Tongariro to Now

We hike out of Oturere Hut, braving the light rain and blowing sand to cross the undulating desert and down into the rainforest. Ewan catches us at lunch but after seeing this hut warden decides to stay a while. We press on. The forest ends and it is five hours of scrubland back to the village.

Our hosts that night in Ohakune are novice and eager to please. Our subsequent hosts in Wellington are experienced and not so inclined. Wellington is windy and vibrant and carries no timepiece.

We cross to the South Island. The ferry spaces people well but crams sheep like cattle. Andrew rides the Queen Charlotte Track in one day but it is no great feat as the human body is designed to cycle indefinitely.

Over three days, we drive from Picton to Franz Josef to Wanaka to Te Anau as Andrew’s iPod confesses the activities of Ray Smith and Japhy Ryder and Henry Morely and Warren Coughlin and the backdrop rotates through various combinations of clouds and hills and sheep and cows.

After a day in Te Anau, we drive the final leg to Milford Sound to board a two-day cruise. Words match up poorly with Milford Sound. Pictures do slightly better. Andrew rides the Milford Road back from the Homer Tunnel to Te Anau.

Suddenly, the hostel is awash with Americans. A nameless oaf bemoans the behavior of his fellow Americans abroad, and then boasts of past conquests and drinking prowess, and then vows to party like a monkey on arriving in the next town. A friendly group of exchange students returning from five months in Melbourne starts a volleyball game. Titus tells how he and his friends were rewarded for ignoring warnings about visiting Yemen. The nameless oaf goes to bed early. Andrew and I discuss whether he knows as little about himself as he lets on.

The next morning Andrew and I part ways. He stays to tackle the Kepler and Milford tracks and I catch a bus to Dunedin where I write this in a café and thereby catch up to the present.

In the background, Morrissey moans about some awkward moment.