“PLUNK!”

“What was that?”

“That was my camera!”

“That’s that then.”

This small exchange kicked off a few hours of sulking in torrential rain. My camera, specifically purchased for this trip, had fallen out of my pocket and into the bottom of Milford Sound. How? I’m not entirely sure, but it was definitely gone.

I awoke that morning with an unusual level of unwillingness – it was the first time in New Zealand that I didn’t want to do what I had planned. Fighting the warm, toasty bed, I fixed my lunch, got dressed, and waited to be picked up. My plan was to kayak Milford Sound, see some waterfalls, and then check the last of the big NZ sights off.

One major hindrance: the biggest rainfall in 10 years.

I think it was hearing the guide’s astonishment and awe of the quickly rising water and rushing rapids that made me realize I was witnessing something special. So I tried my best to capture every moment. On that memory card, there were great shots of the river almost hitting the road. Or of a staff member on a cruise boat rushing out to take his own pictures of the waterfalls. Not to mention the shots where the wind and water was so strong that it looked like the waterfall was going up rather than down.

I can’t share them with anyone, but the memory lives vividly in my mind. Perhaps that’s what was intended. I suppose it doesn’t matter. We didn’t end up kayaking that day. No way, no how were kayaks entering the water when even big cruise ships were staying docked. We were this close to spending the night on board the cruises because the roads were closed. That would have been the most fascinating thing of all. Luckily, the roads were opened long enough to escape Milford Sound. I made it back to my hotel sans camera and soaked cold to the bone. I wanted to cry over my loss, but the tears never came. In the end, I couldn’t complain. I’d gotten what I wanted: a unique, amazing experience. You’ll just have to trust me, the water was going up to the sky.

My thing is that I tend to get motion sickness on them. Ask Louise how Providence to Martha’s Vineyard went about 5 years. Since then, it’s outside in fresh air for me. Luckily, crossing the Cook Straight went wonderfully. I think it’s my new favorite ferry. New Zealand has the sky we only dream of in America. After teasing CQ the night before about staring at sunsets, I realized why she does so. It’s mesmerizing. It was also freezing cold. Double jacket, hat, in desperate need of a blanket, I spent three hours braving the winds, but without a tickle in the stomach.

I ended up on the Interislander between New Zealand’s North and South Islands entirely on the recommendation of a woman I skied with in Lake Louise. It was her favorite part of her NZ trip to and said I would regret not doing the voyage. My favorite day was yet to come, but this day was pretty spectacular. How often do you get the sun shining down on clear, clean blue water where you imagine rays dancing across? I spent the whole trip in disbelief that I was actually there. Without realizing it, I had mobilized myself to take time off work, plan a trip, and end up entirely on the other side of the world. All by myself. And I was having a great time. With nature.

“Cut off from direct experience, cut off from our own feelings and sometimes our own sensations, we are only too ready to adopt a viewpoint or perspective that is handed to us, and is not our own.”

I’d started reading Michael Crichton’s Chronicles (thank you Amy) as I started my sabbatical and found his experiences resonating with me. It’s the best description of why I don’t like to plan too much or read too much before I travel. I’m afraid of not being able to make up my own mind. To know what I actually believe and think about something. Crichton’s quote is also perhaps the best justification for why I chose to take time to see the world. I felt I had erred too far in the direction of allowing my life’s natural momentum to take over rather than making conscious choices. Only with direct experience could I reawaken myself to life’s possibilities rather than acquiescing to the well-formed path beneath my feet.

My South Island adventures are entirely designed to generate direct experience. We shall see what sort of mayhem and mania I encounter. But first, get another look at this view:

I am very familiar with Cuba Street in Wellington.  Other than that, I couldn’t tell you much about Wellington’s city center.  Why spend time in the city when you can get out and see the countryside.  CQ, Stu, and I took off for a day of wine tasting in Martinborough.   The long and windy road gave my stomach a go, but it was worth it.  As it was a quiet Sunday prior to Easter holidays ending, not much was going on in town.  We had a great lunch outside on a supremely sunny day.  Then we hit three wineries that remind me of the small and intimate places in Sonoma.  I tried my first botrytis wines as well as a red that tasted like cotton candy.  On purpose.

CQ then directed us to Olivo, an olive grove and oil producer.  Turns out that it’s her favorite reason to visit Martinborough.  We had the good fortune of being treated to a tour of the olive groves and a lesson in olive oil making by Olivo’s owners.  We were lucky in that we could see the olives still on the trees turning from green to black.   Then we heard about Mrs. Percy who had recently visited Olivo with her fellow ladies from Masterton.  Olivo makes dessert olives (balsamic and pomegranate) that were so irresisitible to Mrs. Percy and her friends they called up Olivo to figure out how they could get more.  As Helen told us this story I could just imagine the little old ladies sitting around figuring out just how many more jars of pomegranate olives they needed.  After hearing a story like that, I had to buy the olives to find out for myself.  I’ve wrapped the jar up so I won’t be tempted to try them before getting home.     What I don’t know however is how I’ll get more if I find out like Mrs. Percy that I must have them.  Olivo, like many places in Martinborough can’t be found outside of Wellington, let alone New Zealand.  Let’s hope they’re only okay.

Well, I saw it on the menu at a Wellington cafe and dared CQ to ask the waiter.  She refused, so I went and did so myself.  The waiter looked at me confused then realized what I had asked.  With a smile, he informed me that a Fluffy is steamed milk for kids and a Vienna is coffee with frothed cream on top.  I was pretty disappointed with the answer.  I thought I had discovered a unique Kiwi coffee concoction.  I ordered the Vienna, but it didn’t have the appeal of the Fluffy Vienna.  If I ever open my own place, you will see a Fluffy Vienna on the menu.  There’d be some combination of whipped cream, coffee, and chocolate.  I may need to have a Fluffy Vienna creation party when I get back to DC.  Any takers?