Yo

So. Over a month since I last posted, eh? Finished finals, passed all of my classes, spent two weeks on the south island, spent one week up in the bay of islands, spent a week in Sydney, and now I'm packing up 6 months' worth of life and heading home on Thursday. NUTS. I'm thrilled to see my people and stop living out of suitcases, but I'm completely gutted to be leaving this beautiful adventure. Hopefully after I get back stateside I'll feel motivated to share some hilarious and beautiful stories of what the last month of life has been like. The photos are stunning, the stories are unbelievable, and life is lovely. See you soon.

I wish I wasn't such a blusher.

I joined a gym several weeks ago and actually managed to go nearly every day for the last seven weeks. I had a two-week trial period and then paid for five weeks of a legit membership before moving out. I'd never really joined a gym before, but Jesse was pretty used to gyms and showed me the ropes. We got to know the owner and the trainers just by being around all of the time, and by the time we had to quit our memberships because we were moving away, it was a sad affair. For two months we'd been hanging around these people as we hit the treadmills and the weights, and it was one more set of people we had to say goodbye to as we moved out of the city.

The last day at the gym, we felt so sad. After getting off of the treadmill I went to refill my water bottle, and passing the check-in desk, I noticed a new trainer ad on the counter. "Have great sex! Feel good! Eat chocolate, drink beer, and still look sensational! Call Tony for training times!"

I rolled my eyes and refilled my water bottle. The front desk guy that had been really friendly with me for a few weeks said, "What? Don't like the ad?" And I snapped back, "Oh yeah. Like I'm going to call Tony to teach me how to have great sex."

"I thought it was quite clever," he said.

It only takes me a second. "Oh, you're Tony!" I'm immediately red. My ears are burning so quickly.

"I just thought it would get people's attention," he says.

I mumble about how yes, it will get people's attention, haha, and skadaddle back into the gym. Might've cut that workout a little short. Bye, gym!

living in a spaceship, coming up

Big sigh of relief: finals are over. Big things ahead: moving out of my apartment tomorrow. Big worries lingering: hope I passed all of my classes. Big fun coming: two weeks on the south island in a campervan starting November 21. Life, she's a-movin' along.

Just when you thought the tv on in the background was a harmless study tool.

I'm studying with the tv on. A commercial begins, and a father is in the hospital holding his brand new son for the first time. He says, "It's like he already knows who I am." And the nurse in the room says, "Well he's only got one dad, eh?" (Imagine everyone speaking in a New Zealand accent.) New dad flashes back to a memory of him with his dad. New dad is an adult, and he and grandpa are arguing. They shout. Grandpa throws up his arms and new dad screams back at him before storming out the door and slamming it behind him. The sentimental music drowns out whatever it is they were fighting about.

Cut to new dad at home, writing on the back of photos of new baby before mailing them out to friends and family. He begins one, "Dear dad."

Cut to new dad and new mom at their kitchen, seeing grandpa drive up the driveway in his shiny SUV. New dad opens the door. Grandpa stand there, tears in his eyes, trying to peer over new dad's shoulder to see new baby in new mom's arms. Grandpa sees new baby. Grandpa and new dad look at each other. The past is forgiven. Tears all around.

New Zealand Post. Connect with your loved ones this holiday.

GODDAMNIT NEW ZEALAND POST I CANNOT HANDLE THIS RIGHT NOW.



Ahem. Only one more final to go. Put good energy into the universe for me. I need it.

Oh, irony. You're so cute.

Today I procrastinated by reading about procrastination. It turns out I'm not lazy! Only weak! YES!

Things to whine about, I suddenly have them.

So. Finals. Yep. I find final exams extremely painful, which is no new sentiment, but that's what's going on. I reckon I deserve a little misery after four months of loving the shit out of life, but damn, like anything else that's really painful, you sort of forget just how miserable you were the last time you did this until you have to do it again. The first final went okay, better than expected really. But the next two will be soul crushers, so let's just all brace for impact.

I hate to disparage the law school here because this whole experience has been such an enriching little dish of life, but the law school here makes the law school at home look like a palace that geniuses built. Let's see:

1. First of all, I'll admit that I don't study very well at home. I'd much rather fix a snack. Or read a book for pleasure. Or watch a movie. Or have a nap. Or stare at the wall.

2. The law library has extremely limited hours compared to the library at home.

3. The wireless internet is weak and spotty, and that's before you reach your monthly quota of data, and then it's so slow it takes 10 minutes to check email.

4. There are only about 40 carrels for the whole law school population, and they work on a first-come-first-served basis, so there's no way to have a private, quiet space reserved for you.

5. A private, quiet space in which to study just doesn't really exist at school. The carrels are clustered together in the middle of the basement, so even if you get one, there's lots of foot traffic around, people stomping up and down the stairs, chatting and laughing. The law students here are undergrads, mind you. That sort of explains the whole thing.

6. We are not to have food or drink in the library (or the rest of the law school, for that matter). This is a chronic problem for caffeine people. Through the semester, I could live without being able to bring a travel mug of coffee up to class because I'd have coffee at home, go to class, and then just go home. Now, with the imperative studying coming to a head, this no-caffeinated-beverages-allowed rule is killing me.

7. Let's just say that I convince myself to study at home. My little studio apartment (which is fine and good and safe and all) is situated on the one corner of the building that gets direct sunlight from about 3pm to 8pm this time of year. There is no central air, only a column of slat windows. You may have heard that the ozone layer has a hole burned through it in my neck of the woods. The result? If I'm in my apartment in the afternoon, I'm a bug on the sidewalk being cooked by a magnifying glass.

Here is what I look like sitting at my desk in the evening, warmed by the glow of exquisite fluorescent overhead lights:

Everyone likes to have a home office, right? My apartment is just like an office. Literally. Small. Fluorescent lighting. Incomplete kitchen. Squirelly neighbors occasionally knocking on the door. The only difference is a bed.

And here's what I look like while the sun melts my face off and cooks the contents of my apartment/office to crispy well done:

Just shut the blinds, you say? Ho ho! You are so clever! The "blinds" are one big roll-down blackout vinyl curtain thing that no airflow can penetrate. Living on the top floor in the sun-shattered corner of the building makes my apartment hot no matter what, and if I don't get the windows open by about 5pm, the paint starts peeling off the walls it's so hot. But whatever. I'm moving out in just under two weeks, and my last final is next Thursday, so the world will right itself again soon.

Anyhow, the moral of the story is that I don't like finals, the law school isn't very conducive to studying, and my apartment gets hot in the afternoon. Aren't I insightful?

School would be great if it weren't for all the stupid learning and assessment.

Still alive and kicking, although I'm wondering if I can postpone my first final scheduled for tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I have meningitis. I mean, I have four of the eight main symptoms: headache, stiff neck, confusion, and sleepiness. Sure I've been spending an awful lot of time crouched over my laptop, hammering out final outlines. But it's probably meningitis.

Lazy photo-posting, coming right up.

My brothers had steps shaved into their sideburns when they were little. This dude takes it to the next level:

We've been mostly confined to our apartments and the library lately, but it's nice to remember when we used to have fun.

Oh right. I have a blog.

Excuse the absence, folks. Finals are around the corner. November 3, 8, and 11. Here are a few recent shots from the phone-o-bot, bopping around the city. Smooch.

ruining my childhood, one wikipedia entry at a time

Did you guys know that for the first 14 years of Sesame Street, Snuffleupagus was Big Bird's imaginary friend? Big Bird was always talking about Snuffy to his human friends, but they couldn't see Snuffy and dismissed his existence despite Big Bird's protests. The reason to reveal him?

"In an interview on a Canadian telethon that was hosted by Bob McGrath, Snuffy's performer, Martin P. Robinson, revealed that Snuffy was finally introduced to the main human cast mainly due to a string of high profile and sometimes graphic stories of pedophilia and sexual abuse of children that had been aired on shows such as 60 Minutes and 20/20. The writers felt that by having the adults refuse to believe Big Bird despite the fact that he was telling the truth, they were scaring children into thinking that their parents would not believe them if they had been sexually abused and that they would just be better off remaining silent."

On mullet watch

My little studio apartment overlooks a small courtyard, and on the other side of the courtyard is a building that's probably 10 stories of apartments. My building is only 6 stories, and I live on the top floor (holla). Right next to the building across the way is a small hostel/hotel. There are hardly ever any guests, but when there are, there tends to be a whole bunch of them. I live really close to the biggest covered stadium in Auckland, so when big acts come (U2, for instance) (EDIT: blecht. U2. That's for Josh), this little neighboring hotel seems to get a good crowd. Which brings me to last week. Metallica in concert for two nights. People go wild here for big acts because not so many hugely-famous bands come here, let alone the wet dream of every metalhead, Metallica. I think Tool is coming here in February, and people are already acting pumped about it.

So there's a bunch of commotion outside my window, and I peer down at the backyard/patio of the hotel. Mullets. Tons of them. AC/DC, Metallica, and Tool t-shirts are the only acceptable form of clothing. The bladders from boxes o wine are removed from the boxes, and they're being drunk like the olden days when wine actually was kept in some sort of animal's organ and drunk from a spigot. There is some sort of drinking game/ritual which involves one mullet trying to drink from the bag while another mullet slaps it as hard as he can. I do not get this. Good booze is being spilled, you animals! And by good booze, I obviously mean the cheapest wine you can buy.

I get bored watching them just smoke and drink and slap, so I go about my business. Then about 10 minutes later, one of them is screaming at others to GET DOWN FROM THERE YOU ASSHOLES YOU'RE GOING TO GET US KICKED OUT OF HERE WHAT THE FUCK GET DOWN. So I go peek out the window, and two of the mullets have climbed up a fire escape onto the roof of another building. They tucked some beers and liquor into their pants, and apparently planned to just hang out on the steep roof of an adjacent building. The climbing mullets are all, "What's your problem, dude? We're just hanging out. Why are you angry?" Screamy mullet is all I'M NOT ANGRY. I'M JUST SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU GUYS.

To add to the fun, there's a girl with them outside, and she is gagging. She's standing out there on the porch with them, gagging into the grass, trying not to throw up. She throws up a little. Then she has a good healthy glug of beer, because that'll help you stop gagging! More beer! Then more gagging. Repeat. The guys all make puking noises. You know, just trying to help!

I'm sad I won't be here for a repeat show of stupid antics when Tool gets here! Not.

turtle power

Some days in life seem ordinary, with nothing special to make them stand out. Other days you go out to dinner and get serenaded by a band of attractive tipsy kiwis in suits who just came from wine club. In case you were wondering, wine club is an event that these guys have sporadically and without much notice. Someone (who they claim to not know) sends an email out to the group with the date and location of the next wine club, they don suits, and each member brings a bottle of wine. Oh life. You're so funny.

Hello October

It’s been brought to my attention that my writing here has made it seem like life is just one big party. My reaction goes like this: So? What’s wrong with that? I was asked, “Shouldn’t you mention that you do homework? That you go to class? That you aren’t just partying all the time?”

“But why?” I replied. “Who wants to read about what I learned in class today? Who wants to know that I even had to go to class today?” I know that the whole point of this little jump over the sea is to study in another country. I have four classes that will all transfer back. I’m in class four days per week for a few hours each day. Wednesday is my long day, with three classes totaling four hours. This week I attended eight out of nine class meetings. That was an exciting story, eh? Yes, I came here to be in school, and maybe making it look like all I do is party is making people at home jealous and/or worried. But another big goal of mine was to experience what it’s like to live in another country. I always felt that I would enjoy living in another country. I love meeting people and learning new cultures. I love becoming acculturated and starting to understand the way people raised in an entirely different way than I was view the world. Sure you get used to the accents and the colloquialisms quickly, but understanding how a culture so different from my own moves and works and thinks takes more time. So yeah, I’m going to school, but I’m also reveling in this chance to live out a dream I always had.

My little brother studied abroad in undergrad, and he’s started mentioning how hard it was for him to come home. He says that studying abroad, even though you know it has a definite end, provides this sense of freedom, this feeling of possibility that is extinguished when you go home to your normal life. And I know those feelings are coming. I fear that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to get back the level of happiness and carefree fun that I’ve been so fortunate to roll around in here. But for now? There’s a sparrow dive-bombing a big black cat outside my window in the space between my building and the building next to me. The shades of blue on its back are like a painting, stark against the cream stucco exterior of the next building. Tonight I’m going to a kiwi friend’s 30^th birthday party at our favorite bar. Jess and I are starting to plan our south island trip for when the semester ends. For now I’m living like life is just one big party. Last weekend the party was on Waiheke Island, a quick 40-minute ferry ride from Auckland.

The view of Auckland and Rangitoto Island from Waiheke:

home!

Day 9: heading home.

Do you like visual aids? I like visual aids. Here is a map of the route.

The downside of the way Stray designs the route is that the last actual stop is Wellington, which is at the bottom of the north island. Auckland is near the top of the north island. You can see the problem here. That means the last day of your tour, you’re on the bus from 6:45am to 5:30pm. This is a less-than-desirable situation. However, we were just ready to get home, so we stocked up on snacks to grin and bear it.

Our first two buses had been smaller tour buses, but the home bus was a great big 45-person coach bus. And there were only about 15 or 20 of us. So we had plenty of room to stretch out and take naps and catch some scenery as we drove up the whole north island. Even if you don’t like your bus mates, as long as you don’t have to sit too close to them, it’s not a problem. So the trip home wasn’t too bad. The worst part about it was that the driver let one of the 18-year-old girls who was batting her eyelashes at him be the DJ for the day. So we were stuck listening to a playlist that can only be titled as Your Most Clichéd Hits From The 80s, 90s, and Today. It was not enjoyable. Nonetheless, we made it home safe and sound with a raft of new photos and stories, miles of adventure under our belts. Next up: planning the south island!

welly welly

Day eight: Wellington.

First of all, let me just go on a brief tangent. I love Auckland. Auckland is home. I know the city. I have a fabulous time here. Most people turn their noses up at Auckland, call it “just another big city,” and blow it off. I like to make a music analogy when it comes to Auckland. You know how you get introduced to a band on one particular album, and you love that album wholeheartedly, and eventually you branch out to the band’s other albums, but that one album was the one that made you fall in love with them. And then someone goes and says, “OH NO that album is crap! This other album is SO much better!” But you’re like, “Yeah, whatever, I guess that other album could be objectively “better,” but this album here is the one that made me fall in love with the band, and it’ll always hold a special place in my heart.” Auckland is that first album. Yes there are many, many other cities in New Zealand with more unique sights and interesting natural phenomena and adventure sports. But it turns out that city life suits me pretty well. So I had a feeling I’d like Wellington.

Wellington is the capital and third-largest city in NZ. There’s a lot to do, so we planned to stay an extra night and catch the next bus. That way we’d also get to kiss the sucky bus goodbye. We’d gotten a tip that the hostel that the bus drivers are supposed to recommend as the “preferred” hostel by the company is actually kind of gross, so we picked another hostel. And this one featured free dinner every night. What?!? Cheap room, clean bathrooms, AND free dinner? Over our stay we had curry, veggie lasagna, and pizza. FOR FREE. And to top it all off, we were in a six-bed dorm, and we never had any roommates. I guess that’s the beauty of travelling in winter.

Wellington was the last city on the circuit, and we were feeling pretty tired. We’d had tons of fun and spent way plenty of money, and we were winding down into home mode. But we managed to have a couple of nice walks, ride the Wellington cable car, visit the Botanical Gardens, and get a couple of piercings. Wellington is darling.

every adventure has to have a low point

Day seven: National Park.

One of the activities that we were looking most forward to on the trip was the Tongariro Crossing. An epic hike that takes 6-8 hours, the Crossing is weather dependent. Tongariro National Park is a dream for outdoorsy people, but this time of year, the Crossing can be dangerous if you get stuck in bad weather. Unfortunately, it poured buckets all day the only day we were there, so the Crossing was closed. We could have stayed longer in Natty Park to see if better weather would come, but it had already been announced that it would be closed the next day. Even though the hostel was very cool, there was absolutely nothing else to do if the weather was shit. So we had a relaxing day and moved on with the bus.

Speaking of the bus, our second bus was a great disappointment compared to our first bus. There were a few people on the first bus that we found annoying, but for the most part we had some extremely fun partners in crime (both the boozey and the adventuresome types of crime). When we joined the second bus in Rotorua, we knew within five minutes that we were not going to love these people. There was a clutch of Asian girls playing annoying music and singing along loudly. There were a couple of know-it-all Canadians who made jokes about how they wouldn’t hold the fact that we were American against us.

Then there were some other Americans from our first bus who had coincidentally stayed in Rotorua as well. Two of them were a couple, and they were the extremely-in-love-and-unabashed-about-fervent-PDA variety. We later heard a report that they had found the marae situation at Uncle Boy's where all 20 of us slept in the same room ...well...*ahem*... thrilling.

The other two Americans from our first bus were so extremely boring that we felt guilty about the raucous amount of fun we had. They were so quiet that they didn’t even seem to like each other, even though they were roommates back in Auckland. They did very few of the scheduled activities and barely socialized at all. Boooooooring. We had a few laughs with the people we went skydiving with, but damn did we miss that first bus. Add to that the fact that my sore throat had followed usual course and developed into a phlegmy cough and runny nose, and I was in a foul mood about the whole situation. Get me to Wellington so I can get off of this sucky inferior bus.

We watched a little tv, split an hour of expensive internet time, shared a delicious platter of vegetables and fries for dinner, and called it a night. We each popped a melatonin and slept like logs, eager to wake up refreshed and ready for the next day. I'm still doing research to try and find out why melatonin is easily available over-the-counter in the states but only available by prescription in most other countries, including New Zealand. Bummer.

the fun continues

What do you get when you go kayaking, hiking, caving, rafting, dancing, and drinking for four days straight? You get hungover. And sore. And sick.

Day five: Rotorua. Still.

Our first bus had moved on down the line, and we were stalled in Rotorua with sore throats and sore bodies. But we were quite happy to have two mornings to sleep in and one and a half days to take it easy and recharge before getting on the next bus. We took naps and shopped and went to bed early for once. Rotorua is known for its sulfuric smell due to geothermal activity in abundance. Every once in a while I’d get a big whiff of the eggy treat Rotorua offers, but it never really bothered me too much.

Day six: finally leaving Rotorua and heading to Taupo, skydiving capital of the world.

Lake Taupo is NZ’s biggest lake with a perimeter of 100 miles, and the skydiving center is right next to it. I was a little worried about skydiving because of how terrifying I found bungee jumping to be, but I honestly thought I might like skydiving better. When you bungee, you’re all trussed up like a turkey, standing on a concrete ledge with your toes peeking over the edge with nothing to hold on to besides the bungee staff who won’t even let you hold on to them for very long. Trust me. I tried.

Still, the idea of falling out of a plane at 15,000 feet was enough to make my heart pound. On the way, the bus stopped for a little scenic view of Huka Falls, which famously pumps enough water every three seconds to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

A limo from the skydive company came to pick up the four of us who were diving.

Our bus driver pulled us aside right before we left and said, “Listen, you guys should know that the instructors over at the skydiving place might not be as enthusiastic as they normally are. There was an accident over at Fox Glacier yesterday. The skydive plane blew up just after take off. You shouldn’t be worried about your plane or anything, but I just wanted to warn you guys that they might be a little more somber than they normally are because some of their friends died yesterday.”

GULP

Jess and I exchanged slightly worried looks. And then we got in the limo. Hi, mom! Oh I didn't tell you about that little tidbit? Oops! We're safe and sound!

I hear that some skydive companies spend a bit of time giving instructions to the jumpers, but at Skydive Taupo, your tandem partner points to a photograph on the wall of an instructor and a jumper mid-air, says “Look like that. Feet close together, arms out, back arched. Like a banana. Can you be a banana?” And that’s the end of your lesson.

Heading out to the little pink plane, they took lots of photos of us, obviously available for purchase later. We loaded up, and then I realized that my tandem partner and I were the last people to get in the plane. Which meant that I would be first out. Eep. I began to worry about whether or not first out would have been my preference, and then I told myself to shut up because regardless of when I fell out of the plane, I was still going to be FALLING OUT OF A FREAKING PLANE.

The little plane climbs climbs climbs; the view is breathtaking; my heart is a kick drum.

I warned my instructor down on the ground that I was going to be scared. “I really want to do this,” I said. “But I’m going to be really scared. I won’t freak out, but I’m going to be scared. Just take control.” He nodded and said, “Not a problem.”

The orders are simple. Hold onto your harness. Tip your head back so it’s on the instructor’s shoulder. After you’re out of the plane and situated, put your arms out when the instructor taps you on the shoulder. I repeat the directions in my head. I’m strapped to my instructor, facing forward on the plane, sitting on the floor, waiting to reach altitude. Everyone else faces us. He says, “Your friend keeps looking at you. She’s giving you the thumbs up.”

“Oh. Ha. That’s because she thinks I’m going to freak out,” I reply. “But I’m not going to freak out.”

He jokes with a mostly-gone German accent, “You can freak out if you want to. It doesn’t really matter either way to me.”

And then the pilot yells something. And then the other instructors throw up gang signs which must mean it’s time. My instructor rolls up the accordion door. He’s twice as big as me and I’m strapped tightly to him, so when he spins me around, scooting me toward the open door, my little legs dangle out over the edge of the door and my sneakers blow in the wind. FUCK OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS HAPPENINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

And then we’re out. I’m falling. He flips me up so we’re looking at the plane, bright pink and growing smaller. Then he turns us head down, dive-bombing toward the clouds. The noise is incredible in both volume and texture. My ears begin to hurt. The wind lashes at my face and hands. Even in gloves I feel my fingers getting cold, losing feeling. We were promised over 60 seconds of free fall time. It definitely feels like it to me as I start to wonder just when he’ll pull the parachute. And then he does, and my legs fly up in front of me like I'm a rag doll. My ears are killing me. “How was that?” he asks.

“My ears are fucked up!” I yell back, unable to control my volume because I can barely hear anything.

“Just hold your nose and blow to equalize the pressure,” he suggests. Oh. Duh. Altitude. I blow and blow and blow, and it’s a little better, not quite as painful, but my ears would be screwed up for about three days.

Once the parachute is out, he loosens a couple of harnesses, adjusts the loops around my thighs, and gets me in a sitting position for sightseeing. The lake is just breathtaking. It’s a partly cloudy day, which is nice because it’s not blindingly bright, and the scenery is just gorgeous as sunlight peeks through over the lake and hills. This, I keep thinking, is why people skydive here. He narrates what he’s doing and points out some sights. “I’m going to do some turns now, if that's okay with you,” he warns me. And then we’re spinning, my body nearly horizontal as he steers. We do turns in the wind, and I giggle wildly. The other three divers, including Jesse, are up above me, coasting and spinning with multicolored chutes.

Then it was over, and we were all on the ground, laughing and high fiving. They try to sell us our photos and show us the videos they took of two of the other divers. Jess and I both elected not to have a video taken of us. After seeing the videos they took of the others, I don’t regret that decision. Especially since it was a decision that saved me $150 worth of embarrassing video footage of me looking unattractive. One of the divers did buy the photos, and I acquired these from his facebook page.

Then we were off to the hostel to clean up for a dinner date. Back in the states before I left for study abroad, my good friend from college, Gretchen, mentioned that her ex-boss’s son lives in a city called Taupo and that I should try to visit him if I was ever nearby. As soon as I got a look at the bus map and saw that Taupo was a stop, I got Seth’s contact info from Gretchen and we started emailing. I gave him our tentative dates, and we exchanged phone numbers. Gretchen went on and on about what a sweet guy Seth was and how amazing it would be if we actually got to meet up in NZ. And then we did!

He works at a restaurant in Taupo and happened to have the night off that we were there. Seth and his coworker were having a farewell dinner at their restaurant since she was off to her next adventure, and Jess and I joined right in. Delicious food and great company. After a nice long dinner, we went to meet up with a bunch of our bus people and some of the skydive staff at a local Irish pub. You know how I love a good Irish pub, you guys. Seth was amped to get to play foosball with other Americans and turned out to be just as darling as Gretchen had promised. Sweet, sweet night.

rafting and dancing

Day four: Rotorua.

The first order of the day was rafting. I’ve been rafting on the Arizona River in Buena Vista, Colorado, which was amazing, but I knew that the Rotorua rafting trip was much shorter than my Colorado trip. I figured that $45 was a fine price for a short trip if you’ve never been rafting, but I could skip it and save the money for something else. Then Jesse reminded me that she had a free rafting trip voucher and that we could just split the cost of one trip. A raft trip for 20 bucks? Done. We’ve been splitting our good fortune this whole trip, and we’ve both had more fun because of it. Nearly the whole bus signed up for this activity. Like many tourism activities in New Zealand, Kaitiaki Rafting Co. is a well-oiled machine. They quickly herd you around, fitting you with wet suits and booties and life jackets, and then you’re off for a quick bus ride to the entry point.

Though the actual water time was short, we got to raft a couple of good waterfalls, including the highest commercially-rafted waterfall IN THE WORLD.

It was pretty thrilling. We all know that if you ever get dumped out of your raft in a rapid or at the bottom of a waterfall that you’re supposed to ball up as small as you can in order to get spat out of the churning water faster. But sitting at the top of that waterfall as we’re about to nosedive seven meters into frothy water, you just know that if the raft capsizes you’ll forget every lesson you learned. Luckily we remained upright and I didn’t have to demonstrate my clumsiness in water.

The way many bus companies here work is that you can hop off in any city the bus stops and spend more time there, and then you just catch the next bus a couple of days later as long as there are open seats. We’d already planned to stay in Rotorua because some of our Auckland friends were meeting us there to see a famous New Zealand band, Salmonella Dub. Stupid name, I know. But I recommend a listen. We actually timed our whole trip so that we would end up in Rotorua on Friday for the band. We were so sad to leave our fun travel companions on our original bus, but Salmonella Dub did not disappoint. It’s like a reggae singer with a techno beats DJ guy plus a couple of horns. It was musically interesting and seeing our friends from home was sweet, not to mention that all of the rafting guides from earlier in the day were there and recognized us. We were so far from home base Auckland, and yet we probably knew 25 people at the show. Everyone drank and danced with abandon, and it’s probably one of our best memories of New Zealand so far.