Hostel Life
Distance: ~0km
Total Distance: 4385km
Get up, get dressed, go back to bed, pass out so far you forget how to walk, realise you're late, grab what you need, find out that the Post Shop hasn't been open in over a week, so there's a queue out of the door and down the street, rationalise that it's now or never and the queue is moving, slowly, pack presents, organise box, stand in queue, get a shock at the cost (again), send box, realise there's a few small things I've forgotten, will have to send later, get back, find lunch, want to climb the mountain. Want to climb the mountain. Want to climb the...
So this morning didn't go so well. I'd been determined to get the package of presents sent home the day before, but it was a bank holiday here ("Stat Day" in Kiwi) so no post.
Desperation breeds danger. I was desperate to climb Roy's Peak that looks over Wanaka, giving great views at over 1500m above sea level. But it was lunch time, a scorching hot day, my right ankles not 100%, and I wasn't in the mood, even though this was my last day in Wanaka. No. I'm not letting you. Sit down, have tea, listen to Radio 4.
The problem with writing this blog is that I never want to say "I did nothing today". But that's what I do at home, some weekends (where ever home is at the time). Chill out, hide away, do things for me. Most of the "doing nothing" time so far this trip has actually been spent talking to friends and strangers. You meet some great, fascinating, and terrifying people here, as well as staying in some of the best and worst hostels.
The hostel in Wanaka is owned by an old man who was an extra in The Hobbit. He has a pretty rough sense of humour, like many farmers I know, which most people laughed off, but made on German woman very upset. Cheer up luv, don't get your knickers in a twist.
There were a lot of German backpackers, of course, but we also had an old American gentleman staying with us. In his retirement he had decided to make a habit of spending three months a year living in sunny Wanaka, away from the harsh northern winter. He was living in the hostel, but had found a small job working a few hours a day as a house keeper and we soon to move moving in with a family, occupying their spare room. He was enjoying hostel life, learning a little German, learning about where each visitor came from, watching his few DVDs on European history, which he was very interested in, practicing the piano at the local church, taking the short walk to the supmarket where they have free wifi, having an afternoon nap in his leopard print silk pyjama suit with eye cover.
In Rotorua I loved that the budget hostel there has its own geothermaly heated hot tub. I spent an evening talking to an Irish nurse who was out here to work on the fruit farms. Years ago they'd needed tourists to come in to do the picking, paying a reasonable wage for a few hours and the government giving a visa extension. Now, however, she was finding that farms could easily fill their labour force with people on gap years. Quite upset about it all she was struggling to get the money together to buy a car and travel elsewhere for work. There was a sheep farm she knew of that might employ her for a while.
Where did I mention the Swedish firefighter? He was funny fella. Working his way south he had a job offer as an oper (how do you spell it? Oh-Pear. Nanny. He was Macho Poppins), for a British couple on the South Island. Two boys, a multitude of sports to keep them busy, and now a firefighter to get them there. He was full of stupid funny stories of living in a fire station, with all the practical jokes that where played and wild nights had.
I love BBH. Budget Backpackers and Hostels. A New Zealand scheme collecting all the budget hostels in one system, with a handy website, useful information, and a discount card. Most of the places I've stayed in have been effectively a large home, with only a few beds, a fully equipped kitchen, and lovely travellers. If not organised there's usually impromptu film nights or games, or someone suggests a local event to go to. Perhaps you make new friends, or meet people you've seen before in this small country. People find work, sell and buy cars, discover new experiences, and one can always ask the staff for local info.
Beats hell out of some of the larger hostels. Kiwi Experience (woo, yeh, *whistle*) and Stray (boo, hiss) are the two biggest hop on hop off tour coach operators in NZ. They both offer accommodation for your first night at every place they stop- still have to pay for it, but they've got it prebooked. So they need places that will have 55 beds available every night for them, and that the hostel can afford for these beds to be occasionally empty. Hence we stay in the largest hostels, with hundreds of beds, or purpose built accommodation. Some of these are great, but some are...not bad. For one night. But annoying. Why aren't there any proper tin openers? Or enough pots and pans? Why are the beds so soft they screw up my back? You've spent huge money on this place and I can't find a tea cup. I couldn't stay in these big places for long. They're OK. But a nice homely place is better. 20 guests instead of 200. People you can talk to and get to know.
On the other hand I've just walked into the kitchen at Nomads hostel in Queenstown and bumped into the Danish guys from Westport and a Dutch girl from the North Island. Travelling with the Kiwi Bus does mean that you bump into the same people time and again. Even if you don't chat much you get to know one another over time, travelling he same route, doing the same activities. It's a small country.
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