CA: The One with the Snowshoes

(Yes, I am aware how ridiculous the main picture of this post is. Yet it was too perfect an opportunity to pass up?)

 

It is prudent, I believe to wish you all a Happy New Year’s, despite the belatedness of the extended courtesy (sixteen days at the time of writing; most likely longer by the time this is actually posted).

So, we are now in 2018. A scary thought, as it technically signifies that I’ve been in Canada since 2016. I’ve always done a cheesy post of my top picks for the year (linked here: https://nzmeandering.wordpress.com/2017/11/17/ca-the-one-with-the-highlights/), so we’ll have less of that, thank you very much.

Now that the New Year has struck, and struck hard, I have to finally begin planning what to do with the remaining months on my visa. As of now, I have ten months left. Only ten months. It may seem like a long time, but the fourteen months I’ve been here so far do not feel like fourteen months. I’m sure ten months will creep up on me at an unpleasant pace.

But, yes, the time has come for me to move on from Vancouver. To leave behind the selling of watches (preferably forever) and venture off into the unknown. In April.

Okay, so there’s still quite a while to go, but as I said, time seems to be flying. I would not be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find it to be March. That may be a slight exaggeration, as tomorrow is most definitely the seventeenth of January, but you get the gist (I hope?).

Come then, I take a wonderful holiday/vacation with my family to Mexico, then fly on to Cuba to meet an old friend from Toronto. Then, who knows? I haven’t planned that far ahead. Like I said, I really should start that…

 

But enough about future plans, you want to hear about the here and now! For the recent past, in the case of this late-than-intended post. So, New Year’s. What did I do? I got drunk. What else is there to do? Enjoy people’s company in a civilised and sophisticated manner? Please. I may be an adult but I’m still not that much of an adult.

No, instead, I drank at home with my roommate and another friend, then we went to a friend’s house and proceeded to drink even more before and after the clock struck twelve. My night ended at about four in the morning, I believe? Quite an achievement for me, considering I usually find myself struggling with anything past midnight.

New Year’s Day was spent recovering. I wasn’t that hungover (honest!), but a lack of sleep does not agree with me.

All in all, I would call that a rather successful New Year’s. There was no drama, no tragedy, no worrisome way of starting 2018. It was just nice, plain and simple. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it was calm, but it was relaxed. There we go, that’s my summary.

 

Onto the one notable thing I have done since my last post! As some of you clever ones will remember, last post I mentioned snowshoeing. This did indeed end up happening. Though, as I found out, snowshoes are a lot weirder than I thought.

Okay, so I didn’t actually wear them. And honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t those things. Go on, do it. Google “snowshoes”. Then you’ll see just how weird they are. So I went ‘snowshoeing’ in just my walking/hiking boots and managed very well without making a fool of myself. Of all my flaws, a lack of balance is not one of them.

My friend and I took her dog for a trip up to the snowy peaks of Mount Seymour, well known for its snowboarding and skiing slopes. Of course, we could not go snowboarding or skiing with a dog, so instead we took a hike up the appropriately named Dog Mountain.

Yes, there were a lot of dogs. Most were friendly I’ll admit, but there were a few unfriendly ones, too, who made for an interesting dilemma when faced with a narrow path and an over-energetic dog on our part. Still, we managed, wading through snow, up icy slopes and down slippery steps (exaggerated, yet I’m sure you can let me off).

The view from the top of Dog Mountain was … temperamental. It was a very nice day, down on the ground. Mostly sunny, the past few days of rain nothing but a distant memory. On top of the mountain, the rolling clouds made it very difficult to get a decent picture of the opposing peaks of the other mountains (Grouse Mountain, I think? And another one I always forget the name of). But try we did, and succeed we almost did.

 

I also fed some birds. Mum, it is your job, your mission, to identify this bird, because I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that it hated the seeds I tried to feed it, but loved the weird Asian food I ‘borrowed’ off the Asian tourists depicted in picture number two.

And yes, picture number one was a perfectly timed capture of the surprise once I’d given up hope of a bird ever landing on my hand. Patience is a virtue, apparently, one that I sorely lack.

 

Very little else to tell apart from that. Work continues, grows duller by the day. But dollar is dollar, and dollar means more exploring and adventuring. Overall, I’d say that’s worth it.

We’ll have to see when the next update is! Hopefully when I next do something exciting …

CA: The One with Graffiti & Snow

Well well well, for once, I have things to talk about.

Quite a lot of things, in fact. I’m at a lost where to start. My chronology is off (that sentence also hurt to type) and therefore you can expect even more rambling from me. What a delight I am.

Let us start with the weather. For, as all Brits know, the weather is the perfect icebreaker.

I had my first experience of “ice rain” the other day. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. The temperature’s not even that cold. We had -11 the other day (-18 with wind chill), which was cold, but it’s mostly been around -3 or -4. I can easily deal with that. Apparently (not sure how reliable this information is) Toronto’s meant to fluctuate 25 degrees in the next week. Such a weird city.

Anyway, yes, ice rain. The pictures I took are a bit pathetic, but there you go. Also stole some from a friend (shh, don’t tell anyone).

How exciting is that? I mean, you feared for your life as you walked (I also walked into a frozen overhanging branch which was painful) but I still enjoyed it for how beautiful it was. Loads of cars crashed, though… or at least were pulled over to the side with their hazard lights on.

We also, a few days after the ice rain (after all the ice had been cleared by really nice, sunny and clear days (obviously)) had a snowstorm that so far has stuck around. Usually, or at least, what I’ve experienced since being here, is that it’ll snow, a fair amount, then within two days it’ll be gone again (usually replaced by slush or rain). I expect it’s just a Toronto thing, but it’s not much fun for an Englishman who would love for the city to be buried in white snow. Doesn’t snow like this in England!

But, yeah, that’s the weather for you.

I finally dragged my butt out and did some more touristy stuff. Unlike the aquarium, where my excuse was an aquarium is just an aquarium, Graffiti Alley is a tourist attraction that’s always held some interest to me, I’d just never got round to planning to go. Until now. I mean, it is also about a five minute walk away from the house but hey, I still had to find the place (meaning look out for a signpost  saying “Graffiti Alley”).

The alley is probably the best way to show how Toronto is different to other cities. It’s quirky, it’s fun, and it inspires. Toronto, for a city, is pretty graffiti-free. Obviously bits and pieces pop up everywhere you go, but the majority is kept in the alley.

I feel visual cues would do a lot more than just talking about it, so, here you are.

 

Say hi to these weirdos

I think the only reason I went was because a few people from Blue Mountain, and members of our group flight out, came to visit for the weekend. The other Toronto Rejects had all been during our first few days here, and going on my own didn’t really appeal to me. It was nice seeing them all!

Which brings me nicely on to the reason for their visit. The (belated) housewarming party. Slash Abbey’s leaving party. Honestly, there wasn’t really a reason to have a party, other than we wanted to.

There were a lot of people. Our house is fairly big, but narrow. Manoeuvring past people on the corridor was interesting, particularly the more drunk people got.

Shamefully, the Blue Mountain lot were still recovering from hangovers from the previous night (mixed with actual colds, so I’ll forgive them) so their energy levels were pretty low. The plan was at about two in the morning to venture out to Burger King for food but, foolish me, chose to lay down on my bed whilst I waited for them. What a silly idea. Soon, six of us were piled on the bed and I don’t think we moved until about nine in the morning. The party itself raged on until about five/six.

I have very few pictures from the party, but you don’t need to see anymore than this one. For it is my favourite from the night, and sums up my night.

We’re one short…

Old man me dislikes late nights, hence why having a bunch of hungover, fatigued guests worked quite well in my favour. I had no guilt at going to sleep during the party. After all, I was still spending time with our guests from Blue Mountain, was I not? They were the guest of honours, and therefore deserved my undivided (sleepy) attention.

Plus, I woke up the following day feeling fairly refreshed! We also had pancakes for brunch, which helped a lot.

 

And finally (I told you I actually did things!) there was the hockey. Took me about three months (it’ll have been three months in Canada in two days!) but I’ve done it. I can tick off an ice hockey game from my to-do list.

Truth be told (yes, I said it, shut up family), it wasn’t a very exciting game. It was the Marley’s playing, who are the ‘farming’ team for the Blue Jays, as I was very simply explained. Essentially, the Blue Jays steal any players they think are good enough. It sounds cruel, but hey, that’s what the team’s for, right?

Considering that the game should last an hour (three twenty minute thirds) we were there for a good three hours. The amount of stoppages and breaks was ridiculous. I think it’s an American thing. I get having “half-time”, but having two of them? And twenty minutes long each? Seems excessive to me. But what do I know, I’ve never played field hockey, let alone ice hockey.

I have two favourite moments to talk about. The first was the Marley’s mascot. A guy dressed in a dog costume (I’m presuming because of Marley & Me, but maybe not?). He was just… mad. That’s the only way to describe him. I get mascots are meant to get the crowd going and all that, and boy did he live up to that. He would dance, he would climb, he would bang on the plastic of the rink, he would everything to get attention. It would fantastic.

My other favourite moment is cuter. During one of the breaks, a team of young hockey players came onto the ice. When I say young, I don’t mean teenagers. I mean five or six year olds. And the shameful part?  They could all skate amazingly. Abbey and I felt ashamed watching them. Here were these toddlers, skating and dancing on the ice with grace and fluidity, whilst we looked on with horror, knowing full well we’d spend most of our time on our butts if we tried to skate like them. It was very adorable, though. I didn’t mind being put to shame.

As it turns out, Hockey’s not a very fun sport to photograph

 

That wraps up my activities!

Stay tuned for God knows what next. February is a very quiet month in general in the city.

 

IS: The One with the Geezers

Iceland, as you would expect, is pretty cold.

It’s not so much the temperature as the wind. The temperature fluxes around one or zero degrees, and that’s bearable. Yet as soon as the wind decides it deserves a wander through the streets of Reykjavik, then you feel it. Oh boy do you feel it.

The flight was a flight. Nothing special at all. Turns out I got my facts wrong and the flight to Iceland took three hours, whilst the one to Toronto took six. I just read all the way, despite the temptations of in-flight films. Still have six hours to go, so why not save it for that?

We landed in Iceland, and the first thing we were greeted by was a waft of fish as soon as the doors opened. Could not decide if this was because of Iceland, or just because we were unlucky enough to get caught in a passing smell.

Either way, we were also treated to pelting rain and billowing wind. We managed to miss the worst of it though, and got into the airport mostly dry.

After the tedious process of baggage claiming (where my bag somehow managed to obtain yellow scuff marks) we were met by a driver from Reykjavik Excursions, who drove us to our hostel in the city centre.

Reykjavik, considering it is the largest and busiest city in Iceland, was not very busy. Sure, a constant stream of tourists roamed around our hostel, but it all seemed too quiet for a capital. Maybe the locals learnt long ago to avoid tourists as much as possible. I also learnt that Reykjavik, like Hong Kong, has a hidden meaning. Whilst Hong Kong means “fragrant harbour”, Reykjavik means “Smoky Bay”, due to the steam rising from geothermal vents. There you go, little bit of knowledge for you.

We had the evening to ourselves, to find food and relax. Six of us split off from the group and went to an Icelandic pub for some food (after all, finding food for twenty-five of us is a little optimistic). After that, it was socialising, then sleeping.

The next day dawned for our first real bit of tourist-ing. We set off in the morning, for a tour around the Golden Circle. Not sure why it’s called that, but it’s a popular tourist route, looping from Reykjavik into the southern uplands of Iceland and back.

May I just mention that we set off at about nine, and the sun didn’t rise until about half past. In January, Iceland gets about three hours of daylight. In the middle of their summer, they get twenty-four hours of daylight. I feel that would really mess with your rhythm.

Our first stop on the tour was, strangely enough, the Houses of Parliament. In the middle of nowhere. No, I mean really, in the middle of nowhere.

We walked for about half an hour, taking in the sights. I can’t say I learnt much of the history, I was mostly distracted by all the pretty snow. The views were spectacular. Our first walk was about half an hour, which I spent in pleasant company, stopping frequently to marvel at the sights.

Now, just a quick note. The camera I was kindly bought as an early Christmas present was used for the first time. When looking at the pictures on the camera screen after taking, I was saddened to see they were pixelated and not clear at all. This led me to take pictures on a mixture of both my camera, and on my iPod. You’ll all be pleased to hear that, when viewed on my laptop, the camera pictures become a lot clearer, so I’m sure I’ll be using both in the future.

Our next stop was the Gullfoss Waterfall. Don’t ask me what it means, I was under the impression it was dubbed the “Rainbow Waterfall”, but further digging reveals to me it’s not…

Still, it was an impressive waterfall, or even two waterfalls. I feel it’s one of those things where pictures don’t quite do it justice. You can get a stunning picture of it, but without the sound and movement, you can’t grasp the magnitude of the waterfalls.

Our third, and last, stop on the Golden Circle was the Geysers (hence the awful pun in the title). I have been to geysers before in New Zealand, but I have to say, these ones were more impressive. The ones in New Zealand (in Rotorua, which sounds even better when said in a Welsh accent) just bubbled and gurgled. The Icelandic ones, well, they spouted jets of sulphuric, boiling water. Not at us, luckily, but up into the sky. Not sure how much justice pictures will do this as well, but I do have a good video of it… that I can’t show you. There are some drawbacks to this blog.

I’ll skip over the night, as my family will disapprove of the drinking from about five in the afternoon.

So, next day dawned (luckily not bright and early), for our last activity before we flew: the Blue Lagoon. Involving the smell of egg, and a constant flux of either cold, warmth, or hot. Plus an unbearable taste if the water got in your mouth…

Essentially, the Blue Lagoon involved us swimming around in a lagoon (that is blue), swearing each time the wind picked up, or sighing in content when we stumbled across a warm patch of water. Apparently, the water is a mixture of geothermal natural heating, and salt water, which does explain the taste very well.

Sadly, pictures weren’t very easy to take. For obvious reasons. Water and cameras don’t mix. There was, however, a small walk you could do outside, that we attempted after going for our swim. We didn’t last long. The wind was biting.

Just ignore the camera-caught Kate on the right

I am now, I can happily say, in Toronto. Don’t really have much to report so far, so that’ll have to be the next post where you learn all about the exciting things I’m unlikely to do straight away.

 

 

 

 

 

NZ: Mountains, Upon Mountains, Upon a Fjord…

When one spends a large amount of their time (meaning about two weeks) traversing the south of the South Island of New Zealand you learn two things: Firstly, it is insanely beautiful. And secondly, there is a serious abundance of mountains around you.

I have realised now, that most of the landscape pictures I take are either of bodies of water, or of snow-capped mountains. Not that I’m really complaining.

Right next to my hostel.

Upon arriving in Picton (the north of the South Island) my uncle sent me an email stating that “Picton is an inflamed boil on the buttocks of the South Island, compared to virtually everywhere else.”

This statement, I was inclined to strongly disagree with. However, after having now explored the majority of the Island, I have come to realise that he is correct (though, I wouldn’t use the metaphor he came up with…).

Picton was beautiful, there is no doubt about that. In fact, at least 95% of New Zealand is beautiful (save for Auckland, because… you know, Auckland is Auckland and nobody likes Auckland. Have I said Auckland enough yet?).

But as you travel further down south, you notice the landscapes changing into even more beauty.

For one thing, Picton was very industrial, with factories (or buildings that seemed to be factories) obscuring large portions of the hills and mountains. Secondly, there is less snow up there.

Hence why the Otago region is now my favourite region of New Zealand (except for Wellington… I will always hold a special place for Wellington in my heart).

After spending three nights (or two, I honestly can’t remember) in Queenstown, where I was not warned how much money the city would steal from me on a night out, I hopped back onto the Stray bus to tour around the Deep South, meaning Milford Sounds, Invercargill and all that stuff.

Much to my delight, the cold and incorrigible weather that had been dwelling around Queenstown the few days I had been there, seemed to abate as we began to travel south.

Having said that, there were plenty of reminders that a snowstorm had been whipped up in Antarctica and had travelled up to New Zealand. Everywhere we looked, though it was sunny, was either covered in snow, or looked damp.

The drive out of Queenstown and down to Milford Sound was sensational. I don’t quite think words are enough to describe it, so I’m just going to spam this post with pictures. What made the journey even better, was that our bus driver has good taste in music. So we spent our journey down South listening to the uniquely entrancing voice of Eddie Vedder (if you don’t know who that is, then shame on you. Go educate yourself).

There is a delightful boat cruise you can do around Milford Sound. Milford Sound, for people who aren’t aware of the many places in New Zealand, is a Fiord (or fjord if you’re not Kiwi), that is possibly one of the most beautiful (I am using that word a lot) locations in New Zealand.

Again, words can’t really describe it, so here you go!

The cruise was slightly cold, but definitely worth it for what we saw. There was an amazing waterfall that the boat took us right up to. Pictures don’t quite do it justice, but here they are.

That about concludes Milford Sound.

We spent the night at a place called Gunn’s Camp, which was possibly the most secluded place I have stayed in New Zealand. It was an old mining camp that had been turned into a hostel. Yet we stayed in little shacks that had no electricity, and the only source of warmth was a wood-fire (I had fun building the fire in ours).

Our shack was also called “Dick”, which was funny for several reasons, as I’m sure some of you can imagine.

The all-purpose, multi-functional, and positively pointless, gate!

The next day we travelled down to Invercargill.

Now, Invercargill is the southern most city of New Zealand. However, there isn’t really a lot to do… it is big, but there’s not a lot there, if you get my meaning.

I actually ended up going to the cinema to watch Fast & Furious 7… not my smartest move, as I haven’t seen any of the other six that come before it, so didn’t really get any of the reference. Still, there were a lot of awesome cars, as well as many over-the-top fighting scenes, so I was content. I also started re(re-re-re-re-re)-reading Lord of the Rings on my Kindle, as I didn’t really have much else to do!

The best thing about Invercargill was probably the stops we made on the way getting down there, and the stops on the way back up to Queenstown after.

I have a very important announcement to make: WE (SORT OF) SAW A PENGUIN. And not just any penguin, but the rarest penguin in the world: the yellow-eyed penguin. Here is my amazing picture of the penguin:

…

So yes, my dreams were shattered slightly. I am still yet to fully see a penguin. These penguins spend the day hiding in their burrows from predators, and then go out at dawn and dusk to feed and so on. That picture was the only way I could confirm that I had seen a penguin… or at least the back of it.

Oh, we also saw some sea-lions up close, but their importance shadows in comparisons to seeing the back of a penguin through some foliage (they’re f*@?ing massive though!).

And to finish this post, have some pictures of the stops we made on the way there and back. They are quite beautiful.

Now I am back in Queenstown for four more days, before flying off to Australia! It’s very nice to see all my friends again in Queenstown, yet the city is slightly too expensive for my taste. Wellington shall always be where I belong. But yes, four days is easily enough time to re-connect with friends, before journeying off into the unknown (on my own, again) and exploring the vast world!

NZ: Mount Iron, Flying, and a MASSIVE Swing

Much to my delight, the weather has cheered up a little the past few days.

Well, that is until we got to Queenstown… but once again, I’m messing up the chronological order of things!

So, first, we venture to a charming town called Wanaka. It is located about an hour away from Queenstown, and is truly serene and beautiful.

Upon entrance into the town, you pass in between two lakes: Lake Wanaka, and Lake H… something. In the pictures I have taken of them, I cannot differentiate between the two, so they shall all be piled as though it was just one massive lake…

Either way, the two lakes were utterly beautiful to look at. The weather was also almost sunny, which made everything that little bit more awesome.

We got into the town of Wanaka at about three or four, and were told that we had the evening to ourselves.

So, naturally, as one does in New Zealand, we decided that a hike was in order. And where to hike? Well, the tallest hill/mountain we could easily access, obviously. This happened to be a mountain called Mount Iron.

There is something very Middle-earth-y about this name. Perhaps it is because it reminds me of the Iron Hills where Dain and his Dwarves dwelt before the great Battle of the Five Armies (I speak of the book, obviously, not the atrocity of a film). Or maybe it is just because all the landscapes around Wanaka (or the Otago region) look as though they belong in Tolkien’s world.

Anyway, this walk was not the easiest ever. For one thing, the path was very steep. And Secondly, a cold and truly bitter (and evil, naturally) wind had sprung up, and constantly battered our poor and defenceless bodies. Once again, I am grateful that I invested in a windproof rain jacket.

Having gone into the foul side of the walk, I did not mention that I actually quite enjoyed it. No matter where you looked, you had a spectacular view, either of Wanaka, or of the lakes/mountains bordering it.

We eventually reached the summit, where the view got even more impressive. We were also treated to a sunset, as it descended behind the clouds and basked them with an orange and pink glow that overwhelmed the dull and lifeless shades of grey that were the clouds. We also took many selfies of the view, as well as a lovely group photo as we huddled around the summit for warmth (that I am yet to obtain from my friend).

Then we began the gradual descent back down the Mountain, which proved to be a lot easier than walking up.

Thus concluded our Mountain expedition. The following day dawned, with more surprises in store.

I, much to my delight and possibly most other peoples’ annoyance, managed to be a passenger (which meant it was free) on a scenic flight over Wanaka, as a fellow bus tourer piloted the plane (…this is the part I was less keen on).

I jest in those brackets. Her flying was majestic, and I’m sure the instructor wasn’t helping her at all…

The views from the rickety old war plane were phenomenal. I fear that neither her camera nor mine were able to truly capture what we saw.

It had snowed up in the mountains the night before, so there was a lovely littering of snow on top of all the peaks. Furthermore, the weather had decided to treat us to a morning of sunshine (which turned to rain, sleet and snow by the afternoon).

So I spent an enjoyable twenty minutes in the back of the plane, alternating cameras between mine and my pilots, in order to try to capture the scenery that surrounded me.

This flight was possibly the most beautiful experience of New Zealand for me so far. That and the fact that it was free, made my day. Which is good, as the rest of the day progressed into fouler and fouler weather, followed by a stop at the AJ Hackett Bungy which just really made me want to do one…

Now comes the point where all the sensible people in my life weep and despair.

Carrying on with my growing alter ego of being an adrenaline junkie, I decided it was time to indulge myself in another activity where I truly put my life on the line.

As I have told myself from the start that I need to do my bungy jump in Taupo so that then I have done both the bungy and skydive there, I decided not to do the AJ Hackett bungy, nor the Nevis one… (Truth be told, I don’t know if I’d manage the Nevis bungy. 143 metre bungy? Yeah, no).

So, after consulting with many people, I made the decision to do the Shotover Canyon Swing.

Some more information to make my mother despair:

• The Canyon Swing is 109 metres high, located in a canyon near Queenstown (naturally)
• You freefall for 60 metres on your way down
• The rope itself swings you for 200 metres
• You reach speeds up to 150 kilometres per hour
• It’s fucking awesome (not even going to apologise for that swearing)

Possibly one of the greatest things about the Swing, is that you choose how you want to jump. There are many different options, with strange and bizarre names. You have the “Indian Rope Trick”, where you’re hung out over the canyon and have to hold onto a rope for as long as possible.

Another is called the “Bin Laden”… this involves having a bin put over your head and you’re then pushed off the edge.

Now, a lot of research must go into choosing which jump you wish to go for. There are over 70 different styles, all designed to increase the suspense slightly.

The one I chose? It involved a kid’s tricycle…

Yes, that is right. I went swinging down into the canyon on a tiny little tricycle designed for five year olds.

Out of the Skydive and the Swing, I’d still have to say the Skydive was the better experience. The Swing was absolutely awesome (and tumbling on a tricycle made it even better), but the Skydive still holds the highlight of my seven months in New Zealand. There are plenty of tumbling pictures to show you, as well as a video that will have to be reserved for Facebook friends and family members I can show when I’m eventually back in England (none of the photos are really worth except for that one… which is truly exceptional).

Just as a general update: Queenstown is cold. It’s been hit by a storm from Antarctica, so snow is already forming all around the beautiful city. It is a good and a bad thing. The mountains look incredible with all the snow, but it does mean that I’m freezing half the time. I chose a nice day to do my Swing though, as the sun was actually out (briefly, but it was still out).

Tomorrow, I journey south down to Milford Sounds and Invercargill, where I will spend two nights before coming back to Queenstown for five more. It’s only nine days until I fly to Australia! Getting very excited by this.

I’ve also managed to meet up with most of my friends who have journeyed down to Queenstown in the past months, including Kim, my fellow LotR nerd! So that’s been nice. It’s impossible to walk into town without at least bumping into somebody you know. I have bumped into a German guy I met working in Blenheim SIX TIMES since getting here. It’s ridiculous.

I’m sure I shall write another post after I’ve enjoyed the Deep South.

Over and Out.