Queenstown again

When you suffer from sleep depravation, nothing seems real, everything is distant - like watching TV with the sound turned off. I’m not sure if it was because of the lack of sleep I’d had the previous night, or if it was the shock of looking up and seeing my parents smiling and waving at us, but it just didn’t seem real when we first saw them again. Or maybe it was because I had gotten so used to only seeing them in photos and over a webcam, that all it took was the glass of the lobby window separating us, to make it seem like looking at a moving photo. Well, that, the inane grins on their faces, and the ecstatic waving you’d associate with a one-armed window cleaner, sponsored by "Redbull". I’m sure they were thinking similar thoughts as we looked just the same.

For the next 24 hours, it was like I was living 60 minutes behind life; it wasn’t until after I left my parents, that I started to believe I had just seen them again. "Did I speak to them? Did I manage a conversation? Am I talking out loud? Man, I need some more sleep."

The day passed with the simplicity of extended confusion and the anticipation of waiting to see them again. By the time, I'd finished with work for the day and met them in front of the harbour, I was well and truly ready for a holiday. We guided them through the immense 300 metre distance back to our apartment and asked them about their travels so far. It was strange to be discussing “travelers’ tales” with my parents, and for once, not being the teller. We then took them to dinner at our favourite Japanese restaurant before leaving them at their hotel, and returning to our apartment and blissful unconsciousness.

We left the airport in our newly hired Subaru Legacy, sped down memory lane into Queenstown, and went straight to “Ferburger”. When my parents first confirmed they were coming to New Zealand, I knew I would have to introduce them to these monstrous burgers. Plus, it was just a good excuse for me to return.

The sun was looking favourably on us now, but the forecast was less encouraging so we decided to start the journey to 'Milford Sound' a day early. Stopping en-route for coffee and Kodak breaks, we reached our intended accommodation in Hollyford Valley just in time for dinner. Described as quaint, beautiful, and historic, it was a museum of cabins from the 1930s with wood burners for heating and insects for companionship. Dinner commenced the moment I stepped out of the car and the first little sucker announced to his friends there was new blood in town. Thankfully, mum's expression of initial impression left no doubt over our desire to stay, and the owner bade us farewell with a smile and a blessing.


We now had no choice but to backtrack 50 km to the nearest alternative accommodation, without knowing if they had any availability, or have any mobile reception to call them. There was also the important factor of whether we would arrive in time for a restaurant to still be serving food, so we had to move quickly. However, when you have 4 tourists in hire car, who are armed to the teeth with photographic technology, there is always something to stop and have a look at on the way.

As it turned out, our timing of arrival was impeccable; there were a couple of rooms left, the majority of the dinner guests had finished and vacated the dining room, and the French chef had just packed up to leave. True to his nation, he surrendered to our orders easily, and swiftly returned to the kitchen to cook up some dinner.