Better Late Than Never

Drinking the night before departure wasn’t the best of ideas. Nor was the decision to pack before I went to bed.

A 5:50am wake-up call is not pretty. My bus didn’t leave until 9am but I planned to Skype my friend from home. The temptation to sleep in was strong but a promise is a promise.

It was lovely speaking to my friend Nat. I spent a good two hours wittering on about my adventures in New Zealand. I completely monopolised the conversation. It didn’t feel like we were chatting for that long either. I felt bad about the one-sided conversation but we agreed to chat again soon.

I boarded the bus and headed for my usual seat. I positioned myself next to the wheel as nobody wants to sit there. It means I have a spare seat for all my crap. My plan backfired though as we had a fully booked bus.

Everyone was recovering from the night before. Some chose to stay silent and others ate breakfast Fergs. The smell of grease that early in the morning made my stomach churn in revulsion.

Before I speak to anyone I try to gauge the bus and see where I fit in. It was tricky as not that many people, including myself, were up for talking. I’m glad I’m not the only one who isn’t a morning person.

Faint whisperings of the sexual encounters from the night before reached my ears. It amazes me how frank some people are about certain elements of their lives. I know more about peoples’ sex lives and bowel movements than I’d ever dare to ask!

I’m no prude, but I’d much rather talk about guys with my girlfriends than some random strangers. Obviously that’s just me!

Sleep caught up with me and I snoozed for the first couple of hours. Every now and then I got chatting to a couple of the girls from the bus and everyone seemed quite friendly and chatty. Even though it was the largest group I’d been with, nobody was left out which was encouraging. There were no dominant personalities on board. It’s not great when people feel the need to control or be the loudest.

We arrived at Mount Cook, checked in, ate then headed out for a two hour walk. Getting my hiking boots from the bus seemed like too much of an arse so I chose to plough through the snow in my faux ugg boots. Not the wisest of choices but you’ll be surprised to know that I was one of the few who didn’t slip on the ice. Trainers were the worst for this walk. I wasn’t bothered about soaking my boots as I’d be throwing them out in a couple of days. They were on their last legs anyway.

It was a pleasant walk, one of many I’ve had in New Zealand. I anticipated there would be a lot of walking trails in NZ and I was worried that I’d hate it. I’m so impatient back home that I hate walking. I’d much rather cycle or go by car/bus, if the journey was further, than walk. I guess now I have all the time in the world, there’s no need to keep thinking about when I’ll get to the end as much. It also helps that my surroundings are idyllic. 

A narrow pathway had been carved into the snow which made the likelihood of getting lost near impossible. A high level of concentration went into making sure that I didn’t fall over. It meant that I didn’t get to truly appreciate the mountainous backdrop but I had fun crunching the ice either side of me. I loved the sound it made and the texture. It was the same satisfaction you feel when you crack the surface of a crème brulee.

We finally arrived at the viewpoint and took several photos.

I'll only bore you with one!

A quicker pace on the way back meant that we arrived in good time. People veered off separately for showers and power naps and reconvened for dinner. I wasn’t that hungry so had part of a fresh quiche I’d bought earlier in the day. It was a triumphant moment which may sound slightly strange. Other than Yorkshire puddings and the lack of a decent curry house, quiche is a food choice which I’ve unexpectedly missed. There was no sign of it in S.E. Asia which didn’t surprise me but Australia was practically void of the stuff. I found it in the odd supermarket but only in frozen form. When do I ever have access to a bloody oven?! So imagine my delight when I found a fresh quiche at a bargain price. Yes it’s weird but it made me enjoy it all the more.

As we were almost finished tucking into our food, the manager from the bar upstairs came through and asked if were interested in taking part in the pub quiz. It’s free to enter and each team gets a pitcher of beer. Hey, you had me at pub quiz mate.

I wasn’t confident that I’d know a lot seen as I’ve been completely outcast from society for the past nine months or so. If there are any questions on topical issues, I’m screwed. But low and behold, I flipping nailed that quiz. Ok, we didn’t win but I managed to access the deepest darkest crevasses of my trivia memory. I knew books written by Ben Elton and I knew the title of a Bruce Springsteen album. I felt like the guy in Bradley Cooper in Limitless as I was picking answers from random faint memories.

Unfortunately we did not have a clue about New Zealand

Most people, including me, headed to bed after the quiz. I needed to catch up on some sleep. There was no sign of anyone Irish or an offering of goon so I was safe.