Wellington, or, A Slight Change of Plan

The entire Northern Circuit walk didn't go ahead, as I decided to go skydiving (which is totally f'kin awesome) and then do the most impressive part of the circuit, the Tongariro Crossing, as a day walk. On the way there, a lady who'd walked the whole thing assured me that the rest of it was pretty boring, so I didn't feel too bad about this shameful copout (and hey, I flung myself out of a plane instead). It's still 17km with a two hour slog up a goddamn steep mountain and would be fairly taxing in normal circumstances. Factor in a wretched hangover from a post-skydiving pub crawl and you've got yourself a whole barrel-load of fun.

Sadly, despite glorious weather on the lower levels of Tongariro Park, the alpine section of the crossing - where you can get the best views of Mount Ngauruhoe, aka *nerd hat on* Mount Doom from The Lord of the Rings *nerd hat off. Hmm. Appears to be stuck* - was wreathed in mist, and for two hours pretty much all I could see was the next pole 100 yards ahead, and occasionally the Canadian guy who seemed to think I was a tour guide ("Are those lakes geo-thermal? Is the water warm? What's that ridge over there called? What time does the bus leave the end of the trail?") For all I knew, he and I were the only ones on the crossing.

However, just as I was coming down the other side of the mountain - and landing on my arse every five minutes thanks to the loose volcanic gravel - a wonderful thing happened. I heard voices in the distance going "oooh!", "oh wow", and "hey, Joeline, get a picture of this here crater!" and then the mists cleared in seconds, revealing the Emerald Lakes and a line of awestruck, motionless hikers - at least fifty - all the way down the mountainside.

The rest of the hike was in bright sunshine and extremely impressive, but I missed the best bit, unfortunately. As Nick said in the comments to a previous post, things go so well in New Zealand that people only ever talk about the scenery. As the mist has robbed me of even that, I'll leave you with a tale from the pub crawl.

There was eight of us sat round a table - Adam, Leon, Sadia, two Annies, Janele, myself and a girl who we'll call Melissa. Sadia was talking about how bruised she got from the white-water rafting trip she did the other day and Melissa - a textbook example of Swedish genetic perfection, seemingly constructed entirely from blonde hair, golden skin and white teeth - mentioned the terrible bruising she had on her back, and promptly pulled up her top to show us all. The men at the table tightened the grip on their pints slightly.

"Blimey," said Leon, "how'd you do that?"
"Oh, I don't really want to say..."

Many eyebrows rose in interest. I could swear even the music on the jukebox got slightly quieter. Melissa blushed and continued, as she knew she must after saying something like that.

"I don't want people to think I am easy... but I did it having sex on a picnic table." Pause. Blush. "With a married man."

Have you ever heard seven people choke on their pint at the same time? Interesting noise. Melissa pressed on.

"I went out for a drink with him and his wife, and she got very drunk and had to be put to bed. And then I ended up having sex with her husband on the table in the hotel garden. It was not my fault, we were both drunk and he came on to me. And it was very embarrassing, because I had agreed to go sightseeing with them and had to spend all day with him and his wife."

She blushed again, smiled, and went off to get another drink. I looked at Leon.

"Best backpacker story ever," I said.
"Definitely."
"Think I need another beer."
"Me too."

And yet we sat there in silence for the next few minutes, lost in thought.