was officially cancelled.


In truth, once we’d seen the advent of rain, our desire to do the hike fell in a similar fashion. There was no point doing the trip, just for the sake of it, and we all knew that it would be miserable in the wet – especially considering the cost involved. No, it would have to remain on ‘the list’ for another day. However, just because the helicopters weren’t flying, didn’t mean we couldn’t take a peak at the base. No point, passing through the area without at least a glacial glance.


I’d previously only seen glaciers from the modest distance of the cruising altitude of a commercial aeroplane, or while snowboarding on top on one. Either way, it’s a little hard to properly gauge the monumental size of the things and thus appreciate how impressive they actually are. As well as the size, (13km long, 300m deep, and a vertical drop of 2600m) the glaciers of this region have a few extra attributes that separate them from those that reside elsewhere in the world: A high amount of snowfall on a nevés larger than cities, combined with basal sliding, and the incline, cause these glacier to have flow rates up to 10 times faster than most valley glaciers; amazingly the terminal face of Fox Glacier is just 300 metres above sea level, 20 km from the coast, and in the middle of lush rainforest. For these reasons, both glaciers are also easily accessible.

We left the car park with the simple desire to walk to the nearest view point and just see the glacier from afar, but once the beast was in sight, it beckoned us closer and we forgot about the rain. It looked massive from a distance, but was infinitely more impressive once we were standing beneath its jagged haunches and watching roaring white water burst forth from its mouth.


Once the rain had seeped through to the skin, we called it a day, and headed on up the coast. The plan was to stop at the next town as we knew how early people in these parts stopped serving dinner, but the first few options didn’t seem warm to outsiders. The only thing lacking was a banjo playing hick and the squeal of a pig. Dinner began to seem less important.


In the end our patience was rewarded, but our wallets were dented. Chosen for the fact there was a restaurant on-site, we stayed at a posh out-of-town place near Hokitika called ‘Stations Inn’ and had the best dinner and night's sleep yet.

Post-Haast

The route from Queenstown to the west coast has to be one of the most beautiful in the country. The road starts with a winding ascent to panoramic glory, takes a stroll amongst the hills, and then opens out to crystal lakes and never-ending mountains. It's the sort of journey that would never bore; offering a different experience with every subtle change of weather, season, or time of day. Breaks in the clouds creates spotlights from heaven that illuminate different aspects of the scenery like a gallery of the gods.

Our original plan was to drive straight through this area and make it to the coast before nightfall, but our delayed departure from Queenstown meant we needed to find accommodation sooner. It was this twist of fate that led us to 'Makarora'. It wasn't so much what was at this village that made it so special, but what wasn't. It was pure & peaceful, and oh-so relaxing. An occasional crisp breeze swept down from the mountains and cleansed the soul, while the surrounding greenery breathed good health. If we'd been road tripping without time-constraints, it's the sort of place we'd have stayed for at least a week just to revitalise in doing nothing.

The holiday park was practically empty when we arrived so we had the choice of two dozen 'A-frame' cabins of variant degrees of luxury. Lucie and I chose basic, whereas our more mature travellers on their gap month picked something a little more upmarket that included a bathroom. By the time we made it to the restaurant at the grand old time of 7:30pm, the chef had already left for the day so we were left with only what our caffeine-fuelled waitress could muster. This turned out to be a feast of toasted sandwiches, microwaved-quiche, and round after round of wholesome booze. It seems amazing that a location that had so little could win our hearts so quickly and provide so many warm memories.

The next morning we fuelled up on fry-up, and were back on the road early, giving plenty of time to get to Fox Glacier in time for our afternoon ‘heli-hike’. Soon after ‘Haast Pass’, we made our first stop of the day to check out the famous ‘Blue Pools’ of Mount Aspiring National Park. Although only a 15 minute walk from the road, these pools felt like stumbling onto another plane of existence. The contrasting colours are almost too rich to be anything other than a dream. Deep azure blue glacial water gathers in light-grey cradles of rock. The surrounding forest is covered on every surface with life and colour that appears prehistoric and preserved. The water is so impossibly clear that fish appear suspended in air.

The only thing that contradicts the lost atmosphere is the quality of the bridge that crosses the river and how well-kept the paths are. Like some route through a theme world of an amusement park giving people a glimpse of the past. We wandered around the waters, skimmed stones, and soaked up the surroundings, before reluctantly acknowledging the movement of time, and the need to move on. From this point on it was pretty much all downhill. The valley floor widened and the mountains on either side faded into the distance before meeting the ocean and disappearing beneath the surface. When we faced a similar fate upon reaching the town of ‘Haast’, the road turned sharply north and we followed the coast towards glacier country.