This far down the south island we're starting to see the snow-capped mountain ranges that run down the middle of the country, like the spine of the island. I've never seen mountains this close before, where I can make out individual tentrils of snow running down the mountainside.
The bus gets into Franz Josef in the late afternoon, with just enough time to see the sunset over the high, razor mountains that surround this tiny town. Next morning, bright and early (oh so early) we're marching down the chilly streets to the glacier tour company's office. They've told us to wear about 4 layers of warm clothes, and after they've kitted us with oversized, spiked moonboots and another waterproof layer of pants and jacket, we look like michelin men. When our guide turns up wearing short-shorts and a skin-tight skivvy we begin to wonder if he knows something we don't.
At the bottom of the glacier is a wide, rocky river bed where the ice has carved through the rock and then receded over the
centuries. Scrambling over rubble and shale towards the huge hunk of ice squatting between lush, green mountains under a blue sky seems unreal, as though it was just dropped there by mistake on the way to the antarctic.
The first ascent up the skirt of the glacier was the hardest, gripping the cold, wet rope with mitten-ed hands and stomping my spiked boots into the steps carved into the sheer wall of ice to get some grip. Slowly it became easier and surprisingly, warmer. By the time we stopped for lunch at the first plateau I'd stripped off two layers. Eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches whilst sitting on a huge slab of ice, looking down through high mountains out toward the sea was a thrilling and beautiful experience, not to mention, weird.
Our guide had trouble remembering our names and took to referring to us instead by country. I got used to responding to shouts of "Careful there, Australia!". The ice got bluer the higher we climbed, becoming glowingly transparent and smooth. We slid through deep blue crevasses, slipping past the melting walls hoping rays of sun would find their way down to warm our shivering hands. We were stuck in one such gap in the ice for twenty minutes or so as our guide went on ahead to cut down an overhang of ice that crossed our path.
The descent seemed to take a quarter of the time, with us almost jogging down the ice. It was a refreshing change from the careful, cautious climb upwards. The clouds were closing in, blocking out the clear blue sky that had warmed us for most of the day.
By the time we got back into town I was ready to curl up next to a heater with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Tomorrow...Southwards to Queenstown.
The water in parts of New Zealand is so amazingly blue it seems unreal, our driver tells us mineral deposits from the rocks in the riverbed cause it, but that doesn't stop it looking magical.
Lake Wanaka, when we arrived later the next day, was too rainy for skydiving but perfect for a day inside Puzzling World. Optical illusions and mind games made us wonder, while whole rooms with slanted floors and physical illusions made us seasick as our brains tried to correct the skewed perspectives we were seeing.
A short stop at the famous AJ Hackket bungy spot for one of the guys to throw himself off the bridge got me pumped to do another bungy. Finally I rejected doing the Ledge (a feet-free bungy over Queenstown that allows you to take a running jump half-way up a mountain) due to lack of funds and decided to do a night skyswing over the Queenstown lights.
-- H in Oz
The wild west coast of the south island isn't the most picturesque when seen through a haze of cold drizzle, while shivering on an isolated lookout, but it sure captures the feeling of untouched, untamed wilderness. The sea crashes in white foam over the black rocks that cover the coastline as far as the eye can see, with no holiday home to spoil the view. Any holiday home would have been swept off the cliffs by now and the beaches there have certainly never seen any sunbathers. 
Grey sky, black rocks and white foam on one side of the road as we drive down the deserted highway, high green mountains covered in rich jungle palms populating the other. Towns along this way seem to be beating off the encroaching wilderness on every side, scrabbling to carve out a piece of civilisation in some Jurassic lost world. Barrytown, population 50, is one such town. Barely a blip on the radar screen, it's only claim to existence is being the only place to stay overnight between here and there. Out here in the sticks normal rules don't seem to apply, and they cater to the busloads of tourists that stop-over with the 
best in rural hospitality. Happy hour in the local/only pub lasts for two hours, but only if the drinkers are in their finest getup from the dress-up boxes provided. Half a dozen grown men in party frocks dancing on the bar is a sight to see. The g-string incident alone would stop me being able to look at our busdriver the same way again for the rest of the trip.
-- H in Oz
The cabins at Abel Tasman National Park weren't sold to us very well by our bus driver, quarter star was, I think, how he described them. Really, apart from the fact that the cabins seemed to be balsa wood cubes with one blow heater apiece (keep in mind it's about 5 degrees at night here) and the kitchen had one two-element gas cooker propped up on wooden blocks, it really wasn't so bad. The obligatory hostel-cat, made fat from the scraps of tour-buses before us, was beginning to be a theme at all the backpackers we stayed at but what I wasn't prepared for was walking out of my cardboard box/cabin one morning to stare bleary-eyed down the beak of a wandering peacock. My brain taking several seconds in that pre-awake state to grasp that there really was an exotic, brightly coloured bird more suited to the palaces of the British raj sitting in the middle of the barbeque area. Odd animal experience aside (did I mention there was llamas in the field next to us?) the National Park was fun, and us girls took the relaxing option of a day sailing around the scenic coastline on a small yacht. What I didn't bank on was that although the temperatures weren't rising above 19 degrees in those parts the sun over NZ is incredibly strong (legacy of the hole in the ozone perfectly positioned over the island) and I had 
to make a quick trip to the corner store for some sunnies. The law of buying sunnies at a corner store states that nothing there will look any good whatsoever and so I eventually came out modelling my new baby pink eye-shades, rugged up and ready to ... well, lie around all day really. The coastline around there is, of course, beautiful like all the natural scenery in NZ. The hot sun mixed with the chill wind blowing from the speed of our craft, though, produced an odd effect where you could be perfectly warm while in sunlight, but the moment the shadow of the sail swept across you the surrounding temperature would seem to drop about 10 degrees. Nevertheless it was a fun day, spotting a lone fairy penguin heroically paddling away, buffeted by the waves of our boat. The seals were less energetic and only distinguishable from rocks when they lazily rolled over to sun their other side. We spent minutes discussing what kind of bird a hugely oversized seagull-creature was, that we spotted when we stopped at a sheltered cove for lunch. Eventually we decided it was a seagull, and the reason it was so big was that it had eaten all it's friends, which simultaneously explained the fact that there was only one and also that we really aren't ornithologists.
-- H in Oz
This far down the south island we're starting to see the snow-capped mountain ranges that run down the middle of the country, like the spine of the island. I've never seen mountains this close before, where I can make out individual tentrils of snow running down the mountainside.
centuries. Scrambling over rubble and shale towards the huge hunk of ice squatting between lush, green mountains under a blue sky seems unreal, as though it was just dropped there by mistake on the way to the antarctic.
Our guide had trouble remembering our names and took to referring to us instead by country. I got used to responding to shouts of "Careful there, Australia!". The ice got bluer the higher we climbed, becoming glowingly transparent and smooth. We slid through deep blue crevasses, slipping past the melting walls hoping rays of sun would find their way down to warm our shivering hands. We were stuck in one such gap in the ice for twenty minutes or so as our guide went on ahead to cut down an overhang of ice that crossed our path.
The descent seemed to take a quarter of the time, with us almost jogging down the ice. It was a refreshing change from the careful, cautious climb upwards. The clouds were closing in, blocking out the clear blue sky that had warmed us for most of the day. 
