Hey everyone,

> A Kiwi (New Zealander) and an Aussie are walking along one day when the Kiwi
> spots a sheep with its head stuck in the fence. Taking advantage of the
> situation, the Kiwi hops behind the sheep and goes about his business. "Hey
> Aussie, want to have a go?" asks the Kiwi.
>
> "Sure."
>
> So the Aussie sticks his head in the fence.

My apologies for not writing at all for a month. I have been moving around
so quickly and doing so many crazy things that I simply haven't been able to
spend a significant amount of time behind my laptop writing a thorough
account of my travels. On top of that, I left the power adapter for my
laptop at an Internet shop in Wellington, and I have been unable to use my
computer at all for several weeks. I was lucky enough to have it sent back
to me, and now I am up and running again. And now I'm going to do my best
to remember all of the beauty and excitement that has been the last four
weeks.

Everything people have said about the South Island has been true. It's more
beautiful and more exciting than the North. The lakes are bluer, the
mountains are higher. The rolling green hills are still covered with sheep,
cattle, and deer, but on the South Island they're surrounded by snow-capped
mountains. And there's a lot more to do.

After taking the ferry across Cook Strait to the South Island, we hopped
back on a bus. Some mountains were covered with grass chewed down so finely
by sheep that it looked like Astroturf, others covered entirely with gorse,
a shrubby pest with brilliant yellow flowers, and still others had been
clear-cut and hastily replanted with fast-growing pine trees. I had seen
similar destruction in Tasmania.

Our first stop was Nelson. Known as the sunniest city in New Zealand, there
are two mountain ranges on either side of the city which squeeze all of the
moisture out of incoming storm clouds. A small place, but a refreshing sun
break from the rest of the country. Maoris called New Zealand "Aotearoa",
or "Land of the Long White Cloud", but I think "Land of the Nimbostratus"
would be more fitting. It seems that the country is covered by thick
blankets of the stuff most of the time.

Kiwis (New Zealanders) are proving to be just as curious about Americans as
Australians. One night while I was in Nelson, I went up to the old
cathedral to catch a sunset from the top of the hill. Two 15-year-old girls
were chatting away on a park bench just below me. Then they introduced
themselves.

"How ARE ya mate?"

"Good and you?"

They heard my accent and took a moment to readjust themselves in their seats
to face me. "We live in Nelson," they said. The conversation dwindled down
to nothing (as it should with 15-year-old girls), and I turned to leave.
"How big is your dick?!" one of them screamed before following me down the
hill and halfway back to my hostel.

From Nelson, I took a couple of trips to nearby Abel Tasman National Park, a
beautiful collection of rocky islands, green water, orange beaches, and
purple mountains. I spent one day kayaking up and down the coastline,
stopping at a few rocky islands to visit seal colonies. Great fun but
tiring when you're paddling against the current. I spent the next day
walking the famous Abel Tasman Coastal track. What an adventure that was.

After taking a water taxi to Awaroa at the far end of the park, the plan was
to walk back down to Anchorage Bay where I'd be picked up by the water taxi
again at 4 p.m. I arrived in Awaroa, bought a big, juicy orange, and
immediately set off down the trail. It's a very well-marked path over hills
and through a forest of ferns, with lots of scenic lookouts and the most
refreshing air you can imagine coming off the ocean and swishing through the
trees. But I was beginning to wonder why no one else was on the track. At
Onetahuti Beach, the walking track just dropped off into the ocean. A
nearby sign read, "This tidal crossing is only passable two hours before and
after low tide." Fucking fantastic. I put my camera down and got
comfortable. About twenty minutes later, I was joined by a young Japanese
guy with a bushy goatee and a huge backpack. His name was "Yas", I think,
and he didn't speak much English. So there I silently sat with Yas for two
hours, eating my orange and waiting for the tide to go down.

The ocean finally began to roll away, and I waded across the ankle-deep
water to find the track on the other side. I was beginning to wonder if I'd
make it to Anchorage Bay to get picked up by the boat at 4 p.m. There were no
phones along the way, so I picked up the pace a bit to make it there on
time. Through more fern forest, across mountain streams, around splashing
waterfalls, and over orange beaches and shell-covered tidal flats. The
hills were getting steeper, and the sun was getting hotter. But I pressed
onward.

By the time I found a public phone in Torrent Bay, it was 4:30 p.m. I called
the water taxi and explained that I was held up by the tides and that I had
no way of reaching them along the way. I asked if they would be kind enough
to come and get me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"All of our boats have come in, and there is no more service today," said
the woman on the phone.

Fair enough. But there are no roads in the area, and water taxis are the
only way in or out of the park.

"Are there any other water taxis that might be doing a late run in the
area?" I asked.

"No. You'll have to spend the night in Abel Tasman," she said.

Shit. The sun was going down and it was already starting to get cold.
There were no hostels or places to buy food. I didn't have any camping
equipment with me, and I didn't have any food with me.

"Well, you can charter one of our boats to come and personally pick you up.
That'll cost you $120."

Hmm. Charter a boat or freeze to death?

Just then, a guy got on the phone and told me that he had a friend in the
area who might be able to give me a lift. We arranged a meeting, and he
came to pick me up about an hour later. Picture the boat in Jaws. Same
thing.

I waded through the cold water and climbed aboard. The guy's name was
Aaron, and he was travelling with his wife, two kids, and a friend. I dried
off and deeply thanked him for coming to get me. He was very friendly but
didn't talk much, spending most of his time steering the boat, scanning the
horizon, and talking to his wife. They offered me a beer, a Canterbury
Draught. Good stuff! The only beer I've ever tasted and liked. I sat down
and tried to relax. Aaron's two kids took turns staring at me.

He finally dropped me off in Motueka, about halfway to Nelson. It was
already 8pm and dark. There were no buses and no taxis. Aaron was staying
in Motueka, so he dropped me off at a pub in the middle of nowhere. I
walked in the door and everybody turned to look at me. I could have sworn I
heard the record scratch. I shuffled over to the bar, and, as Aaron
suggested, asked the grizzly bartender if he knew of anyone who was heading
into Nelson.

"No."

I looked around a bit, hoping that some friendly local had heard me ask the
question and would offer me a ride. No offers. Just blank looks. So I
went into the pizza place next door and had dinner.

After finishing my chicken and corn pizza, I placed myself on the curb in
front of the pub and stuck my thumb out. I was still wet and freezing cold,
and I could hear Shania Twain booming from inside the pub behind me.

Cars passed by, but no one would stop. I was feeling discouraged when a
huge party bus full of 50-year-old women pulled up in front of the pub. The
women poured out of the bus screaming "Sex on the bus!" over and over again,
and formed a conga line as they went into the pub. Figuring this might be a
ride back into Nelson, I asked the bus driver if he would be leaving any
time soon.

"No."

So I stuck my thumb out again. More cars passed without stopping.

A few minutes later, two of the 50-year-old women came out of the pub and
offered to give me a ride back to Nelson if I would strip for them on the
bus. I would be lying if I said I didn't consider doing it. I was
desperate. But not desperate enough. So I declined. They grumbled
something and then darted back inside.

So I stuck my thumb out again. More cars passed without stopping.

Just then, an older guy comes out of the pub.

"Still waiting for a ride?" he asks. Apparently, he saw me when I went into
the pub.

"Yes! Going to Nelson," I said.

"I can take you halfway," he replied.

His name was Mack, and he sold Mack trucks. He stopped at the pub for a
quick drink and was on his way to a party at a friend's house. He must have
really liked me because he drove me all the way to Nelson and dropped me off
at the front door of my hostel. Great guy.

Back on the bus, I made an effort to meet some of my fellow travelers. I
spotted a girl decked out in UCLA gear, and I figured that I should take the
opportunity to throw a few insults in her direction (I went to USC, UCLA's
arch-rival).

"Did you really go to UCLA?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I went to USC," I said. She looked at me blankly.

"Maybe it would be better if we didn't talk to each other and if you stayed
on THAT side of the bus from now on," I said with a shit-eating grin and a
wink. She didn't seem impressed. By the end of the day, almost everyone
else had formed their exclusive groups or was travelling as part of a
couple, so I began spending more time with Ilja (a Dutch girl who likes to
shag bus drivers and farts a lot), Victoria (an English girl who is a bit
more selective and never farts), and Anthony (a young English guy who smokes
a lot of pot), all travelling alone and all with similar schedules to mine.
They would become my traveling companions for the South Island.

We spent the next few days going down the west coast, where long stretches
of country road and one-lane bridges suddenly turn into winding roads along
rugged coastline. Lots of natural fern and rimu forest, a few rock
formations, and, for the first time, snow-capped mountains. We stopped at
the foot of one of these mountains for some old-fashioned gold-panning,
keeping whatever we found. Kneeling in the brilliant blue, glacial-fed
Whataroa River, I swished my rusty pan around a few times and walked away
with a small piece of greenstone (jade), a tiny garnet, and a few specks of
23-carat gold. We also stopped at a west coast museum to hear about the New
Zealand possum epidemic, pet an eel, feed a wild pig, and throw some knives
at a block of wood (none of mine stuck).

We spent a few days at Franz Josef Glacier, a huge pocket of ice and snow in
the Southern Alps which has been advancing and receding since the last Ice
Age. I spent an afternoon flying over it in a helicopter and hiking across
the top of it. Blue sky, shining sun, and surprisingly warm. Donning boot
talons and an ice axe, I scrambled up and down the huge blocks of ice that
make up the glacier. The blue snow cracked under my feet, and if you
stopped for a moment, you could hear the glacier cracking in the distance as
the ice broke up, pushing the glacier slowly down the valley. A beautiful
place. Back at the hostel, I had my best night of my life at the pool
table, winning 12 straight against some pretty good English and Danish guys.

We continued through the Southern Alps to Mt. Cook, the highest mountain in
New Zealand, where we got off the bus for another nature walk. Walking
around the base of the mountain, we were treated to magnificent reflections
off of Lake Matheson and deep breaths of the cold, moist, super-oxygenated
air of the surrounding sub-tropical rainforest. As I have many times
before, I stopped for a moment to think about how lucky I am.

Then to Makarora for some wilderness lodging, drinking, and jet-boating down
the Wilkin River. We'd speed across the river through the cold mountain
air, violently twist around to spray grazing cattle with water, and then
dart off again in the opposite direction. Those boats are incredible. I
was the only one on the boat who got drenched.

The next day, drove past Sam Neill's huge country house and then rolled into
Queenstown. Surrounded by mountains and perched on a lake, Queenstown is a
beautiful town. I would frequently walk through town to gaze at the
mountains or hear performers playing jazz music on the street.

Queenstown is also New Zealand's adventure capital. And it was the Kawarau
bridge where I did my first bungy jump. My mom begged me not to do it when
I talked to her on the phone.

The Kawarau Bridge was the world's first bungy. It's suspended between to
hills with the fast-flowing Kawarau River below it. It's 43 meters (141
feet) from the bungy platform down to the river. They drove us from
Queenstown to the site and used a red marker to write "74" on my left hand
and "KJ" on the other. I stood on the bridge for a few minutes, watching
people jump before me. I was scared, but it seemed easy enough, so I
volunteered to go next.

While strapping the bungy cord to my feet, the guy asked where I was from
and then asked me if I believed in the death penalty. Not knowing where he
was going with this, or why he was asking me this while strapping a bungy
cord to my feet, I told him I'd talk to him about it after the jump. Then
he asked me what I had for breakfast. I told him he'd soon find out.

As I wiggled my bound feet to the edge of the bungy platform, I really got
scared. I coaxed my face into producing a smile and paused for my pre-jump
photo. Then it was time to jump. I told the guy I needed a moment to
collect myself. Looking down, I could see my feet tied together with my
toes over the edge, and the fast-flowing river below.

"Three, two, one...." And I jumped, screaming like a girl all the way down.
Pure exhilaration. My outstretched arms splashed into the water below
before I was whipped back up again by the bungy cord.

Sorry, Mom.

A few days later, I took a trip up to the snow-capped Remarkables for some
snowboarding. I happened to go on the last day of snow season. I couldn't
have timed this trip better.

I spent the next week on the cutely-named "Bottom Bus", touring the south
end of the island. Strangely, I was the only one on the bus for the first
leg of the journey. Andy, the long-haired bus driver, and I enjoyed some
much-needed peace and quiet. Andy would occasionally point out the
southernmost hydroelectric plant in the world, or the southernmost vineyard
in the world, but most of the time we'd just sit there and absorb the
scenery. Occasionally, I'd look out the window and see a giant banana, or a
giant lobster, or a giant abalone shell (paua) as we drove into small towns.
Every place is desperate for an identity. We stopped for lunch at Blue
Lake, a surprisingly nice result of environmental damage caused by
river-damming downstream. A sheep on a distant slope was having a
conversation with the duck in the lake. I didn't mean to interrupt, but I
had to take a photo.

I spent two days in Dunedin (duh-NEE-din, they laughed at me when I called
it DOON-din), a nice-sized place which boasts the steepest street in the
world (Baldwin Street, with a gradient of 1:2.86 if that means anything
to you) and street-crossing signals which sounds like house alarms. While I
was there, the weather was delightful. I spent an afternoon walking through
the wonderful-smelling botanical gardens.

Like Austin, Texas, Dunedin seems like a real college town. One night, I
bought some alcohol for some kids who said they were "18" (legal) but forgot
their IDs at home. Tip for the rest of you: Collect your thank you money
*before* you buy alcohol for people.

The girl who worked at the hostel was another one of those slow-talking,
spacey, and amusingly-dressed artsy types. You can spot them a mile away.
As I was packing up to leave Dunedin, I caught her hypnotizing Ilja on the
front lawn.

Invercargill (IN-vuh-KAW-guhl), on the southern tip of the South Island, was
incorrectly described to us as the southernmost city in the world but is
still pretty damn south. Strangely, the warmest weather in New Zealand was
at the top of Franz Josef Glacier and in Invercargill, just a stone's throw
from Antarctica. Maybe the ozone hole had something to do with it. The sun
didn't come out much, but when it did, I could feel it burning.

We stopped in Riverton for a night. The only thing that happened there was
that someone stole my *used* contact lenses. Go figure. It was time to
change them anyway, so whoever is using them right now probably has scratchy
eyes.

Then to a scenic drive along the south coast and through the Catlins. More
rock formations, rugged coastline, and a fossilized forest. Neat counting
the rings in a tree that has been dead for a zillion years.

Our next stop was Milford Sound. I was really looking forward to going
there after all the hype. Every traveler who has been there had told me
that it's the most beautiful place they have ever seen.

As I got on the bus for Milford Sound, I was immediately struck by the
demographic. Almost entirely 40+ Japanese couples and their babies. Not at
all like any of the other Kiwi Experience tours I've taken. Nothing against
the Japanese, but every single tourist stereotype about them is true.
They'd always take their sweet-ass time getting on and off the bus, and they
were insanely camera-happy.

The sheer, waterfall-covered faces of Milford Sound and the surrounding
fiordland were magnificent. At Milford Sound, we cruised around the area
for closer views of the rock faces and waterfalls and stopped at a marine
observatory for a look at the underwater ecosystem. It was cloudy and
rainy, but that didn't seem to detract from the natural beauty of the place.

Then I got back on the bus to go back to Queenstown. An older Japanese lady
across the aisle furiously scratched her back for about 45 minutes.
Unsatisfied, she removed a small vial of green jelly from her bag and opened
it, sending fumes of minty, rotten mangos in my direction. She dipped her
finger in it, lifted up the back of her shirt, and started rubbing it into
the itchy spot. Just then, a younger guy sitting behind her (presumably her
son) reached over the seat and massaged her scalp with his fingertips until
she drifted off to sleep.

Japanese babies took turns screaming their heads off while their parents
slept. I was extremely irritated, and several heavy plastic bottles rolling
around in very noisy plastic shopping bags every time the bus changed
direction didn't help. I had almost drifted off to sleep when our bus
driver began stomping repeatedly on one of the floor pedals. The smell of a
freshly struck match filled the cabin, and the driver screamed out "Fuck!"

While Milford Sound was one of the most beautiful places I've been to, it
was easily one of the worst tours I've taken.

I returned to Queenstown just in time to celebrate Halloween. It's no big
deal over there, but Victoria insisted that I wear the black mask and
skeleton gloves that she bought me. The costume was good enough for a free
drink at a couple of pubs, so I was happy.

Just before leaving Queenstown, I needed to do one more bungy jump.
Something bigger and better. The Nevis. From a cable car strung up over a
canyon and 134 meters down, the Nevis is the second highest bungy jump in
the world. As Victoria so eloquently put it, the Kawarau Bridge was a
"pussy jump" compared to this.

Sorry, Mom.

As I was packing my stuff and getting ready to leave Queenstown, I was
offered a job cutting lamb tails off at a nearby farm. (The first person to
tell me why and how they do this gets a postcard!) I declined the job
offer.

I said goodbye to Ilja and Anthony and left Queenstown to head back up to
the North Island.

Christchurch, New Zealand's second-largest city, didn't seem too
interesting. Why is it that all of the largest places in New Zealand are
also the most boring? I did, however, find an Ethernet connection for my
laptop, something I had hoped to find all along but the first one I've found
in eleven months of travelling.

In Kaikoura, we had the chance to swim with dolphins. An ocean trench comes
unusually close to the shore near Kaikoura, allowing deeper sea animals like
dolphins and whales to come remarkably close to shore. We took a boat out,
spotted a few, and dove in with our snorkeling gear. For a while, people
floated around in the freezing water "calling" the dolphins by squealing and
grunting like fucking idiots. It wasn't working. Just when I was starting
to lose hope, they came. En masse. They were swimming all around us,
darting under us and circling around us. I couldn't get over how close they
came to us and how massive they were. On the way back in, they were
swimming alongside the boat, hopping out of the water every few seconds. A
few did flips and somersaults. A pretty special day.

And then, this morning, back to Picton, where my South Island adventure
ended and we boarded the ferry back to the North Island.

At the moment, I find myself on the main deck of the ferry, slowly making
our way back to Wellington. It's a big ship. The sun is shining on the
turquoise water and rolling tree-covered mountains of Cape Terawhiti
outside, and the gentle swell of Cook Strait is slowly rocking the boat back
and forth. Very relaxing. There's a guy who is very smelly and obviously
hasn't showered in a while sitting next to me in the children's nursery. He
has bushy black hair, scratches and bruises all over his body, and filthy
clothes on. He has emptied all of his pockets and arranged his trash in a
perfect circle around him. He tore off his jacket, pulled down his pants,
and spent an hour watching Tiny Toons Adventures before removing his pants,
meticulously straightening them, laying them out with his sandals on one
end, kneeling over, and praying to Mecca. After several minutes of silent
meditation, he sat up on the blue and green, giant-sized playroom sofa and
began to fumble with the trash laid out around him. A little boy asked what
he was doing. "Making things," he said. He then fashioned a bandanna out
of his tattered shirt, put it on his head, collected his belongings, and
left.

We're about to arrive in Wellington, so that's it for now. I'll be making
my way back through the North Island and up to Auckland over the next couple
of weeks.

A buttload of new pics are up on the web site. You might want to start at
"Sydney - revisited" and make your way down to bring yourself up-to-date.
You can also check out the first "Sydney" link, where I've added lots of
pictures of my arrival in Australia and New Years 2000. The site is at:

http://www.anythingbaseball.com/oz/

No Regrets.

Jeff