It was nice to have two weeks away, but after almost a month away from home, it's good to be back and settled into a normal routine.
So what did we get up to on the honeymoon? Bloody heaps.
We went sightseeing at the old French settlement of Akaroa near Christchurch, took a helicopter flight to the top of Fox Glacier, went skydiving and paragliding at Queenstown, spelunked in a glow worm cavern at Te Anau, and took a boat cruise on Milford Sound.
And the driving! New Zealand is an incredible country for just driving around. Check out some of the areas we passed through:
- the Canterbury plains, green farm paddocks with the New Zealand alps in the far distance
- the winding mountain roads through Arthurs Pass
- a rain forest stretch down the west coast through Franz Josef Glacier to Fox Glacier
- the straight roads through the high arid Mckenzie Country from Queenstown to Mt Cook
We saw more campervans and caravans than you can poke a stick at, usually on stretches of road that made it almost impossible to overtake them. We have found that it is obligatory for campervans to drive at 70kph in a 100kph zone.
There were lots of Japanese tourists, too, for me to embarrass myself by engaging my pathetic Japanese language skills. In one infamous scene at Mt Cook, we passed 15 Japanese women on a hiking trip dressed almost identically in white hats, white gloves, long-sleeved tops, khaki pants and boots and a backpack.
In fact, there's so much to write about, it'd take weeks to put down on paper everything we did.
So instead, I'll just write about the biggest adventure we had - skydiving.
Since we organised the honeymoon to New Zealand, taking in the adventure capital Queenstown, Kathleen has always wanted to go skydiving. To me, that's a pretty crazy idea - falling out of a plane and hoping that the parachute works, especially when you read so many stories in the news of people that haven't survived a 'parachute malfunction'. Granted, the media never tell you about the many jumps that go according to plan, but it's not an adventure/adrenelin sport for nothing, is it?
So on our second day in Queenstown, and given the weather was forecast to be clear, blue skies, and a balmy mid-20s celsius, it seemed like a good idea to go in and book. After much arm-twisting, it was agreed that I'd go as well, and not merely wave from the ground.
We started out hyping each other up at a cafe in town. Where the wheels started to fall off for Kathleen.
"Oh God, I don't know if I can do it. I'm starting to freak out about this," she began.
"Uh huh," said Mr Cool-As-A-Cucumber. "Don't worry, you'll be right once you get up there."
But first, we had to find a company to jump with. And luckily, on nearby Shotover Street, Queenstown's main drag, we found nzone, whose slogan was, ironically enough, "Embrace the fear".
"We want to organise a jump for tomorrow," we told the young woman behind the counter.
"Well, it's such a clear day today, and tomorrow might not be as good," she said. "Why don't you book in for today?"
Kathleen looked at me hesitently. If this was what she was like now, imagine how freaked out she was going to be with an additional 24 hours of stressing under her belt.
And, dammit, she was right. What if it clouded over? What if it defied all metereological laws and suddenly started raining? Going today sounded like a much better idea. So we changed our plans.
"How high do you want to go?" she asked.
We could start at 9,000 feet for $245, 12,000 feet for $295 or 15,000 feet for $395. The major difference is the time spent in freefall, which is 60 seconds at 15,000 feet and only 30 seconds at 9,000.
Given we were weak, we were scared, we were both big, fat babies, we told her we'd jump at 9.
"No, no, no," she exclaimed, horrified. "That won't last long at all! It's your first jump, you want it to last as long as possible! If you do only 9,000 feet, it'll be over before you know it! And 12,000 is only another $100."
She had a point. Falling and hitting the ground at 9,000 was probably no different from that of 12,000 feet. And we were getting caught up in her excitement.
"Ah, what the hell, make it 12," I said with the air of a man who does this sort of thing every day. She was a good saleswoman.
We were asked to come back at 1pm (only 3 hours for Kathleen to stress herself into a frenzy!), and when we did, we were ushered into a small room, where the smell of our fear was not able to reach and deter potential customers in the front room. Turns out that every other single person in our group, all 12, had taken 12,000. Gee, we would have looked soft if we were the only ones from 9!
We were asked to sign a waiver form. The following lines immediately jumped out:
"Parachute equipment even when operated, packed and assembled correctly can mulfunction possibly causing injury and death."
and
"Under New Zealand law it is extremely unlikely you will be able to sue anyone if injured."
Hmmm. Luckily we had another twenty minutes of waiting for these two phrases to really seep into our minds. Everything else that was mentioned in the promotional brochures, about how we'd love it, it'd be the best thing we'd ever do, we'd want to do it again and again and again, yada yada yada, faded.
Malfunction.
Injury.
Death.
I wondered whether it was too late to ask for a refund.
nzone's jump zone is about twenty minutes out of town, at the foot of Queenstown's Remarkables. These mountains are incredible. They just dominate the landscape here, and are almost 7,000 feet high, at 2,300m. For our jump, we were going to fall from a height that was twice as high as the mountains.
Since the plane we were to jump from took only three jumpers and their instructors at once, there was quite a wait. Lots of time for things to really think about what we were going to do.
Eventually we were called into the hanger to suit up. After a brief demonstration of what we needed to do - "When the door opens, just sit on the ledge, hold on to these straps, then when the parachute opens hold your hands out like this" - we headed to the plane.
Or should I say, Kathleen and her instructor headed to the plane.
My instructor, Scott, was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe they saw my potential, my obvious ease and decided I didn't need an instructor. Nor, for that matter, a parachute.
Eventually he came running, straight from the bathroom apparently, and tossed me his helmet as he quickly donned his jumpsuit. I wasn't sure that such haste was a good thing - if it was me, I'd be triple and quadruple checking everything! - but he seemed comfortable, a bit too comfortable.
The plane was incredibly cramped. It's a hollowed out Cessna with no seats, just sufficient space for a few people to sit on the floor. The three pairs of instructor/students, and two blokes who'd normally shoot the video if we had purchased it. We took off down a bumpy grass paddock runway, sheep moving nonchanently around. And then we were in the air!
New Zealand is absolutely incredible from the air. Words fail to express how beautiful the landscape is, with tall mountains covered in snow - even in summer - extending as far as the eye can see. And here and there lakes glimmered blue in the bright sunshine. I could have left without doing the jump, having had these views!
Unbeknownst to me, Kathleen's instructor told her they'd be jumping from 15,000 feet, not the 12,000 that we had booked. I was blissfully unaware, but just wondering why we were taking so long to get to 12! And when the oxygen masks came out, to counter the unpressurised cabin, I was a little confused.
I was also a little worried about the fact that I wasn't attached to Scott yet. Surely the whole point of a tandem jump was that we were going out as a team.
In my head, like an unwanted movie, scenes from the impending jump played over and over. I imagined we'd be ready to go, I'd fall out as instructed, and Scott - and the parachute - would be left behind in the plane, staring at my rapidly descending form. "Damn," he'd say. "I knew I forgot something!"
But it was all right. He just waits until the last minute.
Talk about casual.
So we're harnessed together, tightly, and I don't particularly want to dwell too much on the process of harnessing. Let's just say that it's not something that two straight male men should be seen to be doing. And the Remarkables are far, far below. We're obviously quite high. I'm not nervous or scared, just wanting to get started.
The door slides open, and there's nothing really between me and falling out of the plane. The two video blokes jump out simultaneously. One minute they're there in the plane, the next they're shuffling to the edge, and then they're gone.
Holy crap.
Now it's us moving to the edge. I swing my legs out, and immediately the wind starts to whip against them.
I am sitting on the edge of a plane. I look down to get a feel for just how high we are...
... and find myself tumbling through the air.
The bloody instructor has just launched us out without so much as a bloody countdown.
And I realise that I have never been more terrified than I am right at this point.
We are tumbling through the air, with up and down, left and right indistinguishable. I want to grab on to something to orient myself, but there's nothing but air.
Scott somehow manages to get us in the traditional skydiving pose, falling face-down towards the ground. And, bloody hell, is it cold. I have this frigid air taking strips off my cheeks, my eyes are starting to water a little and I am freezing cold.
And all I can think of is, only 60 seconds of freefall. Only 60 seconds of freefall.
I shut my eyes for a fraction of a second before realising how much money I have paid for the experience. Dammit, I need to at least see this!
The ground doesn't look as though it is getting any closer, though.
Suddenly the harness digs deep, which, given that it is pretty tight down around my groin, is not a particularly welcome occurance. Scott has deployed the parachute, and suddenly, skydiving is actually pretty nice. Where the wind was buffeting my ears with noise and my face with cold, now there's just blessed silence.
Gliding down to earth feels pretty serene, and I think, "I could get used to this!"
"We just have to make some turns to get over to where we need to land," says the instructor. I look down to the paddock and can just make out the small white dots. Sheep.
The final hurdle is landing.
Which I have a little bit of a problem with, given that I have seen the video recording of an old workmate landing awkwardly and breaking his ankle. Seen it many times, in fact. On repeat cycle. Whenever the topic of skydiving comes up, I always bring up that old anecdote.
But it's nothing like I expected. We hover a foot above the ground for a second and gently touch down.
Thank christ.
As we walk back through the reception on the way to the van, we pass by the instructor profile wall, where they keep a photo and brief blurb of all the instructors. Turns out Scott has done over 2,000 jumps. No wonder he seemed casual!
They say that once you've jumped once, you want to do it again. I think I can say categorically that having done it once, I have no need to ever repeat the experience. I hated the freefalling bit, but loved the rest.
One good thing is that I beat the best man - he never got to 15,000 feet, so that's something I'll be able to whip him with next time I see him!
