It’s shameful, really. By this time last year I was traversing the wilds of the North Island. Where was I? Napier? Taupo? I don’t even remember, but the point is that I’ve nearly lapped myself, so let’s get going:

Hobbiton

I bought Hobbiton tour tickets for the latest tour of the day. If you want to feel giddy with delight, this is what I recommend as well. It’s that time of day when the golden hour sneaks in just as you’re about to leave. The whole area is quiet, the little lights on the hobbit holes start to twinkle on, and the ducks flap their wings and disturb the water on the Hobbiton pond.

For those who don’t know, the place I speak of is indeed the set of Hobbiton in the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies. Since The Hobbit trilogy was filmed fairly recently, this beautiful section of rolling farmland was rebuilt as a set and maintained as a tourist attraction. The majority of other Lord of the Rings filming locations were destroyed after the filming, per New Zealand law. Hobbiton had actually been dismantled as well. It wasn’t until the owners of the land got continuous requests to see the barren former set (which by then was nothing but hills with white wall inserts & circular holes) that they realized it might be a good thing to keep the set weather proof this time around.

Hobbiton circa 2006, a former shell of itself

What’s resulted is a miniature theme park without the rides. If you’ve ever had an interest in the craft of environment building (such as you might see in the Disney & Universal theme parks) this place would tickle your fancy.

A brief run-down of how to create the best Hobbiton-viewing experience:

A post shared by backsideofwater (@backsideofwater) on Mar 27, 2016 at 9:32pm PDT

Shirey enough for you?

Real vegetables!

Real burlap sacks!

The party tree! Where Bilbo doesn’t know half you half as well as he should like, and likes less than half of you half as well as you deserve!

In the books, Merry and Pippin returned to the Shire much taller than they were. I couldn’t help but wonder if, by the time I got back to California, I’d be an inch or two taller myself.

Green Dragon Inn

Step Twenty-Five: Hobbiton It’s shameful, really. By this time last year I was traversing the wilds of the North Island.

Taupo smells like scrambled eggs. That’s not too bad, and certainly all right if you are excited about breakfast.

Taupo is where some of the thermal activity in the North Island starts becoming apparent. Along the hillside steam vents send plumes in to the sky. You can join a crowd of strangers as they sit in a pleasant-yet-prickly-feeling hot spring by the river side. Taupo – like many other towns in New Zealand, sits beside a vast lake. To me, Taupo is a little like the North Island’s Wanaka. There’s a nice, slightly touristy town center, families bustling about, and an all around good vibe.

I stayed in a hostel for a couple nights and another night in my car by the river. There was a very popular free camp ground there that even had toilets! The real deal!

Sunset over Lake Taupo

Waikato River, near Huka Falls

For Easter though,  it was time to go to Rotorua.

Rotorua smells like scrambled eggs after they’ve rotted. Rotorua’s Sulfur Bay – more specifically – smells like several raw eggs have cracked in the carton without your knowledge and have been sitting in the sun for 5 days. Rotorua is the Circle of Life.

It’s a nice place.

Easter weekend made it difficult to find accommodation, so I was directed to a place called The Citizens Club. The Citizens Club was actually nice even though you had to walk through a casino full of sleeping senior citizens to get to it. The night was humid beyond belief. I slept in a sports bra and underwear in a bed that was right in front of the door and didn’t even care when 2 late-night dude arrivals waltzed in to the room. I imagine them to be French, and maybe wearing glow sticks around their wrists. Or I was having a fever dream.

Easter morning the world was misty. I walked to a church situated near the lake shoreline. Easter Mass at home is normally packed. At Easter Mass in Rotorua, everyone is late. The only exception was a very enthusiastic stray dog that ran in between the pews and up and down the aisles. She was early.

Later that day I went to Te Whakarewarewa, The Living Maori Village, which has a full name of “Te Whakarewarewatanga O Te Ope Taua A Wahiao.” Aside from a dauntingly long address, the village was an incredible place. Built right over a hot bed of thermal activity, this Maori tribe uses hot water straight from earth’s core to heat their homes, bathe, and even cook. When the hot springs bubbling underneath get too close to their homes, they build pipes in to the ground to release the pressure and avoid the collapse of their floors in to boiling water.

Pressure-relieving ground chimneys prevent the collapse of villagers’ homes in to the thermal springs below.

Hot springs right by a cold, cold river.

After a performance of traditional music, dance, and the famous intimidation ritual of the Haka, we were invited on a tour by one of the village residents. A tall, angular Maori woman was our guide. She had a soft voice and well-rehearsed storytelling abilities. She led us to the outdoor cooking area, which smelled faintly of pork, and invited us to touch the chalky ground. It was warm, like fancy Japanese bathroom tiles (but out in nature)! A round-faced Maori chef was steaming meat and vegetables in a wooden box. He lifted the top and we were misted with warm vapor. The vegetables were bright from the minerals and the meat looked like you could pull it apart easily with a fork. Behind the chef, a woman was boiling a bag of corn in a pool that was translucent blue. It was done within a manner of minutes. She pulled the bag up on a string and drained the excess before handing me a cob in a bag of my own, topped with butter and salt.

Meat & veggies cooking a la natural steam vents.

Bag o’ corn! Delicious!

Behind the main village was a set of geysers that our angular woman took us to see from a shaded area. Getting any closer would mean paying to go to a completely different ‘park’, but this village tour was just what I’d been looking for.  I was able to learn more about the Maori and also felt like I was giving back.

Rotorua days felt like lazy, easing-back-in-to-life sort of days. I spent time wandering in and out of the library, sipping coffee, going for walks. The end of my trip was on the horizon and it felt best to breath it all in. Even that sulfury, eggy air.

But first: Hobbiton.

      Step Twenty-Four: The Region That Smells like the Life-&-Death of An Omelette Taupo smells like scrambled eggs. That's not too bad, and certainly all right if you are excited about breakfast.

Step Twenty Three: A Chat with Crocodile Pete

Step Twenty Three: A Chat with Crocodile Pete

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And then somehow it came time to leave the South Island. The ferry to the north departs out of a town called Picton, which is as cute as a bug’s ear (that’s a good thing). We stopped for some disappointing sandwiches before waiting in a line of other cars to be let on to the ship. I remember the weather being hot. Becca befriended the spider living in my left side view mirror. She sang Elton John loudly with the window down and got critiqued by a man heading to the toilet (he wasn’t impressed).

The ferry is not a ferry. It is a mini cruise ship. It’s full of cafes and lounge areas and it even has a movie theater. No casino though. The ride over was a scenic 3 hours or so. We shared a moment of windblown silence out on the deck as we watched the South Island disappear in to the horizon.

Wellington was the next thing in sight, a sprawling city reminiscent of San Francisco and Seattle. Our hostel was located right across from the US Embassy, and the parking was quite the challenge.

View from Mt. Victoria

Another view from Mt. Victoria!

Our time in Wellington was a whopping 4 nights, and the first important mission was beer. We were hangry. We were ready to down pints of yeasty goodness and gobble down artisan pizza. But then we got lost.

It is my opinion now that the act of getting lost actually made the experience more worthwhile, because by the time we stumbled upon Goldings Free Dive, it had become a shangri la of everything we’d ever desired. The pizza from next door may have been some of the best pizza I’ve ever tasted. Who’s to say? I had two pints of an IPA that was infused with Earl Grey, and I will never forget its odd loveliness.

She beat me on that one.

Our first full day was spent exploring the coastal offerings to the west, where we walked along a black sand beach containing a few surprised-and-definitely-dead sharks and failed at finding an ice cream shop.

One morning we made it out to WETA Workshop, a childhood dream. We held a giant prop gun from District 9 and squished a prosthetic dwarf nose. We learned the difference between up-close chain mail and background chain mail (hint: one will protect you from a sword blow. The other one will not). Becca and I were full of questions. How much creative freedom does a hired-on prop house – albeit one as famous as WETA – get when creating for a film? Do they need director approval? Are there a lot of Skype sessions? How do they combine practical props with digital visuals? Do the master prop makers get to be on set? Do WETA Digital and WETA Workshop have lunches together? Do they ever theme parties after their own movies? How many prosthetic noses go mysteriously missing on a weekly basis?

Seeking out filming locations in Mt. Victoria Park

Arguably, the entire Wellington trip centered around St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. By midday we were planted firmly in the only Irish Pub in town, ingesting shepherd’s pie and loaded potato wedges. Becca floated over to a group of Irish dancers and started chatting them up (because she & her team were world champs once. Don’t tell her I told you.) After a necessary nap we hit the town anew. Suzy from Franz Josef was in town and so we reunited for an hour or so. Becca met a man named Steven (who we shall call Steve) who hates being called Steve. His charm turned in to sleaze before the end of the night, but thanks to the helpful tapping on the shoulder of a large and silent Maori man, we escaped the pub with laughter and proceeded to dance the night away at another venue.

The next morning we awoke disheveled and more alive than expected, ready for breakfast across from the botanical gardens. This was my last morning with my friend. We wandered around Wellington one last time and learned things in the Te Papa museum, and then my pal shuffled in to the airport. Betty and I were on our own again. I slept for a few minutes in a Pak n Save parking lot and then pulled out the map. I had no idea what Martinborough was, but hell, that’s where I went off to.

Step Twenty Two: Things are going fairly Wellington And then somehow it came time to leave the South Island. The ferry to the north departs out of a town called Picton, which is as cute as a bug's ear (that's a good thing).

The sun in the Tasman region is warm and welcoming, and I am about to barf. “Excuse me. I am about to barf,” I grumble to Becca, taking care not to hit her in the head with my kayak row. Becca informs the guide, who advises me that I hold in said barf for as long as possible.

Kayaking had been my idea. All the travel books said Abel Tasman was the place to be for kayaking. And it is! Abel Tasman park is a coastal area on the north bit of the South Island. The water is a lovely jade color and the beaches are famously gold. People spend days hiking the length of it (seems like a great beginner backpacking spot, actually). Wealthy, outdoorsy kiwis take their little speedboats and yachts and park in tidal lagoons for the day. It’s a glorious spot well worth seeing.

But I don’t think I’ll be seeing it via kayak again.

Land, sweet land.

Split Apple Rock, or as I like to call it “Don’t-talk-about-apples-or-any-food-right-now Rock”

No-Thank-You-I-Don’t-Want-Any-Juice-At-the-Moment Beach

It seemed a miracle at the time, but I made it to shore. And here’s the best bit: I didn’t barf! That’s right. I used this story as an excuse to begin a blog post with a sentence containing the word ‘barf.’ I hope you aren’t as disappointed as you were during the finale of Lost.

Becca and I had been traveling for some time already. After Mt. Cook, we’d gone out of the way to stand on top of Mt. Sunday, the filming location of Edoras in Lord of the Rings. This adventure was a worthwhile one. We drove for miles on dirt roads, kicking up gravel and inhaling dust. Mt. Sunday is in a phenomenal location – a lone hill surrounded by golden plains and then a ring of towering mountains. Cows mooed on the hillside. Goats frowned at us as we struggled to pee behind some bushes. I fell in the creek while trying to cross it, and Becca walked a few yards away to the the apparently very obvious bridge. At the very top, a group of Lord of the Rings fans flew the flag of Rohan, and all felt right with this nerdy, wonderful world.

Spot the sheep

Kaikoura had been our next stop. I’d heard it was a beautiful place, but hadn’t intended to go there before Becca decided she was visiting. Get this: Kaikoura is a beautiful place! They are known for their crayfish, looming coastal mountains, and whale sightings. I am not an avid seafood eater, so I did not realize that a crayfish is like a clawless lobster. Or a giant crawdad. Or an alien. Regardless, it tasted pretty good (disclaimer: I was not adventurous enough to try one on my own, but I sampled some of Becca’s. Sorry, Dad).

We had stayed at a charming hostel. There were a few women who were our age or older – a relief – including a bubbly Scotswoman that we befriended in order to hear her speak. During the day we walked around the peninsula and avoided stepping on seals. By night we ate fresh fish n chips from a paper bag and the Scotswoman taught me how to drink tea through a biscuit.

Nap time

Then came Abel Tasman. After my victorious squashing of kayak-sickness we stumbled out of our splash skirts, thanked our guides, and went off to the beach, where we laid for several hours and even went swimming!

In retrospect, the plan to have an easy day first was a good one. The next morning we took a water taxi out to Bark Bay along the Tasman trail. Armed with leftover Indian food and a healthy dose of naïveté, we walked all the way back to town before dark. With feet that had turned to aching mashed potatoes, we laugh-cried at our 24km victory. “Why am I in so much pain?” we wept to the tiny crabs scuttling under the trailhead bridge. It turns out that 24km is equivalent to 15 miles. Needless to say, we ate very large hamburgers that evening.

        Step Twenty One: In Which I Discover Kayak Sickness The sun in the Tasman region is warm and welcoming, and I am about to barf.

I am a lucky sort of person for many reasons. One of these reasons is the fact that I have people willing to get on a plane to travel halfway around the world to see me. It is for this reason that I left the town of Franz Josef to go to the Christchurch airport.

This solo road trip was one of the longer ones, up north and through Arthur’s Pass. I listened to a lot of folk music with my windows down. I passed by a lot of sights I probably should have stopped to see. I peed in a bathroom next to a rural tennis court.

Christchurch is the town that everyone says is, “Meh!” Prior to the 2011 earthquake that destroyed many of the historic buildings, people would never have called Christchurch “Meh!” Perhaps the reason for this opinion lies in the massive amounts of construction that still going on. I was there for perhaps 16 hours in total. I ate loaded potato wedges and beer with the Israeli guys there. In those hours I became an expert, and I say that Christchurch is a pretty solid “O.K.!”

The next morning was an exciting one for me. You see, Becca is my roommate and my pal, and she was arriving to see me and to embark on a 2 week adventure together. Becca and I laugh a lot. We are like two peas in a pod, or like two characters from Thelma and Louise: she is Louise, and I am the car they drive off the cliff in the end of the movie.

Becca arrived at the airport wearing hiking boots and socks pulled up high. She commented on my multitude of freckles. I commented on her camp counselor attire. She claimed her outfit was done for packing practicality reasons. I claimed that my face was the way it is because freckles are tiny angel kisses, and New Zealand has a lot of angels.

This road trip was a little different from the other ones. I was not alone, which meant that I was talking to a person, instead of myself. The time passed quickly. I tell you, when you are away for 2+ months from someone that you normally see every single day, there is always plenty to talk about. By the time we arrived at Lake Tekapo we were wind-blown and sun-warmed and eager to jump into a glacial lake. So we did.

Lake Tekapo

Lake Tekapo shores, a tiny church, and a selkie.

Lake Tekapo and the neighboring lake, Pukaki, are known for their incredible blue colors. Tekapo’s got a turquoise theme going on, like the color of your grandmother’s antique Native American jewelry. Pukaki is similar, but more vibrant and with a chalkier quality. Science says the lakes are that color because of glacial sediment. They are freak-of-nature lakes, and photos will not really do them justice.

Becca and I stayed in a person’s house in Tekapo. We ate muesli for breakfast (and dessert) and made greek salad. We washed our dishes in a bathroom sink and nearly lost our only hats on top of a windy mountain during a hike.

Tekapo hike

View from the observatory

Nearly lost the hat.

One of our days in the area we drove to Mt. Taranaki (Mt. Cook) and Lake Pukaki. Now, Taranaki Park expresses the power of nature. That place makes one feel very small. On our way down the Hooker Valley Track (not what it sounds like) we were surrounded by flowers and plants of all kinds. Streams of crystal clear water trickled through the grasses, a stark contrast to the terrifyingly swift, chalk grey river coursing down from the glacial lake. The mountaintops were covered in glaciers, shadowed with blue in the sunlight so that they almost looked fake. During the walk back a piece of the glacier cascaded down behind a mountain side with a soft roar and a cloud of snow. The hanging bridges over the river swayed slightly in the very strong winds. We did not pee our pants but that is not to say we didn’t feel the need to.

For lunch we ate at a cafe in the valley that did not have a clear entryway. We walked through the nature center, down some stairs, up some stairs, and eventually jumped a row of hedges. As I sat there poking at the innards of my pork pie (should have ordered the grilled cheese) I felt glad to have my pal there to share this pretty place with. It was like a vacation from my vacation. Traveling alone is exhilarating, but you can’t deny the comfort and benefit of a familiar face.

And oh! What travels were to be had! From the lovely lakes we’d venture on to Mt. Sunday, the filming location for Edoras in the LotR trilogy! And then to seal-speckled Kaikoura! And on even further to green-watered Abel Tasman! And then, with my good ol’ chum Rebecca by my side, eventually I’d say goodbye to the South Island for good.

They were two weeks of fun that passed by pretty quickly. But more on that soon.

  Step Twenty: In Which I Receive A Visitor I am a lucky sort of person for many reasons. One of these reasons is the fact that I have people willing to get on a plane to travel halfway around the world to see me. 

Step Eighteen: In Which I Werk Werk Werk Werk Werk

Step Eighteen: In Which I Werk Werk Werk Werk Werk

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An interlude: Notes on New Zealand

An interlude: Notes on New Zealand

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Step Seventeen: In Which I Drive to the Rainforest

Step Seventeen: In Which I Drive to the Rainforest

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Step Eleven: In Which I Attend a Meeting and Celebrate Chinese New Year

Step Eleven: In Which I Attend a Meeting and Celebrate Chinese New Year

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Step Ten: In Which I Visit Tunnel Beach and Pak N Save, Separately

Step Ten: In Which I Visit Tunnel Beach and Pak N Save, Separately

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Step Eight: In Which I Take My First Day Trip with Betty White

Step Eight: In Which I Take My First Day Trip with Betty White

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Step Seven: In Which I Mention Things I Skipped Over

Step Seven: In Which I Mention Things I Skipped Over

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Step Six: In Which I Risk My Life for a Great Deal on a Car

Step Six: In Which I Risk My Life for a Great Deal on a Car

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Virtual friends, I once went to a virtual reality film festival. (Really, not virtually)