We're on the set of Lost. No lie.

Sorry it's been a couple of days. Getting Internet access here is a bit tricky. But we're picking up right where we left off...

Continuation of Sunday, April 27: Drive back to Auckland
So we're back to the morning after our mighty Tongariro hike. We leave Tongariro to drive back to Auckland. The day is fairly sunny, but the ominous clouds that loom over the volcanoes look pretty bad. When we check out of the lodge around 10am, the person at the front desk tells us that nobody went out to hike this morning. We really made it by the skin of our teeth. Hope this luck continues for the rest of our trip.

In case you were wondering, our bodies still scream with pain, but the level is one notch below agony today. Our muscles have tensed up and stiffened over night. It feels like we have splints in our ankles.

It’s my turn to drive today, and I have to chant the mantra “drive on the left” over and over in my head to cope. It’s not so difficult on the open roads, but I know that driving into the big city of Auckland, where most of New Zealand’s population lives, will be a different story. The drive back north is another stunner. The trees are even more ablaze with the colors of fall. Each time we round a bend, Shalini and I scream, “I mean, Come on!” We pass pastures upon pastures of sheep farms; along many stretches, horses flank the roads. Some are grazing right by the road. If we stick our arms out the window, we could touch them.

As we begin to approach Auckland, everything changes. The charm is lost. The roads turn into big highways. The drivers are extremely aggressive (we have been warned that Kiwi drivers are kind of douchebags). They don’t think twice about cutting you off. One carload full of kids with their feet up on the dashboard drives by us and gives us the finger. Charming. At one point, I almost miss the exit and have to straddle three lanes to the left to make it. Shalini nearly has a heart attack. It gets worse once we get into the city. I am panicked and underconfident. New Zealand has tons of circles or “roundabouts”, and it’s a little tricky because you yield to cars on the right as you drive around the circle (American-style instinct tells you to yield to cars on the left). I quickly learn this the hard way. But at least we arrive alive at the Hotel Duxton, a smaller boutique hotel on a quiet, tree-lined street in the heart of the city.

Our room is nice…we have a full kitchen complete with a hooded range and a washing machine! We settled in and then go out to explore the city for a spell before our 7pm dinner reseravation. The city feels like the inside of a dog’s mouth---hot, humid and airless. Auckland is not a pretty city. The architecture is uninspired and industrial, the shops in city centre seedy and strewn with tourist tchotckes, maybe soft porn? It feels a little like how I would imagine Tokyo to be, but on a much smaller scale. The streets are filled with young, funky urbanites, many of them Asian students. I keep waiting for the architecture to get better, but it never does. We go into a Border’s because I want to buy one of their food magazines, Cuisine. I see it immediately on the shelves. I pick it up. It is $10. I put it back down. Again, it is astonishing how expensive stuff is here. I decide to browse instead of buy. We continue down the steep streets of Auckland to the waterfront area, which is littered with trendy restaurants. The waterfront is no more aesthetically pleasing. Big industrial ships and cranes crowd the landscape.The fact that it is swelteringly humid doesn’t make our experience any better. We are melting in our clothing. We have to walk uphill to get back to our hotel. Tongariro pain haunts us again. By the time we return, we need a shower. We drag our feet getting ready because we are so hot and tired, but we make an executive decision to go to the restaurant. However, we’ve spent so much time stalling that is it 7pm already—the time of our reservation. We’ll have to take a cab to make it on time.

The restaurant is called Harbourside and it’s supposed to have some of the best seafood in Auckland. When we get in the cab, the meter is STARTING at $6. I ask the cab driver if this is right. He mumbles a yes and then changes the subject. By the time we get to the restaurant, which is a 10 minute walk from our hotel, the taxi total is $16. It’s crazy (Later I will ask a girl on my flight to Christchurch if this is normal, and she is shocked and breaks it to me that we’ve totally been ripped off. Nice.)

Our dinner makes up for our cabdriver atrocity. We start with mussels…so fresh they feel like they’re still wiggling in their shells. Plump, big and flavorful. For mains, Shalini gets the crawfish special, and I get a trio of fish. Both are delicious. We’re happy we came. It is a delightful dinner. As we leave the restaurant, we have to walk down a flight of stairs, and the pain in our legs comes rushing back. Walking down the stairs IS THE WORST with our muscle soreness from Tongariro. We laugh ourselves silly thinking about what retards we look like trying to struggle down the stairs. We walk back to the hotel to avoid any more highway robbery. I kind of hate Auckland.


Monday, April 28: Fly to Christchurch
Our morning doesn’t get off to the greatest start. We leave a little late for the airport, and by the time we drop off our car rental we only have 45 minutes before our plane departs. In our haste to get to the car drop-off, we forget to refuel. The fuel here, like it is everywhere else in the world, is astronomical. The car rental lady tells us we’ll be charged double what the rate is (to give you an idea, it costs us the regular rate of $80 to fill up the tank of our economy car). To add insult to injury, the car rental lady points out a small chip in the windshield and says they’ll have to charge us $50 for it. We protest. That chip was there before. They never did a walkthrough of the car when we picked it up, therefore they can’t prove it wasn’t there beforehand. After much hemming and hawing, they retract the charge. Now we’re really late for our flight. When we get to the terminal, there’s a huge line. As we’re checking in, the woman at the desk tells Shalini she will have to charge her $40 because her bag is overweight. The day just keeps getting better. But by now we’re sweaty and over it and just nod and grab our tickets and run for the gate. We make it about 10 minutes before the flight takes off. We are thrilled to leave Auckland.

In Christchurch, we will be staying with my friend, Injung’s, beloved Aunt Oga and her husband, Carsten. Oga and Carsten moved to Christchurch from San Francisco three years ago. Since I’ve known Injung, I’ve heard her speak of Oga so fondly that I believe her to be a bit of a unicorn. Injung often refers to Oga as her “favorite aunt” because of the way Oga has followed her heart in living life. Her story is quite incredible: She was born in Korea and emigrated to Jamaica when she was in her early teens. Then she was sent to the States to go to school. She eventually became a lawyer in San Francisco. One day, unfulfilled with what her life had become, she picked up and left the States without warning, leaving her entire life behind. She met Carsten at a Buddhist temple in San Francisco. Carsten had just broken up with his girlfriend/business partner. Both of them were ripe for new adventure. They fell in love and started traveling together, getting married two weeks after they met! Now some 20 years later, they have been to some 60 countries and have too many adventures together to speak of.

As our plane lands in Christchurch, my heart swells. I am so excited to meet this couple that I have heard so much about, I can hardly stand it.

When we get off of our plan, Oga greets us warmly. She is beautiful—with a head of gorgeously thick salt and pepper hair and a perfectly toned yoga body. We embrace, and I feel like I already know her. She tells us Carsten is waiting for us in the car, so we go to fetch our bags. As we walk, Oga confesses that she was duped by the title of our blog…she thought Shalini and I were actually on our honeymoon! So much so that she called Injung to ask her. We all fall over ourselves with laughter. Our lesbian reputation continues to haunt us. It’s awesome. Shalini and I can’t stop with the lesbo jokes now. We laugh all the way to baggage claim.


When Shalini pulls her huge bag off the baggage carousel, Oga doubles over in hysterics. She can’t believe how huge Shalini’s bag is. Since Oga and Carsten have traveled the globe and are world-class hikers, they are obviously pretty lean packers. They cannot understand what Shalini could have possibly put in her bag. When we take our bags to the car, Carsten can barely fit them in their hatchback. Everyone keeps laughing. Shalini takes it like a man. They rib me about my luggage, too, but Shalini gets the brunt of it, poor girl. Everyone is a good sport about it.


Oga laughing at Shalini's bag for the 100th time...



We drive back to their beautiful home through rolling hills and impossibly green backdrops. Christchurch is alive with the colors of fall. It is a beautiful town with tin-roofed houses. Driving up to their house feels like driving in the Hollywood Hills. Carsten and Oga both regale us with the history of our surroundings. They are both so charming and smart. When we get to their house, Shalini and I cannot close our dropped jaws. It is beautiful, covered in floor-to-ceiling windows. It is modern but warm and extremely comfortable. And there isn’t a bad view in the house. Waking up to the backdrop of the Southern Alps out your windows is no wrong thing. We spend several minutes oooohing and ahhhhing at the life they have made for themselves. I want to pinch myself. Shalini and I exchange “Oh my fucking god!” glances. It’s too much. Oga and Carsten = Coolest Couple Ever.

Couple of the Century: Oga & Carsten


Oga and Carsten completely open up their home to us with a graciousness that touches me profoundly. They are so unbelievably kind. They have set up beds for us in their respective home offices. We get settled and then come upstairs to the kitchen, where we all share a plate of ripe green grapes as big as my thumbs and some delicious cheeses. I am so supremely happy I want to ask them to adopt me. We take out a map and Oga and Carsten walk us through the must-see sights on the South Island. They are both so wise and full of helpful information.

We ask them a little about their lives before they came to New Zealand. Carsten used to have a watch shop in San Francisco called Zeitgeist. Since Shalini used to live there, she totally knows it. It’s a great connection and Shalini and Carsten exchange mutual admiration for all things Northern California. Carsten is from Germany originally. But they managed to retire at a ripe young age and move here, traveling as much as they can. However, the cost of living in New Zealand has since skyrocketed, so Oga has taken a job again recently working in public affairs for New Zealand. They are actually thinking of moving to Berlin in a few years because it’s cheaper.

I actually get a little choked up listening to Carsten and Oga speak of their idyllic life together. They seem to live with so much joy. They tease each other very playfully. They make such a beautiful couple. It is inspiring and very touching.

By now, we have two hours of daylight left, so Carsten suggests taking an hour-long hike up the mountain. I cannot tell whether or not Shalini wants to go or whether she is still crippled by the after-shock of Tongariro, but it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. I declare a “yes” for the both of us, hoping Shalini doesn’t stab me in my sleep tonight. The hike turns out to be almost entirely uphill, but it is glorious. We hike in single file, Carsten leading the way and Oga at the tail. Shalini is behind me, shooting daggers through my back. Actually, I can tell she is starting to enjoy herself as well, even though the hike makes us break out in a full sweat. We pass a few sheep grazing on the mountain side. One of them looks at us with such fierceness, then goes back to his grazing as if we don’t exist.

The view from the top of our hike...


Taking a breather on our entirely uphill hike


Sheep!


When we return back from the hike, Carsten cooks us a superb seafood paella. We help ourselves to seconds of shrimp and mussel-filled deliciousness. For dessert, Oga serves a fresh fruit salad with lychee and kiwi and strawberries. It is so yummy. Then we take out the Vosges truffles we have brought them from Chicago and everyone has a bite of the exotic flavors. We chat until I am ready to die, but I don’t want our conversation to end. Finally, everyone has to go to bed. Tomorrow will be another early start. Shalini and I are taking the legendary TransAlpine train from Christchurch to Greymouth tomorrow. Oga will drive us to the train station at 7:30. We hug her and thank her for all of her generosity and collapse into bed.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008: TransApline train to Franz Josef Glacier
The TransAlpine train is another stunner—-rated one of the best train rides in the world. It takes us some 4 and 1/2 hours through the Southern Alps to the west coast through alpine foothills to Arthur’s Pass National Park, where we eventually reach the 737 meter=high Arthur’s Pass. We travel through several tunnels along the way, passing rainfalls and impossibly beautiful mountains. The weather begins to change and the rains and mist sweep in, making the mountains look even more beautiful. Shalini goes to the front of the car to take video and photos outside. She comes back to our train car with windswept hair, exhilarated from the journey. I sit in the train car and talk to a family from Holland. They are so nice, but it takes every ounce of concentration to understand their thick accents. Shalini meets two girls who are actually from Wicker Park in Chicago! Crazy.

The view from the TransAlpine Train


Two Dykes on A Train: The Movie

We arrive in Greymouth around 1pm and immediately go to get our rental car. It starts hosing (local term for raining cats and dogs here) outside. This weather pattern will continue the entire day. We drive to the supermarket in the downpour to load up on groceries, since we know there won’t be much in Franz Josef. We spend a little too long lingering in the supermarket, trying to decide what to get. Then we try to get some lunch. We don’t hit the road again until around 2:30, which is a little worrisome because it gets dark around 6pm here and the skies are already so forboding. Before we drive 3 ½ hours south to Franz Josef, we want to take a detour about 45 minutes north to the famous Pancake Rocks. So we've got to get our asses in gear. Shalini starts to drive like Dale Earnhardt Jr.

Driving up the coastline along the water to Pancake Rocks makes us realize something very quickly. The North Island? That place we came from yesterday? It’s a ghetto compared to the South Island. I mean, seriously. Seeing the South Island makes us lose our shit. It is so green and lush and dramatically superior to the North Island in every way. We feel like we are in an episode of Lost. I keep blinking. Are we really here? It is so gorgeous. Like driving highway 1 in California, but ten millions times more awesome.The waves are raging from the storm. The cliffs hang over the coastline, taunting us with their splendiferousness. The road is as winding as can be. Shalini drives fast. I have to close my eyes sometimes to cope.

We finally reach Pancake Rocks. These famous limestone rocks are layered in unique formations, thanks to a weathering process called stylobedding. The cumulative affect resembles piles of thick pancakes. When the tide is right, the sea surges into the caverns in the rock below and hisses through blowholes. We tour the rocks while it’s still pouring, but the detour is worth every minute. We can’t believe the natural beauty.

Pancake Rocks...It's faked.






But we can’t tarry too long. We’re losing daylight quickly. By the time we leave, it’s already 4:40. Panic starts to swell in the both of us, although we say nothing to each other. In an hour and a half, we will be driving in the dark. The island at night is REALLY DARK—there is only the reflective markings on the road to guide you--and the roads are extremely winding and treacherous. Fuck, fuck, fuck. To make matters worse, we cross several single lane bridges where you have to yield to the cars all the way on the other side of the bridge who are coming in the opposite direction of travel. Mental note: let’s never drive in the dark again. We drive in silence a lot of the way because we are pretty scared.

Finally, we arrive in Franz Josef some time around 7:45pm. By this time, we are cranky and very tired. The all-day downpour and the darkness has put us both in a foul mood. We check into our rooms and then go to dinner. It starts raining cats and dogs again on our short walk to the restaurant. It’s nothing a few glasses of their superior Sauvignon Blanc can’t cure. We eat a simple dinner at a bar-type restaurant and drink to loosen up our nerves. It works. By the time we get back to our room, we are laughing again and all is well.