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The bus stopped outside Queenstown for the Bridge Jump. There we first sat through a video on the history of bungee before paying up for whichever jumps we'd chosen and watched the lucky few that were going that day throw themselves off of a perfectly good bridge. As previously mentioned it is a forty three (43) metre jump, with the unique aspect of being dunked in a river at the bottom of the jump, before a boat paddles out to collect you. Ollie, Alaistair and Jonny, who had formed the nucleus of my group of friends, were doing it. The Fear grew us non-jumpers stood around and discussed how the Nevis jump, which we were doing the next day, was three time higher.
Queenstown is a milestone for Kiwi bus tours, as it where the West coast groups and their driver, that have traveled together for a week or more, split up and go in different directions. As such they drivers tend to put on a big party, and Ginny didn't let us down. Free shots kicked off the night at the Base hostel bar, Altitude, before we moved onto to the Word Bar club, where upon giving the bar staff a password we had free drinks between 11 and 12 (or maybe 12 and 1, I don't quite remember). There was largely one topic of conversation - the jump. The free drinks were wolfed down to quell the growing Fear inside of us.
The Bungy
I awoke the next morning around 10, surprisingly clear headed given the copious amounts of free booze consumed the previous night. My jump was at two. Damn, I'd wanted to sleep longer. I read for a while, but couldn't concentrate on the book. I decided to have a long overdue hair cut, mostly to waste time, which was moving a cruelly slow pace. I just wanted to get it over with. We met at twelve - twenty very pale and nervous looking people, as if we were being transported to our inevitable doom. At the bungy shop in town we were weighed. People jumped in descending weight order, with different ropes used depending on the person's size. Our driver gleefully informed us that by a mere two kilograms I was the group's 'rope tester'. It is on the drive that the curious battle between your rational mind and pure Fear takes place. You know the rope won't break. What kind of business would kill off all of its customers? 40 people have jumped today already, they're all alive. But what if it goes wrong? You could be the unlucky one. The driver knows what we're thinking - its what everyone thinks, and the whole jump is about overcoming that Fear. The bus hits the hills and starts to climb...it doesn't stop climbing for far too long, every metre we go up intensifying the terror. After what seems like hours of climbing we reach the base. I get out and visit the toilet for the sixth time that day, while pulling out the bravado as people ask me who it feels to be going first. The workers help us into our harnesses and the first three jumpers get in the tiny cable car that ferries us out to the man gondola, suspended by a wire 134m above the canyon floor. The waiting area of the gondola was numerous glass floor segments so you can stare down at the abyss while waiting for your turn. There is no waiting for me though. I'm up first. Clipped onto to a wire running around the roof, I'm sat it some kind of perverse dentist's chair as a man disinterestedly attaches my feet to the bungy cord. I'm annoyed that he seems oblivious to such a monumental moment. But then I remember that he has seen this a thousand times. What's all-important to me is mundane to him. Jumpers have to be winched back up to the gondola, and to avoid people having to hauled back up upside down a nifty harness system had been devised, which upon the pull of a cord the jumper can right themself and go up admiring the view around. This was briefly explained to me before i was told to go to the edge of the small platform protruding from the edge. Due to the fact that your feet are strapped together these last few steps are reduced to an awkward shuffle as you try to keep your balance. You can't help but look down. It's so god damn far. One of the workers drops the thick cord off the edge, fears runs through you as it tugs at your feet. Another guy calmly says 3..2..1...and I jump automatically. Despite all the build, all the fear, the jump comes easily. As you leave the platform, though, your mind screams for a split second 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING???'. That feeling quickly goes though as the thrill of the ground rush hits you, you try to scream in joy but your lungs are empty, your get closer and closer to the floor. Then the cord kicks in and you slow down, before being hauled back up. The second bounce alone is bigger than most bungy jumps. I pull the cord and am flipped upright, dangling above the canyon floor. Adrenalin is pumping through my veins and I feel f***ing invincible - not even the creaky winch that is hauling me up bothers me now. I get into the gondola, where most of the group are now and am greeted by a round of cheers and high fives as the next gets ready. I have to spend the next 45 minutes answering constant questions about it as people await their go, but I can barely concentrate on anything except the canyon floor screaming towards me. As I get a moment to myself I realise that I've paid for over 100 quid for about 8 second of activity. But what an 8 seconds they were. A few of us go back over to the centre where we have a laugh over our videos. We'd all talked about how we wanted to do graceful superman leaps off of platform. Turns out with yfour feet tied up and hald paralyzed with fear most of us just flopped off. I didn't much care - I'd done it and survived.
So there was my overly dramatic and stupidly lengthly account of a bungy jump, which concludes another session of blog writing. I'm off to bed as I'm in Seattle and am very sleepy. Ahahahahahahaha. Well I amused myself at least...
That night we went out for a few celebratory post jump drinks, which predictably turned into another heavy night out; Queensland isn't the capital of New Zealand nightlife for nothing. The night was brightened by the unexpected meeting of some friends from Christchurch as well as two people I'd met in Oz, including Alex, my bunk mate from hte Freight Train boat cruise. They were doing the Nevis jump the next day and I had all kinds of fun taunting them about it.
Queenstown is quite a small place, and in you're not blowing cash on adventure activites (some of which had been stopped due to the drowning of a British backpacker on the day I'd arrived in town while she was river boarding) then there is little to do but wonder around the hills that loom above the town. I spent the third day doing so, before resolving to climb the 900 metre Queenstown Hill the next day (I was two hungover on that day). I spent the night quietly in the Tv lounge, where my friends and I watched back to back movies for far too long - neither my body nor wallet could take another night out though - including 'the New Zealand film' as recommended by the reception staff. No, not the Whale Rider, but Once Were Warriors, a pretty harrowing tale of urban poor Maori which Jango Fett in the lead role. Worth checking out, even if some of the acting is a bit dodgy (but when you only have a few hundred thousan people to choose from there can't be too much talent!).
I went for my hike the next day. Unfortunately nature had decided to put one over on me, removing the glorious sun of days gone by for a snow blizzard. I made it to about 750m, but was still a good mile and a half from the summit before I decided to turn back, mainly because I couldn't see more than two metres in front of me. That was my last night in Queenstown and I was to be leaving my friends the next day, so more drinking was in order before our fairwells were said. Which was nice.
Over the couple of days I was at a different place each night, and so I'll put them all here to so I don't have to make lots of small entries. On the bus to Christchurch the next day there were only a few people that I knew, and they were all flying off from the airport. It was the longest single leg of the tour, and as such there were plentiful stops for beautiful scenery and pie.
A note on Pie. Say what you will about our Antipodean cousins, they know how to make pie. It is second only to sporting prowess as a source of national pride for both the Aussies and Kiwis. Every little corner shop you care to visit has a glowing case with hot, home made pies with a bewildering selection of fillings, just waiting to perk up the day of a weary and hungover traveler.
On my previous trip to Christchurch I'd made friends with a lot of the Base hostel staff, primarily because of the sheer amount of hanging around the hostel I did. I knew if I went back there, Saturday night with as it was, I'd be roped into going out, and I wasn't feeling my best (trundling around in snow storms isn't great for your health). I also like to try new places, and so I booked into a little hostel outside the centre of town where I had a quiet night with a pizza and Raiders of the Lost Ark, being shown in the build up to the release of Indy IV. Luckily this time I was only there for the night.
In the morning I headed for Kaikoura with a new driver (I think his road name was Mangy or something) and a new bus load of mostly wide eyed travelers just starting there New Zealand adventure. Kaikoura is a very small town based around tourism - nothing new there. It's unique pulls are swimming with dolphins, whale watching and a seal colony. Unfortunately the sea was too round to go out dolphin swimming or whale watching, so all that was left to do was watch seals lie about on rocks and fight each other. By the afternoon that grew wearisome, so I joined a group of lads from the bus to do what any self respecting men do of a Sunday afternoon; drink and play rugby. Mangy(?) cooked us all up a monster barbecue to go with it, and before I knew it I was waking up with a hangover to get on the bus and move on again.
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