Road to Vegas

Road to Vegas, - click on the link to see the full set of 40 photos.

A selection of photos from the journey to Vegas, Vegas itself and the only couple of photos I took the day after at The Venetian.

Plus, you get to see The Hat. Quite a few of these photos I'd only just recently found in a random folder on my notebook. I might look awake but I seriously cannot remember the majority of these photos being taken.

Good Mornin' America

Beep, beep, beep, beeeeep. The dreaded sound of one’s morning alarm is probably the most hated sound. I usually set mine to snooze or just lie in bed playing the coming day over in my head in an attempt to muster up some form of enthusiasm. Dragging my ass out of bed is a cumbersome process but today was different. Where I was staying snoozing was not an option. As soon as I realised where I was, I wanted to get up and out of my room. It wasn’t that hellish but it was by no means a tranquil duvet heaven.

Breakfast perked me up a bit. Yet more pancakes, my arteries will be pleased. The sugar rush certainly did the trick. My stuff was organised and ready to lug to my next destination but I still had most of the morning so I went out for a walk.

No surprise that it was a beautifully crisp, clear and sunny morning. I walked along the beach and pier and indulged myself with a session of people-watching. Sometimes I like to imagine what people’s stories are, why they are in that place at that particular time and what their lives are like. It’s a nice escape from my own inner monologue.

My thoughts were interrupted briefly as I breezed past a cheery surfer. I did a double-take as I thought I saw something strange. Maybe I should start drinking proper coffee. I took a few more photos and made my way back to the hostel. In doing so I passed the same surfer guy in the car park…yep, that guy has horns. A middle-aged surfer dude with horns protruding from his forehead is what stood before me. We exchanged smiles again, mine a slightly nervier effort. Inside I screamed – “Don’t flay me”. Then my mind started to wander. If he is meant to be a demon, what do they normally do with humans? They probably don’t flay people…or do they? I tried accessing my faint memories of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel but then the thought of David Boreanaz took me down a separate thought train…

…“My friend wants to marry you.” I paused and looked to my left. There beside me were three dishevelled fellows and a straggly girl. One was propping up a sign with a message of love and a plea for money. How random. A marriage proposal from a tramp wasn’t what I was expecting to get from my day. I didn’t have my purse so it was a wasted proposal.

That concluded my morning stroll and it was time to head to the train station. Thankfully that was a simple bus ride away. I knew where I was going and everything!

Before I boarded a patronising desk clerk answered a couple of questions I had. He spoke to me like I didn’t know what a train was.

Farewell San Diego, greetings Los Angeles. Three guesses what happened next…yes I got lost. I jotted down directions but they didn’t help. I walked across the road to a shop selling bus tour tickets in search of a street map. They had one but it was shite. It didn’t help me whatsoever and the staff were only concerned with people buying a bus ticket. I had a decision to take, left or right. It was the wrong way.

Ordinarily I’d just wander around aimlessly and take the “scenic route”. This is the point where I meet incredible people or discover something great that I would have missed otherwise. This time I had my whopping suitcase so I was in no mood to wander around without a clue.

In an act of desperation I went into a Domino’s pizza joint shop thinking they’d probably have a map as they deliver. This was my theory. They didn’t have a map. The manager took pity on me and offered to drive me across there as he’d just finished his shift. I accepted as I had no idea where I was or how I’d get to the hostel. This guy would be pretty dumb to kidnap me seen as half his staff witnessed me getting into a car with him. This guy would get some serious good-karma-points with this goodwill gesture. It was tainted slightly when he asked me out for dinner but I made my excuses and walked into the hostel. Marriage proposal and dinner request all in one day, now I do feel special.

That’s enough excitement for one day I think. I set my stuff down in the female only dorm that yet again confirmed that girls are just as messy as guys, if not more in some cases. This hostel was definitely a step up from San Diego. I had a plug socket and a light by my bed. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Down In Mexico

An outsider may crinkle their brow in confusion as to why I crammed everything I wanted to do into one day. Even more so when they realise that I still had one full day left in San Diego.

From past experience I have learnt to try and get all the city-musts out of the way as soon as possible. Stating the bleedin’ obvious is probably what comes to mind for most of you reading this, but you will be surprised how easy it is to become lazy when travelling. After a travel day, I usually want to do the easiest thing or visit the nearest place to the hostel. Without thinking I waste my first couple of days dithering about and then my plans change and I either don’t have time or have to rush my last days in an effort to fit everything in.

For instance, I had one week in Kyoto, Japan. I thought that was ample time to see everything. I met up with a friend and visited a couple of temples nearby. I stretched that out over my first two or three days. Before I knew it, I was making preparations to leave so I ended up rushing about trying to see everything. I still had a good time but all my procrastinating and “finding my feet” bollocks meant that I didn’t even touch the outskirts of Gion, the famous Geisha district. Abundant with tradition and historic value, I missed out on a tea ceremony or taking a rare snap of a full-time Geisha in her native surroundings. Lonely Planet would weep at my omission.

Regrets are bypassed for me as I know that it is impossible to experience and see everything there is on offer in each country. Perhaps if I had a year in each, I might be able to ensconce myself within the societies and truly learn the culture and history but that’s not my journey this time.

After making loose plans to meet back up with Laura and John, I didn’t want to risk having to choose between seeing them and eating an epic burrito. My efforts were not wasted and I managed to make last-minute plans to visit Tijuana with my new Liverpudlian acquaintances.

Today seemed like Comic-Con’s prime day as Old Town was crawling with creatures from various planets. The bustle of the Comic-Con-goers was interrupted at certain points with an exasperated intercom message – “This is NOT a Comic-Con trolley. Repeat, this is NOT a Comic-Con trolley.” I had visions of someone pushing a shopping trolley full of masked heroes around San Diego. Trolley is not a word I would ever associate with public transport (it's a tram for those not in the know).

Fighting through the noise and crowds, I managed to pick out Laura in the masses and waited whilst John bought day tickets. It was great that the $5 unlimited bus passes also work on selected trolley services. It would cover our trip to and from the Mexican border.

Now more than ever, it became increasingly apparent that cash machines are like gold-dust in some parts of America. We never thought that San Diego would be one of them. John and Laura needed cash so we took a trolley to downtown and from there we would take the necessary tram to reach the border. As Laura and I stared out the windows to figure out when our stop would come, John made conversation with an American veteran. John later told me that veterans have some of the best stories to tell. He wasn’t wrong, this guy was teeming with tales littered with interesting titbits about his country.

Perhaps I was exaggerating slightly by comparing ATMs to gold-dust, but instead of saying “I need to go to a hole in the wall” (a common expression when there is a need to visit an ATM in England), I would say “I need to find a random shop that might have a stand-alone cash machine stashed somewhere.” But most of these were situated in pawn shops or other establishments that look equally dodgy.

It was slightly frustrating as a relatively simple act of withdrawing money becomes a treasure hunt. It didn’t help that we were all pretty hungry. Our fuses were short but became happily distracted with the pretty leaflet and freebie droppers. One particular girl hypnotised many tourists and locals alike with her swaying fishnet-clad hips. I still can’t remember what she was promoting but I remember exactly what she was wearing. Is that worrying?

As if we were under a spell, the three of us inadvertently followed the siren. We were soon brought back down to earth when two gleeful Americans shoved packets of Slim Jim jerky in our hands. This could solve our hunger problems temporarily at least.

Rounding the corner, a cash machine stood out like a bright beacon. We scurried across as the sooner we get the money the sooner we can make it across the border and stuff our faces. Slim Jim was not enough to satiate us completely.

Whilst John withdrew his money, Laura and I clocked the Slim Jim mothership. As well as holding a hoard of Slim Jim packets, there were carnival games that anyone could take part in. My competitive nature coupled with my desire to gain more free stuff meant that I practically stormed through the small group of bystanders.

Not surprisingly, we had to sign a disclaimer stating that we wouldn’t sue Slim Jim if we injure ourselves. Good ol’ America.

Our choices were an arm wrestling game, the classic high striker (hammer and bell) or a punch bag. The punch bag looked like the easiest one so we went for that. I had a lot of weight behind me at that point so I hoped I could use that to my advantage for once.

John and I limbered up like we were entering the Olympics. Laura simply took off her bag and went straight into it. I stood back and watched to gauge what techniques were needed to accomplish the perfect punch. There was a specific spot to hit and a certain way to push your weight forward to get the most points. It did seem like the fattest people were gaining the most points over the seemingly stronger-looking opponents. It’s better to be fat than fit at this point. Perfect!

John faired very well and Laura sourced some hidden anger and punched respectably. I wanted to win. I didn’t care what it was that I actually won, I just wanted victory.

My first punch slipped off the bag and my score was pathetic. I only had two chances left. I made the second shot count and my score rocketed but it still wasn’t enough to win a prize, ergo it wasn’t good enough. I thought back to what had riled me over the years and used that as a stimulant. It ruddy worked and I got a top score and won a belt. Random, but I didn’t care. The guy running the stand said I was one of the top punching girls of the day. Perhaps he was just trying to make me feel better, but I smothered my skepticism and smiled. Yes, I am the champion!

It would have been so easy to spend the afternoon playing games and winning tat but Tijuana awaited us. We caught the next trolley and walked across the border unquestioned. Our hassle free entry into Mexico had us laughing nervously. Surely it can’t be this easy? Pedestrians aren’t deemed as dangerous so it seems but if you have a car you have to have the patience of a saint as you’ll be waiting a while.

Sheesh!

Me and Laura have time to pose with a packet of Slim Jim overlooking queueing traffic

Even though this sounds like the oldest cliché ever created, it did feel like walking into another world. We left cloudy-grey San Diego for sunny Mexico. Tall modern buildings were replaced with grungy one-storey structures. Macy’s and Abercrombie and Fitch morphed into rows of tourists shops all selling the same crap. Each establishment was owned by a middle-aged man trying every trick in the book to get us to come in. They had no luck with us but we did enjoy the efforts many went to. It felt like they were all reading from the same book as every guy commented on how lucky John was to have two “senoritas”. John happily played along. Tijuana is very lively and busy if a little surreal.

Photo opportunity with a zebra-donkey?

Imaginative

Our stomachs growled in protest so we decided to look for somewhere to eat. Along the way we met an American guy called Brad. He was visiting with family but exploring Tijuana alone that day. Brad was searching for a market nearby and asked if we too were looking for the same market as he was a little lost. We got to talking and decided to hang out for a while.

All the restaurants looked the same so we struggled to differentiate between the places that are kosher or ones that would have us clinging to the toilet bowl for the next few days. Most of the places looked busy so we settled upon a place that had seating outside.

Other than tacos and enchiladas, I did not understand anything that was written on the menu. To begin with I was going to stick to the usual tacos, especially as they were cheap, but everything sounded so tasty.

Two lovely waitresses served us homemade chips, dips and took our orders. We awkwardly asked questions about the menu as we were all equally clueless.  I ordered quesadilla even though I still didn’t really know what that was. The picture looked nice though!

Education, politics, travel experiences and social differences were subjects of talk whilst we waited for our food. Brad shared stories about his time living in Turkey and I got to hear more about Laura and John’s adventures.

Our food arrived promptly and nobody hesitated in digging in. It was a feast.

It's not all for me!

Me, Laura and Brad with our lovely waitresses

Me, Laura, Brad and John moments before we tucked into our grub

Time slipped away as we realised that a good couple of hours had passed by. We bid farewell to the ladies and took to the streets in search of this elusive market.

It didn’t take us long to find what we were looking for. The market sure had a lot of character.

Those aren't sultanas, they're wasps. Yuck!

I'm not sure what the idea behind this was!

It was definitely popular with the locals. We bounced around and ricocheted off people like a ball-bearing firing through a pinball machine. I believe this is where we lost Brad. With no mobile phone to call, we shrugged and carried on walking around. Brad left our lives as seamlessly as he entered it.

In no direct correlation to what had just happened we entered a church. I’m not religious at all in that I have no strong beliefs either way. It was still interesting to watch others worship and pray. Some sat in silence, others clenched prayer beads and many knelt down in the aisle briefly as a sign of respect. Church etiquette is well above and beyond my knowledge so I was soon ready to go.

Somehow the day was coming to a close already. We walked back to cross the border. There was no avoiding one bar owner we met when we first entered. We made the fateful mistake of telling him that we’d come back and maybe have a drink. Of course he remembered us. One drink wasn’t going to do any harm and we couldn’t exactly argue over the pricing.

Mister bar owner fussed over us as we were pretty much his only customers at that point. Perhaps their avoidance tactics were better than ours - we have a lot to learn.

Sipping our dirt-cheap Coronas, we played a couple of games of pool. I sucked as always. As we started to play another game, a guy came over and asked if we fancied playing a game of doubles – Laura and John versus me and this guy. Why not? The woman he came in with was stood at the bar watching and later walked into one of the back rooms.

I had my game face on

This stranger was very odd looking. He looked a lot older than he probably was. His prematurely-aged skin creased together like a bulldog. With zero dress sense and tacky jewellery, this guy seemed harmless. Perhaps this was all himself or done purposely as he tried so hard to hustle us out of money. Now I can be a little too trusting but even I saw through his act. At first he played worse than me and then every now and again he’d pull out a pretty good shot. The game would end and he’d ask us to play for money – “Just for fun”. He’s barking up the wrong tree in asking a backpacker to cough up money for nothing!

A couple of games later we called it a day finished our beers and left. Laura and John laughed as we left but I didn’t get the joke at first. It turns out the guy was a pimp and the woman he came in with was taking care of business whilst he tried making a bit of extra cash himself. I was completely oblivious to the goings on. Typical.

It was a strange way to finish our time in Tijuana but equally as funny. It was the only bar we went to as we didn’t really have time to hang about. Crossing back into America proved a lengthier process than our breezy entrance. We firstly had to queue and then answer random questions about our travels to American officials.

Having gotten the trolley back to Old Town it was time to say goodbye to Laura and John. There was a possibility that we’d be in San Fran at the same time but it felt like this was going to be our last meet. It’d be nice to see them again in their hometown of Liverpool and I could show them the sights of York if they were ever in the area.

My bus wasn’t due for a while so I waited with them and waved goodbye as their bus pulled away. I walked across to where I thought my bus was. The correctly numbered bus was sat in the terminal with its lights off and a bulky driver was sat reading the newspaper. People were stood around curiously as to why the guy wasn’t boarding passengers. It was around five minutes until departure so I guess the guy thought he had time for a break.

This did not go down well with those waiting. I could hear faint murmurings of irritation. Now although there wasn’t a strict queue in place, it was pretty clear who was to board the bus first. This one guy strutted to the front, right outside the door of the bus. If this was England there would be hell to pay. I wasn’t exactly ready to pummel this guy or anything but I wasn’t best pleased. I detest queue jumpers and I am usually one of those people who either pipes up or pushes back.

It was interesting to see how this rolled out. Up to now, I’ve heard many an angry American and love it. They get so wound up and shout all sorts of expletives – “Asshole” and “douche bag” – are my favourites. Neither was uttered in this instance though. Instead, I could see a tall black guy shifting from side to side and I could see he wasn’t happy. The guy who pushed in turned to him and asked if there was a problem for which the guy replied, “Naaa, I aint trippin’.”

What!? I’ve seen many depictions of the plethora of racial stereotypes in America but I never actually thought that there were people who spoke like that. I thought it was a caricature! I just wanted to carry on listening to this guy speak!

This revelation was disrupted by the bulky driver exiting the bus. A mammoth of a guy slowly waddled across the street and replaced him. It took him a good few minutes to heave himself onto his seat and set everything up. By the time he sorted himself out and everyone boarded, the bus was around ten minutes late. Pointless! In the meantime, the guy who wasn’t trippin’ made sure that the two young Asian girls with suitcases bigger than their petite frame boarded the bus first. He bellowed – “Ladies first!” He shamed the stupid queue-jumping idiot as well as all the males. What a gentlemen. Normally it’s every man and woman for themselves when it comes to public transport but not today.

Back at the hostel I dumped my stuff and went straight to my laptop. I needed to check if I’d had an responses to my couchsurf requests for San Francisco. As there wasn’t a lot that I fancied doing in LA, I decided to stay in a hostel before embarking on my seven day tour to San Fran. I’ll be there just over a week so it was ambitious to think that one person would host me for that long. The average stay for most surfers is two nights. Ideally, I needed three hosts which is going to be incredibly difficult to pull off.

Couchsurfing originated in San Fran which I thought would work in my favour in that there are a shit-load of hosts there. What I didn’t anticipate was that my requests were amongst a gazillion others as every other backpacker is thinking the exact same thing as me. I needed to stand out. I had already sent out a handful of requests but it looked like I need to send out a heck of a lot more. It is surprisingly time-consuming going through people’s profiles and finding a good host, or perhaps I’m just picky!

My efforts failed at the first hurdle as my battery died. Shit! The hostel I was staying in is so rundown that there are no plug sockets in the room itself. There were two outlets in the bathroom but the front plastic shield hangs off the wall slightly. For fear of electrocuting myself, I avoided using it entirely. I didn’t have that long left to make arrangements so I diced with death and plugged in my laptop. The cable didn’t stretch to my bed which was on the opposite side of the room. Instead I sat on the toilet typing away. It did make for an unusual sight. I just hoped it was worth it and everything would find a way of working out in San Fran.

More Than Just A Language Barrier

Gauging whether a social quirk or specific action embodies the culture of a person’s homeland or not has become a fun game I like to play. It’s not something I actively do every day as I think I’ve become a bit numb to any differences now. Where it used to take me a while to get used to a place or the people there, I almost adapt instantaneously. That, and the amount of crazy shit I’ve seen on my travels, means it takes a lot to shock me now!

Checking in to my room definitely gave me food for thought. The first time I stayed at the resort, I had a dorm room to myself which is a welcome rarity. This time I was told I had company but when I entered my room, it was completely vacant. The bedding was untouched and there was no luggage. I naively thought that I heard wrong and set my things down by a bottom bunk.

When you’re not allocated a specific bed, there is an unwritten rule of first come first served. Obvious, I know, but to ensure that everyone knows which beds have been taken, you need to place something on the bed. I previously made the mistake of leaving my luggage next to the bed but because there was nothing on the bed, someone dumped their stuff on it later in the day and I was demoted to a top bunk. Lesson learned.

I sorted out my day pack and scattered a series of random bits on the bed like territorial confetti and went to the lobby to use the internet. A while later I returned to find that two guys had checked into the room. All my stuff had been moved from the bottom bunk to the one above. Oh hell no!

One guy was in the bathroom but his friend was by the one other bottom bunk. I had no qualms in displaying my disdain at the matter in hand. The guy looked rather nervous and slightly scared. I felt like I was twice the guy’s size. He was a pocket-Asian.

In an attempt at a peace offer, the pocket-Asian moved his stuff to the top bunk and let me have his bed. His English wasn’t very good but he tried to make conversation asking me where I was from and so on. My heart melted slightly and I offered to go to reception to get some blankets for our beds. It still gets cold on a night and there wasn’t even a cover sheet.

It didn’t take long for me to fulfil my errand. I opened the room door with a tower of blankets balanced in one hand. I lowered them down to announce my return and froze for about ten seconds whilst my brain registered the sight that was before me.

Pocket-Asian was stood chatting to his tall tattooed friend who had just come out of the shower…naked. We both looked at each other in shock. He quickly turned to the side and cupped himself whilst I turned around and smothered my snigger with the blankets.

Normally, I would have put this down to ill timing but pocket-Asian knew I was going to get blankets and was going to be back within minutes. Surely he’d say to his mate that they have a female roommate and to grab a towel!

Later I found out that they are both Korean which is a first for me. Is this a typical welcome greeting in Korea? I doubt it but I had a funny inner monologue of how that would work.

Thankfully the guys covered up for the night. I set my alarm for stupid-o-clock the next day. I have one week of island hopping. Sun, sea, sand and snorkelling, yes please!

*****

Checking out and transferring to the marina was a piece of cake. I was expecting a delay or un-coordination of some kind but everything ran smoothly. I handed over my reservation slip and received a book of accommodation and activities vouchers along with a sulu (sarong) and a photo book. The voucher read Mr Lee Danielle. I sighed but it does make a change from Daniel at least.

There were two boats heading out to my first destination, South Sea Island. I took the first one out. The boats are really efficient and clear on what’s going on. Constant announcements meant that only an absolute simpleton would not get off at the right place.

When my stop was called I realised I was the only visitor. I was surrounded by staff members. This meant that I didn’t get a welcome song or bula welcome. They saved the good welcome for the next boat out. Oh well!

My room wasn’t ready yet so I left my stuff in the reception area and got straight down to some sunbathing. New Zealand’s icy winter has drained my tan. I want to get my glow back.

As the island is only 30 minutes from the mainland, a tonne of tourists come through for day trips. The staff were so friendly and accommodating and somehow manage to remember everyone’s names. The busy outset did dash my visions of secluded paradise as did the woman puffing smoke in my direction. Gross. I only stay on each island for two nights so I think the further up I go, the better.

Time passed by swiftly despite my descent into nothingness. A wonderful barbecue buffet lunch was served. I certainly filled my boots.

As all I’d done was lie down and catch some rays, I’d not really spoken to anybody and wasn’t really sure who to sit with. I placed myself on a bench in the shade. Moments later a girl sat beside me and two others followed. That was easy!

They were all Brits. Two were travelling and the other came out to visit them for a holiday. John and Beth had been to Australia and hated it more than I did! It was so refreshing talking to people who don’t bum Australia. They too preferred New Zealand and we swapped many stories.

Once my lunch had settled I sunbathed for a while and went snorkelling. I chuckled to myself as I awkwardly stomped into the ocean with flippers on. I took out my camera in the hope of getting some good footage but unfortunately the reef was dead and there wasn’t that many fish around. I thought I saw a reef shark before I went in but I didn’t see anything whilst out in the water. I’m still on the hunt for a snorkelling spot that rivals my experience in Ko Tao, (Thailand).

When I returned, one of the workers laughed at my pathetic nature and was surprised that I didn’t see any reef sharks. He offered to take me out to some of the best spots. Alarm bells rang instantly as I knew what Fijian guys are like but I wanted to see some reef sharks.

Instead, we actually went out sailing instead.

What do I hold on to exactly?

It was good fun but I kept forgetting his name. I still don’t remember it! I’m terrible. The worker offered to take me out snorkelling after dark. I’d never done a night dive before. I’ve heard great things from those that have done a night time scuba dive. Even though it might look like a sign that I’m interested in him, I took him up on his offer.

There was still the rest of the day to enjoy. I walked the circumference of the tiny island, which took around three minutes, and watched the sun set.

Afterwards I went to find the worker and got involved in a few games of beach volleyball. I’d not played since primary school. Like all sports I took part in at school, I was pretty good. I obviously haven’t aged well as there are a variety of sports now that I can’t handle. I didn’t do too badly.

Worn out by the activities of the day, I went for a lie down. Just before dinner was served, the heavens opened and a massive downpour engulfed the island. It ruined any plans of games or what-not for the evening ahead. I wondered whether this affected my night-snorkelling trip too.

The small group of us left over after the day trippers departed stuck around for a bit but conversation soon ran dry. One person suggested moving out to a sheltered bench on the beach. As everyone moved off, I quickly slipped away. I grabbed my things and headed out to the meeting place we arranged.

Our night snorkel was still on. Armed with giant torches we headed into the ocean to see what is lurks in the sea at night. The worker was armed with a hunting spear. I grabbed his arm for support and to ensure he doesn’t swim off and leave me!

As we swam out, we saw the odd fish but nothing dramatic. The worker speared a fish and kept it with us to attract the sharks. I started to get a bit worried. I just want to see small harmless reef sharks.

Although we didn’t see any sharks in the end, we saw a ray, plenty of star fish and I held a sea cucumber (again).

Somehow, the worker managed to spot an octopus. He speared it and brought it across for me to stroke. It felt like jelly. The worker proffered a tentacle for me to stroke. Before I knew it, I had an octopus climbing up my arm. The puckers sunk into my skin and the worker had to rip it off violently like a two day old plaster. It only pinched slightly.

We returned to the beach and my attempt at sneaking into the room failed.  A few people were already in bed.  I didn’t even bother lying although my story about the octopus made me sound like a loon. After so many months travelling, have I really become that crazy person everyone avoids in a dorm?

Saving The Planet One Shower At A Time

My previous stay in Queenstown was action packed by day and pungent by night. This time around I checked into the Sanctuary room and planned on doing as little as possible in order to save money.

It was more like a semi-sanctuary as the room was no bigger, there was no TV, no table and chairs or tea and coffee and the towel was not fluffy. The showers were just like the rest in the hostel, timed. Who came up with that invention? Why would anybody think that releasing water from the shower for a set amount of time would change anything? I still end up pressing it again to get more water to come out. Nobody has a one minute shower. You’re not being environmentally friendly, you’re being a pain in the arse!! End rant.

The girls (from the night before) planned on going up to the viewpoint and luge but I missed them as they weren’t in their room when I went up. A definite shun but I didn’t take it to heart. I didn’t know them very well and I am easily forgotten.

I was tempted to go skiing again but decided against it. Instead, I’ll wait for a moment in the future where I can go out for a few days and learn properly. I’ve met so many ski instructors and snow lovers that finding someone to help me out shouldn’t be a problem.

Hannah and Kerry were both in Queenstown still. I randomly bumped into Hannah one night. I’d been keeping up to date with her skiing feats on Facebook. Our ability levels are at polar opposites. Hannah was awesome at it and stayed on in Queenstown to keep learning. I didn’t manage to meet up with Hannah before I left but we’re both heading to Fiji and America at similar times so I hope it’s not the last that I see of her.

Kerry was easier to pin down and we spent a night catching up and talking about our future travel plans, boys and our general outlooks on life. Our ponderings were rudely interrupted by a very strange guy who thought that telling us how much money he makes and how much sex he gets would woo us. I was polite and tried to subtly tell him to bugger off. Kerry’s patience had worn thin and told him straight that we wish to be left alone.

Meeting Kerry was as social as I got for my first couple of nights. Just like in Wanaka, I had the room to myself for two out of the three nights I was there so I took advantage of having some space. On my third night I moved to another dorm. I needn’t have worried as there were only two other guys occupying the dorm and they were lovely and clean too! The shower was shockingly bad though. The water ran for three seconds (I counted) and shut off again. What the f…?

Diego from Uruguay and Anibal from Chile were very friendly and chatty. They poked fun at my laziness despite the fact that they were as bad as me!

Leaving everything to the last day was not a good idea as I was crippled with stomach cramps. I’m not sure if it was something that I ate or just a random bug. I planned on spending the day in Arrowtown but decided to try and sleep it off.

Disappointed that I was wasting my day, I tackled the walk up to the viewpoint in Queenstown. It was a lot tougher than I thought it was going to be. I was sweating a lot and had to have a minute break every so often. Whenever people walked past me I tried my best not to look like I was suffering. I managed to make it in a good time though so I can’t be that bad.

Thanks to the advice from a fellow bus passenger, I stayed to watch Queenstown light up.  

Queenstown by day...

...and by night. Is it bad that I could spot Fergburger from this high up?

It was a fantastic view and worth the agonising walk. I walked around for a bit and watched a couple of people do the ledge bungy. The drop is minuscule compared to the Nevis but the process of jumping off a ledge in itself is scary stuff.

Tickets are only checked at the bottom of the gondola so I cheekily travelled down unnoticed. I didn’t fancy a walk down the beaten track in the dark.

As a reward for my efforts, I treated myself to a farewell Fergburger. Three burgers in around a week isn’t bad at all. Some have three in 24 hours. I bumped into Neil and Simone while I was waiting for my burger. It turns out they’ll be hopping on the bus tomorrow too so at least there’ll be some familiar faces.

Back at the hostel, I started talking to two Irish girls who had checked in before I went out for my walk. I gave them my perspective of New Zealand. 

Jodie and Kate were so easy to talk to and there was never that awkward silence when nobody knows what else to say. Diego and Anibal are still learning English and sometimes they had no idea what I was saying. I helped them learn a few words though.

I planned on spending my last night packing my bag and catching an early night. That was until the Irish brought out the goon. We started with drinking games and then joined Diego, Anibal and his friends in the kitchen. The hostel has a curfew on drinking so it was back to the room for dancing and more drinking.

Overall, it was a very random night. I think there was something in the water as the guys could not keep their hands off of me...literally. My roommates and the guys at pool were very grabby. On the one side I was called beautiful and on the other, a guy tried to guess my bra size. When would that ever work? Oh my, you know the size of my boobs, what a man!!

He was wrong anyway but he tried to convince me otherwise waffling on about how the majority of women don’t know their true bra size. Hold up ladies, don’t measure yourself, get a drunken kiwi to get your true bra size.

It came as a relief that I managed to find a local that isn’t very nice (to put it politely). I was beginning to think this place was a little too perfect.

My evening ended with me pushing out one of the guys’ friends as he tried to kidnap me. He’d already failed to get with Jodie so he resorted to desperate measures. I managed to shove him out whilst everyone else was spark out in bed. Thanks for the help!

What a night, what a crazy-assed night. It was a shame I wouldn’t get to spend longer with Kate and Jodie but perhaps, for my own safety, it’s best that I move on.

Everybody's Heard About The Ferg

So skiing didn’t go quite according to plan. I hoped that was all my bad luck right there as I was about to swing across a canyon!

I walked over to the meeting point and joined the others from the bus. Everyone was giddy and excited whereas I felt like I was going to throw up. My mood lifted slightly when I weighed myself as I was 2kg lighter than when I was last weighed (skydive). It could be dodgy scales but they’d have to be pretty accurate for something like this right? I’m going with that.

The meeting time passed and my tandem swing partner was nowhere to be seen. At first I was a bit disappointed. I was nervous and having someone with me would help. Someone pointed out that it would be a greater achievement doing this alone. In the grand scheme of things it would fit in with my trip. I have conquered many fears on my own, why should this be any different? Let’s do this!!

Being the only one from the Stray bus doing the swing meant that I had nobody to make sure that I did this. I needed a pep talk at that moment.

Driving up was quite calming looking out at the fantastic surrounding views. Then I saw the bridges for the bungy and swing. Eugh. What am I doing? Why am I here? How did I ever think that I would enjoy this?

These questions buzzed around in my head and were left unanswered as I didn’t have time to register anything. I was being led out to the drop off point. There was only me and another couple that went out first.

Just in case you can't quite see, that IS a long way down

For some reason, I thought that watching someone else do it would help me. It didn’t. The Scottish couple were nice and really encouraging. They loved it. It was my turn. Ah!

I did not make things easy for myself. Sully helped me through it and secured my harness. He was abrupt and quite pushy but in a friendly way. That sounds contradictory but he’s done this hundreds of times and knows that once you get out there you love it so the more you sit and think about it, the less likely you are to actually do it.

In his own words, he politely told me to suck it up and get out there and stop being a fanny. I trusted Sully. Perhaps I warmed to him as he shared the name with a cuddly Pixar character. Man I love Monsters Inc.

We went through the process in stages. First, all I was doing was getting the harness secured. Then I needed to sit down in the harness. I’m not going anywhere. It was time to get lowered out. Ok this is a little scary but I’m not going to drop yet so I can just breathe and everything will be ok.

“Ok Danielle, it’s going to happen.” What!? Oh dear……..

Waaaah!

This is fricking awesome!!! Don’t get me wrong, the drop was intensely scary but as soon as that second was over the rush went straight to my head. I flung my arms up like I was on a roller coaster and enjoyed the ride.

Just like when I did the skydive, I panicked yet everything turned out to be brilliant. Even if I could predict the future and see that I was smiling at the end of it, I’d still be bricking it beforehand. I think it’s a natural reaction for most people who don’t have balls of steel.

The Scottish couple didn’t think I’d go through with it. As I babbled excitedly, a couple of girls came across to do their swing. One girl was fine and the other was freaking out. If it’s possible, I think she was worse than me. The girl wouldn’t let go of Sully as they were lowered out. I’m not sure whether she enjoyed it or not but I think she was happy that she did it.

Whilst they did their jump, I decided to do it again. It only costs $40 to jump again. That’s 20 quid which is a ridiculously low price to ignore. I wanted to go backwards this time.

Starting off cockily, I got strapped up. I knew what was coming this time so all was good right? Well, sort of. My brain was still getting over what I just put it through last time so I think it was protesting.

Before, I just shimmied forward and was eased off of the platform. This time I had to walk backwards. Despite being strapped to a harness, I knew that I was walking backwards off the edge. It was weird and I didn’t enjoy that much.

Sully said I could put my arms out like wings but I was still a bit nervy going backwards. In hindsight, I should have done that. Boom, off I went.

Going backwards gives you a bigger thrill but swinging forwards means you get to see the surroundings. You get thrown about a bit going backwards! Wow, what a thrill.

We all went back to look at our videos and photos. I couldn’t choose which package to get. In the meantime, the Scottish couple came over to show me their photos. At first I just focused on them and said they were great. It was only as they pointed me out in the background of each photo that I laughed. In each one, I was stood there with my hand across my mouth in shock. The rest were similar shots of me looking dumbfounded. I’ll forever be in their memories, sorry!

It was time to head back. I’d spent far too much money on the videos but I was happy that I got two swings for less than the retail price for one.

When I got back to the hostel, I started to think about how I could round of this fantastic day. But of course, I needed a Fergburger.

Everyone who has been to New Zealand will have heard of the Fergburger as it is a rite of passage for anyone coming through Queenstown. For those outsiders, a Fergburger is not just a burger. It’s a thing of splendour, of pure yumminess. Well just look for yourselves…

I included my phone for perspective.

The burger was massive but I still managed to cram it into my mouth. On a different occasion I had a Cock Cajun FergBurger. It was twice the size and I had to squish it down slightly and even then I struggled.

My brain was happy still and my stomach was blissfully happy if a little bloated (Ferg baby!). I settled down for the night with a massive grin on my face. Next on the list - Milford Sound. I’d be catching the bus at an ungodly hour the next day.

On A Slippery Slope To Failure

No dorm room stay would be the same without a scrabble around in the dark for belongings. I’d already packed everything that I needed for the day but I needed to unlock my locker and drag everything out. It wasn't that early but the room was still dark and everyone was comatose.

Layered up, I made my way across to the bus stop to meet Sapphire and head out to Coronet Peak for our day of skiing. I decided to ski over snowboarding as everyone says that it’s easier to learn. I was so excited.

We made it in good time and got our skis, poles and boots from rentals. To make sure that everything was securely fitted, I asked for help adjusting my boots. These things are practically welded onto your feet. It was a weird sensation having something suctioned to your leg and foot. Walking around was even stranger. It felt like I was walking on the moon.

It wasn’t difficult to find the meeting point for our first lesson. A huge group of people huddled around the locker area gripping skis and snowboards awkwardly. Sapphire and I waddled over and we were introduced to our instructor, Helen.

There was no way of knowing beforehand how many people would be in our group lesson but we were told 6-8. Our group grew to 15 as some late stragglers tagged on. I was a bit worried about how this was going to work but went along with it all the same.

Helen briefed us on the skis and how to step into them. We put one on first and got used to sliding forwards and backwards with it, lifting it up, hopping and twisting it mid-air. The last manoeuvre made me lose my balance and I fell over. I wasn’t wearing any waterproof bottoms so I hoped that would be the only time I fell. Surprisingly my joggers held out the water and I was fine.

Everyone was a bit wobbly at this point so I didn’t feel too inept. We attached our second ski and started to move around in circles and down the smallest of declines. Straight skis to move forwards and a wedge/triangle shape to brake. Helen beamed, “10 out of 10 Danielle.” Ha, this is alright.

Although we had an hour and a half lesson, ten minutes was wasted due to the confusion with the last minute additions. Also, because of the large group it meant that many of us were waiting around to ski down the slope and brake. It didn’t give us much practise.

I look confused even before I put the skis on, oh dear.

The lesson ended and we had a couple of hours before our next session. Sapphire and I had some nasty chips and gravy. Afterwards, I went out for some much needed practise. Whilst doing so, I met a few people from our group. One couple had gone up one of the larger slopes and said it was easy. I asked if they’d skied before and they said it was their first time. I decided to follow them up and give it a go.

It was a decision I’d soon regret as my wedge was not working. I was going faster and faster which made me panic. Thankfully the fluffy snow at the bottom slowed me down and I managed to dodge oncoming obstructions. I did not want to do that again.

Another couple asked about the slope and I told them that I found it tricky but I didn’t fall over. They went up and eased down calmly and broke without any hassles. The girl did say that she almost fell over and hurt her hip as the ski jutted out but found the rest of the way was alright. Hmm, maybe there’s something I’ve missed and I’ll catch up with the second lesson.

Practising wasn’t that easy as the beginner’s slope and area was crowded with instructors and learners. I tried my best until Helen returned and just hoped everything would fall together.

We all went up the first slope together as a group. We weren’t at a level good enough to try the ski-lift. Instead, a conveyor belt system or magic carpet as they call it, helped us up to the top. I felt like I was in a doll factory and was idly waiting for a giant stamp to label “reject” on me leaving me cast out from the others.

One by one, we all descended down the slope. Others went down gently and Helen critiqued their efforts to help us learn. I went next and flew down. Everyone was surprised I managed to stay upright. I don’t understand why I can’t brake. Exasperated, I asked Helen what I was doing wrong. Helen told me to wait where I was and she’d help me out.

It turned out that Helen asked me to wait at the top of the second slope and she’d help me out. Everyone looked at me and wondered why I wasn’t following them. I felt like a reject and was so frustrated with myself. I’m not used to finding sports and activities difficult. I was always able to grasp things like this easily from a young age. Perhaps it’s because I’m not as fearless anymore and the panic throws off my coordination.

The first couple I encountered during my practise earlier looked at me like I was dirt on their shoe. They told me to go up and meet Helen as I should have done before. Smug arses.

This time I was at the very top of the slope and I was scared. Helen told us all to wait where one of the girls was stood. I skied down the first bit ok. The second part was a bit trickier. I sped up and I couldn’t stop. I breezed past one of the girls as she stopped and I kept going until a fence broke my fall. Shit. I was so embarrassed. Helen came over and asked if I was ok and I burst into tears. I didn’t even feel any pain, I was just so frustrated and embarrassed.

Everyone else kept practising and Helen stuck with me. She put a contraption on the front of my skis to make it easier to form the wedge. This miracle piece of plastic helped and I was able to stop. Time and again, I managed to stop. Helen stood in front of me the whole time just in case I decided to veer off into a fence again.

We went down one more time without the contraption and I was able to do it. I still wasn’t confident. Helen praised me for sticking with it despite crashing. I just need more practise and hopefully I’ll get the hang of it. I wasn’t sure if I’d have the funds to come up again but it’s not something I will give up on that’s for sure.

Even though there was still a bit of time left before the resort closed, I was absolutely freezing. Sapphire and I called it a day and went inside to get changed and make our way back to the hostel.

Before I left, I went to the toilets to see if I had any marks on my face. I couldn’t see anything but there was a faint mark under my jawline.

Later on in the evening, I went to the kitchen to make myself some food. I went to fold my arms but I couldn’t. It was so weird. My arm was so stiff and every time I tried to place my right arm under my left armpit, I felt a searing pain.

Once I’d eaten I went back to my room and took my top off to see what was wrong. It didn’t feel like it was my arm. It was so strange. My whole left arm was red and swollen. I had one graze and some nasty bruises that ran from my wrist to my bicep. Yet more bruises to add to the collection. Sheesh, what is wrong with me?

With all that excitement in one day, I decided to rest and plod about the next day in anticipation for the swing. I wanted the soreness in my arm to ease off so I wasn’t up for anything too active. Just like the skydive, I was starting to get nervous!