The plan had been to have smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, Bucks Fizz and then a barbecue of turkey breasts, prawns and sausages. Well we managed the Bucks Fizz, but the jacuzzi and sunshine put paid to the rest.
Eventually (about 1pm) we climbed out of the hot tub and staggered into the kitchen to rustle up the eggs and salmon. Mark also put together a Christmas breakfast of canned smoked oysters on toast, which I was pretty sceptical about but pleasantly surprised to discover tastes a lot like smoked mackerel pate. I might add it to my next Christmas menu.
The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur of card games with Israelis, bottles of New Zealand red, statues with Frances,
singing to bad tunes on the iPod and generally talking rubbish until we (by we I mean Carly) managed to get it together to make some dinner. We didn’t quite manage the barbecue, but we had a great day anyway. Just like a real English Christmas - drunk before lunch and asleep before dinner. Perfect.
There was a weird period between lunch and dinner where the hostel went pretty quiet as everyone kind of retreated to their beds or into their heads and thought about home and waited for Europe to wake up. By 10ish in the evening, everyone perked up after having spoken to loved ones at home. And they even had Love Actually on New Zealand telly, though there were a few more people crying than you would ordinarily expect. I think everyone was feeling a bit emotionally ‘fragile’.
Boxing Day was much as at home too, except without the cold cuts. We mostly mooched about the hostel in differing states of confusion waiting for the effects of the previous day’s libations to wear off.
Suzy and I decided the best cure for our headaches was to walk into town and book ourselves on some unfeasibly stupid adrenalin sport for the next day. The girls plumped for skydiving, which although I liked the idea of for its pure silliness I just couldn’t contemplate given the flight in a rickety plane that was required. So I went for the perfectly reasonable idea of going over a 7km stretch of white water rapids on a body board. Cos that’s always a good idea.
The river boarding is billed as “The most physically challenging activity in Queenstown, if not all of New Zealand.” Perfect for me then - 34 years old and at the peak of my physical prowess!
When I got back to the hostel we were chatting with some other travellers about what we’d booked and one young 20-something said the river boarding had killed him. The girls were understandably excited and nervous about their skydive, but inside I was preoccupied with my foolish activity choice, quietly thinking to myself “You might have slightly overestimated yourself this time, mate.”
Still in the spirit of trying to say yes to everything, and drawing on the experience of the mountain in Ushuaia, I hauled my sorry ass out of bed at 7am to go down to the office to be picked up, despite spending 20 minutes in bed wondering how I could get out of it and if anyone would notice if I stayed in bed . Pull yourself together man.
My confidence wasn’t improved any by the fact that one of my fellow boarders asked the guides to stop the bus about half an hour out of Queenstown saying “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this, let me off.” And she was serious, after hearing the safety briefing she’d decided it wasn’t for her and they had to stop the bus.
As an attempt to cheer us up the guides gave us a Comments book that had been written in by people on the way back from the rapids describing their experiences. Most voiced typical traveller-type opinions along the lines of “Awesome”, “Off the hook, dude”, and “Even my shit was scared”. (Sometimes I do feel old out here). But one particular gem I found just said: “Don’t do it. Get off the bus now.”
I had originally signed up for this because I’ve already done a bungy jump, skydiving doesn’t appeal for obvious reasons, and the fact that I’ve done white water rafting twice before, loved it, and thought this would be a fun way of adding a New Zealand twist. Now I was beginning to wonder whether I’d done the right thing.
When we’d put our wetsuits, life-preservers, flippers and helmets(?!) on we went for a little training paddle in one of the eddies near the launch bank. All we had to do was paddle out into the edge of the stream of the river, lift the board into the air, spin towards the bank and paddle back again. We had to do this twice and I was KNACKERED after just 10 minutes. I don’t know how many of you have tried to paddle against the stream of a big river, but I can promise you it’s hard work.
“OK everyone, the first 3 kms are the hardest and when we go round this bend we’ll be straight into three rapids one after the other. Stick with me, paddle hard and don’t panic if you get sucked under,” shouted the guide and just like that we were off.
Hang on, what about showing me how to identify the best way through a rapid, telling me how to predict river flow based on the shape of the wave, what about… too late.
The next 15 minutes or so are a bit of a blur, I do remember the sound of my own laboured panting, the roar of the river, the pain in my arms as I tried to stay in position on the board and the neverending ache in my calves and feet as I paddled desperately to stay afloat and on course.
The surface of the river is no guide to what is happening underneath as you might begin facing downstream and one leg is swept from under you one way and the other leg the other. And then there’s the whirlpools which appear from nowhere under you, spin you round, spit you out and disappear again. Terrifying.
After the first rapid I was dying, I had no breath and was ready to swim to the side and put up with all the gibes, but before I could I was swept into the next rapid trying desperately to find some previously undiscovered reserves of energy and air to get me down the river. It was genuinely a case of sink or swim and at that point I really was in fear for my life and just wanted this swirling, unpredictable, exhausting nightmare to end.
Miraculously though I began to get the hang of it. The guide had to keep me away from a couple of rocks on two occasions, but when I got my second wind I was able to enjoy the experience and take in what was happening to me - and boy was it exhilarating! I actually began to realise that my windsurfing, limited surfing and sailing experience meant I was able to handle the board and read the waves a bit better than I’d expected, and I began to get control of the situation.
Head first down a raging river on a body board into Grade 3 and 4 rapids. On a body board! Awesome (Damn, there, I said it).
Obviously I couldn’t take pictures, but the company’s website gives you an idea of what was involved:
http://www.riverboarding.co.nz/
Forty minutes later we drifted into the exit eddy and climbed out of the water. Climbed might be overstating it, belly flopped onto the first rock to hand would be a better description. I could barely get to my feet I was so exhausted. But this is New Zealand, there’s no time to sit feeling sorry for yourself so it was a quick wet-suit clad climb up the rock bank to a 7-metre rock leap into the torrent below. Jesus, what do these people do for fun?!
I was too tired to care so threw myself off the ledge letting out a shout of unbridled joy. My stomach went up my throat on the way down and my testicles somewhere into where my stomach had been on impact with the water, but this was pure fun. Childlike, innocent, crazy fun and it was fantastic. So I did it again. From 15 metres.
Of course, after such an intense work out and adrenaline rush, the perfect cure was a two and a half hour drive in the camper vans to Te Anau and New Zealand’s fjordland - no jokes about Slarty Bartfast please.
There was a weird period between lunch and dinner where the hostel went pretty quiet as everyone kind of retreated to their beds or into their heads and thought about home and waited for Europe to wake up. By 10ish in the evening, everyone perked up after having spoken to loved ones at home. And they even had Love Actually on New Zealand telly, though there were a few more people crying than you would ordinarily expect. I think everyone was feeling a bit emotionally ‘fragile’.
Boxing Day was much as at home too, except without the cold cuts. We mostly mooched about the hostel in differing states of confusion waiting for the effects of the previous day’s libations to wear off.
Suzy and I decided the best cure for our headaches was to walk into town and book ourselves on some unfeasibly stupid adrenalin sport for the next day. The girls plumped for skydiving, which although I liked the idea of for its pure silliness I just couldn’t contemplate given the flight in a rickety plane that was required. So I went for the perfectly reasonable idea of going over a 7km stretch of white water rapids on a body board. Cos that’s always a good idea.
The river boarding is billed as “The most physically challenging activity in Queenstown, if not all of New Zealand.” Perfect for me then - 34 years old and at the peak of my physical prowess!
When I got back to the hostel we were chatting with some other travellers about what we’d booked and one young 20-something said the river boarding had killed him. The girls were understandably excited and nervous about their skydive, but inside I was preoccupied with my foolish activity choice, quietly thinking to myself “You might have slightly overestimated yourself this time, mate.”
Still in the spirit of trying to say yes to everything, and drawing on the experience of the mountain in Ushuaia, I hauled my sorry ass out of bed at 7am to go down to the office to be picked up, despite spending 20 minutes in bed wondering how I could get out of it and if anyone would notice if I stayed in bed . Pull yourself together man.
My confidence wasn’t improved any by the fact that one of my fellow boarders asked the guides to stop the bus about half an hour out of Queenstown saying “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this, let me off.” And she was serious, after hearing the safety briefing she’d decided it wasn’t for her and they had to stop the bus.
As an attempt to cheer us up the guides gave us a Comments book that had been written in by people on the way back from the rapids describing their experiences. Most voiced typical traveller-type opinions along the lines of “Awesome”, “Off the hook, dude”, and “Even my shit was scared”. (Sometimes I do feel old out here). But one particular gem I found just said: “Don’t do it. Get off the bus now.”
I had originally signed up for this because I’ve already done a bungy jump, skydiving doesn’t appeal for obvious reasons, and the fact that I’ve done white water rafting twice before, loved it, and thought this would be a fun way of adding a New Zealand twist. Now I was beginning to wonder whether I’d done the right thing.
When we’d put our wetsuits, life-preservers, flippers and helmets(?!) on we went for a little training paddle in one of the eddies near the launch bank. All we had to do was paddle out into the edge of the stream of the river, lift the board into the air, spin towards the bank and paddle back again. We had to do this twice and I was KNACKERED after just 10 minutes. I don’t know how many of you have tried to paddle against the stream of a big river, but I can promise you it’s hard work.
“OK everyone, the first 3 kms are the hardest and when we go round this bend we’ll be straight into three rapids one after the other. Stick with me, paddle hard and don’t panic if you get sucked under,” shouted the guide and just like that we were off.
Hang on, what about showing me how to identify the best way through a rapid, telling me how to predict river flow based on the shape of the wave, what about… too late.
The next 15 minutes or so are a bit of a blur, I do remember the sound of my own laboured panting, the roar of the river, the pain in my arms as I tried to stay in position on the board and the neverending ache in my calves and feet as I paddled desperately to stay afloat and on course.
The surface of the river is no guide to what is happening underneath as you might begin facing downstream and one leg is swept from under you one way and the other leg the other. And then there’s the whirlpools which appear from nowhere under you, spin you round, spit you out and disappear again. Terrifying.
After the first rapid I was dying, I had no breath and was ready to swim to the side and put up with all the gibes, but before I could I was swept into the next rapid trying desperately to find some previously undiscovered reserves of energy and air to get me down the river. It was genuinely a case of sink or swim and at that point I really was in fear for my life and just wanted this swirling, unpredictable, exhausting nightmare to end.
Miraculously though I began to get the hang of it. The guide had to keep me away from a couple of rocks on two occasions, but when I got my second wind I was able to enjoy the experience and take in what was happening to me - and boy was it exhilarating! I actually began to realise that my windsurfing, limited surfing and sailing experience meant I was able to handle the board and read the waves a bit better than I’d expected, and I began to get control of the situation.
Head first down a raging river on a body board into Grade 3 and 4 rapids. On a body board! Awesome (Damn, there, I said it).
Obviously I couldn’t take pictures, but the company’s website gives you an idea of what was involved:
http://www.riverboarding.co.nz/
Forty minutes later we drifted into the exit eddy and climbed out of the water. Climbed might be overstating it, belly flopped onto the first rock to hand would be a better description. I could barely get to my feet I was so exhausted. But this is New Zealand, there’s no time to sit feeling sorry for yourself so it was a quick wet-suit clad climb up the rock bank to a 7-metre rock leap into the torrent below. Jesus, what do these people do for fun?!
I was too tired to care so threw myself off the ledge letting out a shout of unbridled joy. My stomach went up my throat on the way down and my testicles somewhere into where my stomach had been on impact with the water, but this was pure fun. Childlike, innocent, crazy fun and it was fantastic. So I did it again. From 15 metres.
Of course, after such an intense work out and adrenaline rush, the perfect cure was a two and a half hour drive in the camper vans to Te Anau and New Zealand’s fjordland - no jokes about Slarty Bartfast please.
