I began my trip from SFO to Auckland by spilling coke on my white jeans. Real coke, not diet--nice and sticky. For reasons I may explain in a rainy day e-mail, my color for this trip is white, with some blue thrown in. Later, but not much later, Eleanor in the seat next to me spilled an entire glass of champagne on them. It was about her seventh glass, but who's counting. When she accepted a glass of port to accompany her cheese course, I really kept myself on guard. She was an otherwise affable seat mate. She slept soundly or perhaps she blacked-out. The juxtaposition of Row 24, Seats A,B and C to the galley made our empty glasses an easy first stop for the cabin crew's constant beverage rounds. I drank an entire can of real coke (well, except for what ended up on my pants.), lots of bubbly water, and tea served already brewed--not a paper wrapped tea bag next to a cup of lukewarm water. All in real glassware, no less.
We arrived an hour early into Aukland, so the wait for my connecting flight to Queenstown was six hours instead of five. A uniformed biosecurity customs agent disinfected my riding boots for me which I had dutifully declared on my entry form. I am still embarrassed that I had my dirty riding breeches in there, too. They still had some white Domino hair on them, so there was no use denying that they were not laundered. (They were only used once, and they were a last minute addition--and a good one at that. I have used them already.) I don't know what he did with them. He wasn't gone long enough to wash them. Maybe he put them in the microwave. The riding gear was a great way to distract him from the parachute I was carrying--which I think exceeds the limits of the duty free stuff you can bring into the country. Not to mention that I might have had some explaining to do if it was discovered by customs.
The worst turbulence I have ever experienced was the middle twenty minutes of that Queenstown bound 737. It defies explanation. Think of a wild-west style covered wagon careening down a rocky road at 400 MPH. That's what it felt like. I cinched in my seatbelt and wished I was wearing that parachute that was in my checked luggage. And I know what these airships are built to take. I was white with fear and almost vomiting. I met a woman today who had a relative on that flight, and she said passengers in the rear of the aircraft were crying hysterically. I can't imagine what it was like back there--I was, luckily, in row 4.
I checked into The Dairy, a small, private hotel that I hastily found on the internet once I realized the B&B I originally booked was in the wrong city. Moved into my tiny but deluxe room, I didn't know what to do with myself. Was I hungry, tired, dirty ? I started the shower knowing that decisions often come more easily when clean. While the water was getting hot, I spent a few minutes flushing the toilet. They have two flushes here: half and full, or little and big, or, I guess, number one and number two. I can tell you without a doubt that they are really different, but my little experiment probably ruined the whole reason for the water saving system. I'll make up for it somehow. After two cups of tea, delivered to my room with a little plate of calorie-free shortbread, I palmed a scoop of jelly beans from the front-table urn, and headed up the hill to the local cemetery. What other way to get to know a community than to visit their dead and see how the grounds are maintained by the living. Oldest grave: 1832. Newest: Being raked during my visit. Most noticed trend: His and Her grave sites where she died in her forties and he died in his seventies. More on that some rainy day.
At $19.95 per 10 Mb, I will use my iPhone as little as possible. However, as I was standing in the cemetery trying to figure out which way was North, the iPhone compass app became invaluable. My initial guess was all wrong. My compass pointed to a direction that felt really un-northerly to me. Either I am sensitive to light, or every new arrival from the northern hemisphere gets turned around when they get south of the equator. The sun travels to the north of directly overhead, rather than to the south. It is really disconcerting.
I got the grave yard creeps about the time the jelly-beans wore off so I headed down the hill into town in search of food. It was an odd time, 3:30 or so. Pubs were serving lunch, but most restaurants didn't start dinner service until 5 PM. So I walked and walked. And walked. Though the botanical gardens, around a small part of the Lake, through the 'mall'--a street that has been blocked off to traffic. It was really chilly, but a beautiful evening so I chose to eat outside at Cafe 19, mostly because they provided blankets and I used two: one on my lap and another around my shoulders. Across from me was a Kiwi in a spaghetti strapped tee shirts and shorts. She was not shivering, and I find it hard to believe that it was 20 degrees cooler only six feet from my table, so I did my best to be invisible while I inhaled a delicious dinner of local salmon, tempura broccoli, and asian mung bean salad.
Back in my room with all those omega oils in my system, I figured out why my blow dryer didn't work. They have little switches right next to the plug on the wall--in the UK they call it the mains--I don't know what they call it here. I had 'off' and 'on' confused. When the switch is in a position so that the little red dot shows, the switch is on. I associate little red dots with off. At least next time my hair is wet, I will be able to blow my hair dry.
I will work on posting photos....
On Thanksgiving Day, I flew with Doug Hamilton in his ASH-25. We found Bravo Oscar sharing our piece of sky. Of the dozens of wing-tip and tail-fin mis-clicks, I did get one photo worth keeping. Mt. Cook is in the background.
Wanaka is home to a funky little cinema called Cinema Paradiso. Inside the theatre, they have couches of all varieties, and a car carcass in case you want to watch drive-in style. A group of us, desperate for a break from Omarama, drove the 90 minutes to see a movie so bad it was good: 2012. End of the world drama chock full of special effects, corny sub-plots, and racial stereotypes. Part of the program is an intermission just long enough for you to purchase fresh-from-the-oven home made cookies.
I went on a ground retrieve with two employees from GlideOmarama. The three strong men did not need my help, so I wandered around and continued my attempt to capture the open beauty of the MacKenzie Plain in pixels. This dramatic day, made even more dramatic for one pilot forced to land out, was spectacularly lined with wave influenced cumulus cloud streets.
