I grabbed my luggage off the carousel and placed it on a free cart before jumping on and riding it like a skateboard once I got outside. The warm breeze and humid air felt euphoric against my sleeveless arms. I checked in all of my cold weather gear at the Antarctic Clothing Distribution Center and joined others to hop on the shuttle into the city. In town, we noticed a group of four women dressed as pirate maidens strutting to some sort of costume or dance party. A few blocks later another group of maidens. Then a different quad with pink hair in fairy costumes. We had been in a place where the male to female ratio had been 4 to 1. I forgot the general populous was 50/50. Then I saw a most peculiar creature, otherwise known as a baby. Haven't seen a live one of those in a while. It's like viewing photos of a penguin and then when you see one in real life you think, 'Ohhh wow look at that mythical being, they are real.' And then I saw a small child and then an elderly man. Then some more girls with blue and green wigs. It was land of the freaks. It just showed me how much staying in one environment for a period of time brain washes you to a certain extent.

Sitting in the hotel check-in line, four young women in Catholic school girl outfits approached us to ask a question. We just looked at each other and started laughing. The first words a civilian in the real world uttered to us were, “Do you have any ribbed condoms?” Apparently it was for some scavenger hunt or a bachelorette party, I don’t remember. They continued asking other people nearby as I moved forward in the queue and got my room number at the looks-like-Apple-designed-it, Hotel So. The trendy rooms weren’t liked by all the roughnecks from the ice but I enjoyed it. Later that night I met up with a couple of the guys I knew from the Pole.

The dynamic between the two was like hanging out with Bert and Ernie. One was a deliberate, conservative in demeanor, Ivy League graduate from New England. The other was a Texan who worked on oil rigs and has a girlfriend that wants him to get a job in Kuwait so he can't do anything immoral or they'll chop off his offending member or hand. All night long, without his girlfriend watching, The Texan would goad and prod the Ivy Leaguer into drinking faster than just one beer an hour, drinking more than just two or three beers a night, and staying out later than midnight. I laughed the entire evening, they were like movie characters. Our journey started with me feeling really old from looking at all the young looking people in line. The girl in front of us started a conversation by noticing my pale arms and gleefully exclaiming “You’re just as white as I am,” before bursting out in laughter.

We started talking a little bit, but I had to ask how old she was. She started giggling again and said “I’m 27. Ha ha ha ha yeah I’m 27.” She showed me her ID which looked like a gym membership. Suddenly something dawned on me as I scanned the crowd. I looked at her and said, “Yeah I’m 27 too, just like you are, only the opposite direction.” Translation: I was just as close to age 27 as she. The legal drinking age in New Zealand, like the majority of the world, is 18. Her fake ID made me want to get my almost 37 year old ass out of there in a hurry, as I could picture my sister calling me a sicko with a look of disgust on her face. We ended up not going inside and finding a more mixed crowd but I had other problems. Usually foreign people in New York love talking with me because I speak English so slow they can actually understand someone, but here I just talk, umm, I’ll say exotic. I ordered my drink three times before the bartender could comprehend my words. I'm having trouble with their accents once in a while too.

I walked into a bathroom and was about to enter a private stall, when I heard an angelic voice calling to me. I looked up and saw a beautiful blond woman dressed up in a French Maid costume. Yes, another one from the costume party thing, I love this country. I smiled big, excited that she struck up a conversation with me, but had to excuse myself because I couldn’t understand what she said. Looking her in the eye, I focused with all the concentration I could muster, embarrassed to make her reiterate her words a third time.

“Um excuse me sir, you’re in the woman’s bathroom. “ she repeated. My giddy smile turned to a look of complete terror as I looked around. Through the propped open door I could see men entering and exiting a room just on the other side of the hallway. Where were they before and why hadn’t I seen any signs? AHHHHH. I meekly apologized, tucked my tail between my legs and scurried out. In hindsight I should have just started a new conversation like nothing was wrong, but I always think of things too late. Several bars in New York have unisex wash stations with stalls in separate individual small rooms. It never occurred to me that it was strange for a woman to be striking up a conversation with me in a restroom. I trotted back upstairs laughing about the situation. There, Ernie was pushing Bert to go to a nudie club. With my vote we stayed away and simply ended up at another nearby bar before calling it a night.The next day I went to a professional rugby game and then met up with those two for another interesting time. They both left Sunday morning though, while I slept in and ate a nice brunch around 1:30 in the afternoon.

I walked around in the foothills of Christchurch, through the botanical gardens, and got a relaxing Thai massage. Looking for lunch one day, I wanted something authentic and searched for an ethnic restaurant with native people eating inside. I found my spot, Sala Thai, and promptly asked for a table. They gave me a table alright, one directly in a corner. Either seat I choose had a grand view of the wall in front of me. I had to turn my body sideways between bites to face out into the room to observe the subdued scene. There were even empty tables. I guess they didn't like my pale skin either. I finished my meal and went looking for backpacking gear. In one of the stores I bumped into a young woman I knew from the Pole. She had been trekking for the past four days in an area called Arthur’s Pass and was on her way to the South Pacific Island, Vanuatu. We made dinner plans and met up with another couple that evening before saying goodbye again.

The next day I took a nine hour bus ride through the Canterbury Plains, through the Southern Alps and down to Queenstown. The town would be well described as the offspring of opulent and chic Park City and adventure driven and adrenaline riddled Moab. As long as we are pretending, the setting reminds me of what that mythical town would look like on the edge of a massive lake at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon. As for now, the tourists in town are mostly from Australia, The U.K., France and Germany from the sounds of things. Aside from nationality, they also seem to fall into two categories. The first, foreign baby boomers with sweaters draped over their backs and shoulders like a superman cape or like they are going to a tennis match. All the fine dinning establishments have several groups of this type sipping overpriced wine and engaged in clever conversation.

The other segment of typical tourist here is young twenty-somethings wearing swim trunks, flip flops and t-shirts looking like they are heading to the beach. This group stays at hostels and buys their peanut butter and jelly at the grocery store so they can have more money for cheap booze. While I don't fit in with either contingent, it's a simple guess on which side of the fence I landed. Case in point, last night my roommates were four spicy Swedish meatballs. Haven’t seen tonight’s cast that came here looking for extreme sports, but I'm sure I'll meet them around four in the morning. I'm hoping for curvy hips, sweet dispositions, and need help in speaking English. Just so I can point them to the nearest info booth to buy a hang gliding excursion.

Some of the brochures I've seen for the action sports, include bungy jumping off a bridge the length of 1 1/2 football fields, jetboating through narrow canyons at high speeds, and skydiving. I've heard of people driving Formula One race cars. But the best activity I've seen was paying $400 dollars to drive a huge military tank. And for an extra 400 you can even crush and roll over a car. All prices are NZD, for the redneck in all of us.

As for me, I think I’m going to be holed up here for a couple of days because the weather is turning sour. I’ll try to wait it out so I can do the Rees-Dart Trek. It’s about 50 miles long and will take 4 or 5 days. I don't want to do it in the rain, mud, swollen rivers and obstructed mountain views. I may do the bungy jump in the meanwhile, but the $230 price tag is creating more hesitation than the fear of staring off the edge and getting the nerve to leap. I might end up just moving out of town. We’ll see if I get too antsy waiting for sunshine while messy roommates leave shaved facial hair in the bathroom sink and fart repeatedly at night.

written by  JCinTheSouthPole on March 10, 2010 from Queenstown, New Zealand
from the travel blog: South Pole
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HEY! I'll send you a separate email, but had to mention that Sala Thai is also the name of the Thai place that we used to order from all the time...where you love the Beef with Basil!! Made me laugh.
Tara

written by  Tara Botwick on March 11, 2010

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Island's aunt Amanda lives in Auckland if you end up around that area. Let me know what your plans are. And you were exactly right about the age situation with the fake ID girl. I would have given you the look of disgust and you would be a sicko. Tamisha is the same age as her if you think about it that way. Always think about the show "To Catch a Predator"!

written by  emiline carling on March 14, 2010

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OMG, now THAT was a good Jake Story!!! I was laughing so hard at the bathroom scenario! ONLY YOU!! LOL!!! I am chomping at the bit waiting for another post!!!!

written by  Squeakers on March 18, 2010

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