Christchurch to Queenstown
True story. A few years ago, I was in a taxi in Las Vegas trying to escape from a seedy hotel in order to check in to an ordinary, gaudy one instead. The cab driver, in between shouting obscenities at well endowed women, asked me where I was from. When I told him, he replied,
"Aw yeah, Scotland. That's, eh, over da sea, beside Noo Zealand, right?"
Now this may say more about the fact that only around 20% of Americans are thought to own passports but from a certain point of view, he's not too far off the mark. In terms of spectacular scenery, changeable weather and friendly people, New Zealand is indeed a very close relation to Scotland.
The adventure starts before I even land as my plane from Brisbane glides perilously close to the majestic Southern Alps and then crosses the flat Canterbury plains to touch down safely in Christchurch, the biggest city on the South Island. For the first time on this trip I have a travelling companion, my friend Meredith from the States, who's flown in to tour around, see the sights and share some of the driving. However, when we're presented with a crappy looking, pale green, manual transmission Hyundai, she quickly books the passenger seat and stays there for two weeks.
Christchurch is a slice of middle England. Driving in from the airport through tree lined suburbs, we could easily be in Chester or York and the central, pedestrianised square is dominated by a huge cathedral. We're only here for one night because the quest is on to find Middle Earth and as many recognisable Lord Of The Rings location sites as possible. What a geek!
Decide on an anti-clockwise sweep of the South Island and begin with a crossing to the west coast, up and through Arthur's Pass. Arthur doesn't seem to mind too much. Immediately, this is stunning stuff. The road weaves through mountains draped in cloud and rises and falls through steep, rainforest valleys. It's high summer and the east of the island is suffering its worst drought since records began but you wouldn't know it here when the rain thuds off the Hyundai with a violent intensity bordering on assault.
Turning south to drive down the west coast, the Alps are ever present, squeezing the road towards the sea. Spend a couple of days near Mount Cook, New Zealand's highest mountain, which reaches 12,300 feet into the sky, three times the height of Ben Nevis. Nearby, two massive glaciers, Fox and Franz Josef, wind their way down and through the mountain valleys for nearly twelve kilometres each. I'd never seen a glacier before and when we hike up to the foot of Fox Glacier, it really is an awesome sight, an ice wall of 100 feet or more towering above us.
From the glaciers, the road south continues to hug the coastline and then turns inland through beautiful, sublime Mount Aspiring National Park. I know it's beautiful and sublime because my guidebook tells me so but the day we pass through, it's been swallowed whole by a dark, brooding thunder storm that's come straight from the land of Mordor.
Finally, we reach Queenstown, self proclaimed adventure capital of the world. It's a relatively small tourist town, a bit like Aviemore except nice! The number and diversity of extreme sports on offer here is exceeded only by the amount of adrenaline-fuelled idiots willing to sign up for them all - horse riding, jetboating, white-water rafting, white-water sledging, river surfing, canyoning, skydiving, paragliding, hang-gliding, off road driving, mountain biking and of course, bungy jumping.
Up until now, my idea of an adrenaline rush has been asking for an extra shot of espresso at Starbucks or scrambling about looking for the remote control when The X-Files is due to start on another channel. However, knowing that I would eventually reach New Zealand during this trip, I've had quite a committed notion in the back of my head that I would definitely attempt a bungy jump while I was here. For people who know me well, this may come as quite as a shock, especially since I announced my official retirement from rollercoasters a couple of years ago after a rumoured throwing up incident on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland Paris. Must have been a dodgy Pernod!
Despite feeling nauseous in my 23rd floor hotel room in Hong Kong and dizzy in a cable car ride in Singapore, the notion to bungy jump hadn't left me. That all changes however when I go and visit the Kawarau River jump site near Queenstown, the place where bungy jumping originated in New Zealand and one of many such places now dotted around the country. The notion disappears as fast as a Rangers fan at 4.15 every Saturday and it's an effort just to stand on the viewing platform and fight a losing battle with my buckling knees.
HOLY SH#T, what was I thinking? People actually throw themselves, WILLINGLY throw themselves off a bridge secured only by a strong(?) and flexible latex rubber rope, the same material incidentally that goes into your average condom... unless you order those 'special' ones from Amsterdam over the internet at www....., but I digress. Talk about ultimate protection! After recovering from my hyperventilation with a cup of coffee indoors, I decide that there's just too much of a chill in the air to even think about signing up for this madness today.
The next day I'm back, feeling pretty psyched. Slept fitfully during the night weighing up the possible outcomes and ramifications of jumping. Thirty seconds of heart pumping excitement if I do? Regret and permanently damaged self-esteem if I don't? Agonising, horrible death if they calculate my weight wrong? Hmmnn, interesting dilemma. It's blowing a gale as I get out the car and make my way down to the bridge and this time it takes me all of 3.6 seconds to decide that I'm definitely not jumping today. No way, not in that hurricane. Think how bad the hair would look in all those action photos.
After leaving Queenstown for 'extreme' adventure elsewhere (see Volume 2), it's a couple of days before I'm back in the area for a last chance to tame the bungy beast. If I'm ever going to do this, I have to turn up as soon as it opens and get it over and done with so I can enjoy the reward of a massive cooked breakfast, free from regret and feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. Step out of the car at 9.05am with the feeling that there's no turning back.
9.06am
Get an overwhelming feeling to turn back, start the car and the find the first flight home.
9.09am
Stagger nonchalantly (yes, it is possible to do both) up to the booking desk.
"I'd like the combined jump and video package please," I squeak in a pitch that only dogs can hear.
"I'm sorry, did you squeak something sir?" replies the nice girl behind the counter, smiling sympathetically.
I point to the relevant part of the promotional leaflet with a grunt and she gets busy on her pc.
"Leet's see," she muses. "We're eectually preetty fully booked thees morning" (Kiwis use the 'ee' vowel sound A LOT!)
My heart leaps. I don't have the time to wait around all day and Nice Girl is going to deny me my dream of jumping. I'm going to be able to say that I really wanted to jump but it was full up and a third party just wouldn't let me. YES! Virtual triumph snatched from virtual disaster!
"No, heeng on. We can eectually feet you een streeght eeweey sir. Just steep on the scales please."
"Great," I whimper. "That's really... great news."
9.12am
After wrestling the credit card from my cold, paralysed hand, nice girl writes my weight on my left wrist, giggling to herself quietly as she does so.
9.15am
Remove my jacket and make my way out to the bridge, resplendent in my new Falkirk away strip. I had thought about wearing my Celtic strip to delight all you Rangers fans but I don't want to spoil it in the event of any accidental bowel movements.
9.18am
The walk to the centre of the bridge is actually quite relaxing. The weather is sunny and calm and it's not easy to see down through the railings to the river below. When I get to the ledge, the p.a. system is pumping out "Pride" by U2. "Is that what I'll really feel when this thing is over?" I ponder to myself.
9.20am
"Over here mate. Leet's see that wreest of yours," shouts the jump guide. I get a little concerned when he makes a double take of my weight and then starts to test the latex rope by pulling and tugging it vigorously with his fists. With a kind of resigned shrug (did he cross himself as well?) he starts to bind my legs together and tells me everything's going to be just fine.
9.22am
The construction of the ledge means that I still can't see down but when he gets me to my feet and tells me to shuffle to the edge, the river comes into view. At least I think it's a river. From this height it looks like a mountain stream! The music has changed to U2's "Angel of Harlem" and I struggle hard to hold on to the hope that this prophetically means that they're watching over me rather than I'm about to join them.
9.23am
For a split second, my knees are weak and I feel like I'm going to cave and take the long walk of shame back along the bridge. Before I have time to deliberate though, my guide is shouting out the countdown with my rapid, panicky, breathy swearing punctuating every number.
"5" Oh f#ck! "4" Oh f#cking f#ck! "3" Oh f#ckity, f#cking f#ck! "2, 1, GO!"
And I do. Arms stretched out before me like Christopher Reeve (well, not these days obviously), diving furiously for a hill in the distance trying to replicate the action that I've practiced from the safe height of 18 inches on to my bed for the last few nights. I try to yell but I've stopped breathing and then a remarkable thing happens. After the initial rush of the first two seconds with the river accelerating up to meet me, time seems to almost stop and everything happens in a quiet, peaceful slow motion. There's no sound, no rush of wind or shouts from the onlookers that I can hear. There's no violent jerking of the rope or strain on any part of my body. I come to a very smooth stop just a few feet above the water and then immediately fire upwards, repeating this cycle three or four times. If I didn't know better, I'd describe the whole 30 seconds as one of the most relaxing experiences of my life.
9.25am
I don't feel overly excited or energised as I lie quietly in the boat that's come out to retrieve me but I do feel that overwhelming sense of pride... or is it just merciful relief that the whole thing is over and I'm still in one piece? The Kawarau River jump, at 141 feet, is by no means the highest bungy jump in New Zealand but as we say in the bungy game, the only distance that matters is the first twelve inches.
The whole bungy operation is very slick indeed and two or three other jumpers have dived off the bridge by the time I make my way back to the top. It doesn't take much to persuade me to add the three commemorative photos to the video package I've already bought and I carry the whole lot around with me for the rest of the day in my special, jumpers-only, carrier bag. I'm dying to wave it in the faces of everyone I meet like a VIP back stage pass but think better of it.
Finally for Volume 1, a quick update on the lyrics game, remember that? Some of you might know that the Daily Record have just started publishing abridged versions of my e-mails in their Saturday magazine and I was surprised but delighted that they decided to include the lyrics game. Because I drone for so long when I write, I had to edit my previous e-mails into smaller, more palatable chunks which meant, in turn, that I had to think up some new song lyrics for the newspaper articles.
Rest assured however that the original lyrics game will continue in these e-mails and a separate, stunning prize will be available to all of you who so wisely subscribed to this service some months ago. Your are, and will remain always, my first and most important priority. You are the wind beneath my bungy wings. (NOT this week's lyric!)
In Volume 2, I'll have a full Lord Of The Rings location round up for all you fellow geeks including a thrilling journey with the Riders of Rohan and a river adventure to the Pillars of the Argonath.
Till then.
Love, Neil x
True story. A few years ago, I was in a taxi in Las Vegas trying to escape from a seedy hotel in order to check in to an ordinary, gaudy one instead. The cab driver, in between shouting obscenities at well endowed women, asked me where I was from. When I told him, he replied,
"Aw yeah, Scotland. That's, eh, over da sea, beside Noo Zealand, right?"
Now this may say more about the fact that only around 20% of Americans are thought to own passports but from a certain point of view, he's not too far off the mark. In terms of spectacular scenery, changeable weather and friendly people, New Zealand is indeed a very close relation to Scotland.
The adventure starts before I even land as my plane from Brisbane glides perilously close to the majestic Southern Alps and then crosses the flat Canterbury plains to touch down safely in Christchurch, the biggest city on the South Island. For the first time on this trip I have a travelling companion, my friend Meredith from the States, who's flown in to tour around, see the sights and share some of the driving. However, when we're presented with a crappy looking, pale green, manual transmission Hyundai, she quickly books the passenger seat and stays there for two weeks.
Christchurch is a slice of middle England. Driving in from the airport through tree lined suburbs, we could easily be in Chester or York and the central, pedestrianised square is dominated by a huge cathedral. We're only here for one night because the quest is on to find Middle Earth and as many recognisable Lord Of The Rings location sites as possible. What a geek!
Decide on an anti-clockwise sweep of the South Island and begin with a crossing to the west coast, up and through Arthur's Pass. Arthur doesn't seem to mind too much. Immediately, this is stunning stuff. The road weaves through mountains draped in cloud and rises and falls through steep, rainforest valleys. It's high summer and the east of the island is suffering its worst drought since records began but you wouldn't know it here when the rain thuds off the Hyundai with a violent intensity bordering on assault.
Turning south to drive down the west coast, the Alps are ever present, squeezing the road towards the sea. Spend a couple of days near Mount Cook, New Zealand's highest mountain, which reaches 12,300 feet into the sky, three times the height of Ben Nevis. Nearby, two massive glaciers, Fox and Franz Josef, wind their way down and through the mountain valleys for nearly twelve kilometres each. I'd never seen a glacier before and when we hike up to the foot of Fox Glacier, it really is an awesome sight, an ice wall of 100 feet or more towering above us.
From the glaciers, the road south continues to hug the coastline and then turns inland through beautiful, sublime Mount Aspiring National Park. I know it's beautiful and sublime because my guidebook tells me so but the day we pass through, it's been swallowed whole by a dark, brooding thunder storm that's come straight from the land of Mordor.Finally, we reach Queenstown, self proclaimed adventure capital of the world. It's a relatively small tourist town, a bit like Aviemore except nice! The number and diversity of extreme sports on offer here is exceeded only by the amount of adrenaline-fuelled idiots willing to sign up for them all - horse riding, jetboating, white-water rafting, white-water sledging, river surfing, canyoning, skydiving, paragliding, hang-gliding, off road driving, mountain biking and of course, bungy jumping.
Up until now, my idea of an adrenaline rush has been asking for an extra shot of espresso at Starbucks or scrambling about looking for the remote control when The X-Files is due to start on another channel. However, knowing that I would eventually reach New Zealand during this trip, I've had quite a committed notion in the back of my head that I would definitely attempt a bungy jump while I was here. For people who know me well, this may come as quite as a shock, especially since I announced my official retirement from rollercoasters a couple of years ago after a rumoured throwing up incident on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland Paris. Must have been a dodgy Pernod!
Despite feeling nauseous in my 23rd floor hotel room in Hong Kong and dizzy in a cable car ride in Singapore, the notion to bungy jump hadn't left me. That all changes however when I go and visit the Kawarau River jump site near Queenstown, the place where bungy jumping originated in New Zealand and one of many such places now dotted around the country. The notion disappears as fast as a Rangers fan at 4.15 every Saturday and it's an effort just to stand on the viewing platform and fight a losing battle with my buckling knees.
HOLY SH#T, what was I thinking? People actually throw themselves, WILLINGLY throw themselves off a bridge secured only by a strong(?) and flexible latex rubber rope, the same material incidentally that goes into your average condom... unless you order those 'special' ones from Amsterdam over the internet at www....., but I digress. Talk about ultimate protection! After recovering from my hyperventilation with a cup of coffee indoors, I decide that there's just too much of a chill in the air to even think about signing up for this madness today.
The next day I'm back, feeling pretty psyched. Slept fitfully during the night weighing up the possible outcomes and ramifications of jumping. Thirty seconds of heart pumping excitement if I do? Regret and permanently damaged self-esteem if I don't? Agonising, horrible death if they calculate my weight wrong? Hmmnn, interesting dilemma. It's blowing a gale as I get out the car and make my way down to the bridge and this time it takes me all of 3.6 seconds to decide that I'm definitely not jumping today. No way, not in that hurricane. Think how bad the hair would look in all those action photos.
After leaving Queenstown for 'extreme' adventure elsewhere (see Volume 2), it's a couple of days before I'm back in the area for a last chance to tame the bungy beast. If I'm ever going to do this, I have to turn up as soon as it opens and get it over and done with so I can enjoy the reward of a massive cooked breakfast, free from regret and feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. Step out of the car at 9.05am with the feeling that there's no turning back.
9.06am
Get an overwhelming feeling to turn back, start the car and the find the first flight home.
9.09am
Stagger nonchalantly (yes, it is possible to do both) up to the booking desk.
"I'd like the combined jump and video package please," I squeak in a pitch that only dogs can hear.
"I'm sorry, did you squeak something sir?" replies the nice girl behind the counter, smiling sympathetically.
I point to the relevant part of the promotional leaflet with a grunt and she gets busy on her pc.
"Leet's see," she muses. "We're eectually preetty fully booked thees morning" (Kiwis use the 'ee' vowel sound A LOT!)
My heart leaps. I don't have the time to wait around all day and Nice Girl is going to deny me my dream of jumping. I'm going to be able to say that I really wanted to jump but it was full up and a third party just wouldn't let me. YES! Virtual triumph snatched from virtual disaster!
"No, heeng on. We can eectually feet you een streeght eeweey sir. Just steep on the scales please."
"Great," I whimper. "That's really... great news."
9.12am
After wrestling the credit card from my cold, paralysed hand, nice girl writes my weight on my left wrist, giggling to herself quietly as she does so.
9.15amRemove my jacket and make my way out to the bridge, resplendent in my new Falkirk away strip. I had thought about wearing my Celtic strip to delight all you Rangers fans but I don't want to spoil it in the event of any accidental bowel movements.
9.18am
The walk to the centre of the bridge is actually quite relaxing. The weather is sunny and calm and it's not easy to see down through the railings to the river below. When I get to the ledge, the p.a. system is pumping out "Pride" by U2. "Is that what I'll really feel when this thing is over?" I ponder to myself.
9.20am
"Over here mate. Leet's see that wreest of yours," shouts the jump guide. I get a little concerned when he makes a double take of my weight and then starts to test the latex rope by pulling and tugging it vigorously with his fists. With a kind of resigned shrug (did he cross himself as well?) he starts to bind my legs together and tells me everything's going to be just fine.
9.22amThe construction of the ledge means that I still can't see down but when he gets me to my feet and tells me to shuffle to the edge, the river comes into view. At least I think it's a river. From this height it looks like a mountain stream! The music has changed to U2's "Angel of Harlem" and I struggle hard to hold on to the hope that this prophetically means that they're watching over me rather than I'm about to join them.
9.23am
For a split second, my knees are weak and I feel like I'm going to cave and take the long walk of shame back along the bridge. Before I have time to deliberate though, my guide is shouting out the countdown with my rapid, panicky, breathy swearing punctuating every number.
"5" Oh f#ck! "4" Oh f#cking f#ck! "3" Oh f#ckity, f#cking f#ck! "2, 1, GO!"
And I do. Arms stretched out before me like Christopher Reeve (well, not these days obviously), diving furiously for a hill in the distance trying to replicate the action that I've practiced from the safe height of 18 inches on to my bed for the last few nights. I try to yell but I've stopped breathing and then a remarkable thing happens. After the initial rush of the first two seconds with the river accelerating up to meet me, time seems to almost stop and everything happens in a quiet, peaceful slow motion. There's no sound, no rush of wind or shouts from the onlookers that I can hear. There's no violent jerking of the rope or strain on any part of my body. I come to a very smooth stop just a few feet above the water and then immediately fire upwards, repeating this cycle three or four times. If I didn't know better, I'd describe the whole 30 seconds as one of the most relaxing experiences of my life.9.25am
I don't feel overly excited or energised as I lie quietly in the boat that's come out to retrieve me but I do feel that overwhelming sense of pride... or is it just merciful relief that the whole thing is over and I'm still in one piece? The Kawarau River jump, at 141 feet, is by no means the highest bungy jump in New Zealand but as we say in the bungy game, the only distance that matters is the first twelve inches.
The whole bungy operation is very slick indeed and two or three other jumpers have dived off the bridge by the time I make my way back to the top. It doesn't take much to persuade me to add the three commemorative photos to the video package I've already bought and I carry the whole lot around with me for the rest of the day in my special, jumpers-only, carrier bag. I'm dying to wave it in the faces of everyone I meet like a VIP back stage pass but think better of it.
Finally for Volume 1, a quick update on the lyrics game, remember that? Some of you might know that the Daily Record have just started publishing abridged versions of my e-mails in their Saturday magazine and I was surprised but delighted that they decided to include the lyrics game. Because I drone for so long when I write, I had to edit my previous e-mails into smaller, more palatable chunks which meant, in turn, that I had to think up some new song lyrics for the newspaper articles.
Rest assured however that the original lyrics game will continue in these e-mails and a separate, stunning prize will be available to all of you who so wisely subscribed to this service some months ago. Your are, and will remain always, my first and most important priority. You are the wind beneath my bungy wings. (NOT this week's lyric!)
In Volume 2, I'll have a full Lord Of The Rings location round up for all you fellow geeks including a thrilling journey with the Riders of Rohan and a river adventure to the Pillars of the Argonath.
Till then.
Love, Neil x
1 comment:
my balls is a manga, so "wheres my balls volume 1" sounds like you are lookin for a site on which to read/dl my balls
Post a Comment