Heading Home and a Recap

Well, I’m sitting in the Air New Zealand Koru Lounge at the Sydney Airport, getting ready to board my flight back to the States (I’m flying United, but their lounge is pretty lousy here – I can use Air NZ’s lounge because I’m Star Alliance Gold – the food’s a lot better, and the furniture doesn’t smell like mold). I’ve been down here for 5 weeks, and it really has flown by. I’m a lucky guy. I can spend this much time in a part of the world that I love, and still call it “research” for my new company.

Looking back, there have been a lot of highlights (and a few lowlights), some really good times and experiences on this trip. Here are a few of the best (and worst):

Best moment. This is a tough one. There were so many. I’d have to go with sitting on the front deck of our room on Kangaroo Island in the evening, feeding Roo food to the neighborhood wallabies who have grown accustomed to a free nibble from the tourists down the hill. At one point, we had six wallabies (and a possum) surrounding us, and a couple of them were brave enough to rest their paws on my knee while they ate the little pellets (looks a lot like guinea pig food, for those who had small, caged childhood pets). One practically climbed into my lap. It brings out the kid in you in a really wonderful way. Top that off with a brilliant clear sky and a zillion stars, and you have a pretty perfect moment. Seeing John at the airport in Uluru is up there, too (you know who you are…). Honorable mention to touring the Adelaide wine country with Ralf, spotlighting the animals with Bruce and Lesley, and every time my jaw dropped at New Zealand scenery.

Worst Moment. Two of them, both courtesy of United Airlines. The first was realizing that my luggage was lost and they had no way to track it (as if it was 1960 and they handwrote a bag tag) upon my arrival. The second happened yesterday, when I checked the status of my flight only to discover that it had been cancelled. They rebooked me on a later flight that more or less trashed my connections in LA. Granted, I can’t complain too much, because I used miles for my ticket here, but they haven’t exactly established a stellar track record with me on this trip. Going forward, it’s Qantas or Air NZ for me.

Best Hotel. A virtual tie between the Sofitel in Queenstown, NZ (five stars isn’t enough – you will feel like you’re among the pampered elite from the minute you check in) and the Star City Grand in Auckland (a 5-star hotel with a slightly funky, Ian Schrager feel – great lobby, great rooms, and a fantastic restaurant in Peter Gordon’s Dine). I’m also always partial to the Swissotel in Sydney, where the service is impeccable.

Worst Hotel. None were disasters, thankfully. One a five week trip, that’s a stroke of luck. But I would have to say my “chalet” at the Hermitage in Mount Cook (in fact, an overpriced motel room with an unlocked connecting door to the next room – when, much to my surprise, my “neighbors” quickly opened and closed it at about 11 pm, I pushed a table in front of it to block further entry the rest of the night) was slightly less impressive than the Lost Camel Hotel at Uluru (billed as a “boutique hotel”, it’s actually a motel with some edgy paint colors to give it that “boutique” feel. $300 per night, and no extra charge for the window in the shower/toilet facing a busy walkway and the wasps dive bombing us in the pool).

Best Food. A really tough call. There was so much good food – a lifetime on the exercise bike couldn’t work it off. This is truly a foodie’s paradise. So, as a Risotto freak, I’d say my very subjective number one would be the best Risotto I’ve ever had in my life, at Tutto Bene in Melbourne.

Worst Food. OK, this is entirely my fault. Driving north from Auckland to the Bay of Islands, it was lunchtime and I thought, “I ought to have a pub lunch in one of these small towns.” Bad call. The “pub” I picked – and this is unusual, because though I’m not so good at many things, I can usually sniff out the good stuff when I travel – was more of a biker bar upon closer inspection. I ordered some chicken thing and a salad. The chicken was fried to the point of being a blunt instrument/weapon, and the salad was covered in canned beets with a big dollop of mayonnaise on top. I ate a bag of chips and left. I’m not naming names or towns, because the people there were pretty nice and the chances of any readers doing something similarly idiotic are pretty remote.

Nicest People. Everyone, everywhere, especially in smaller towns. The bar for “nice” is so much higher here than in the States, and it’s consistently reached. A friendlier, more cohesive society will do that.

Meanest People. There has to be one – I’d say it’s the guy in Sydney who started yelling (actually, more of a loud, drunken slur) at me in a bar because, in his considered opinion, I was taking too much time to select songs on a video jukebox. He didn’t back off. Foregoing the details, lets just say that was one encounter I won't want to preserve for my mental scrapbook.

Biggest Surprise. New Zealand is big – it takes awhile to drive what look like short distances on a map. Good thing the scenery’s always so stunning.

Biggest Regret. None, really. If I didn’t do it this time, I’ll do it next time. I’ll be back.

Cruising Around the City of Sails

Auckland is a great small city. At just over 1 million residents, it’s smaller that most major American cities, but it’s definitely New Zealand’s metropolis. Once considered to be little more than a necessary stopover on the way to more interesting destinations in New Zealand, Auckland has come into its own as a place worthy of exploration.

One main reason is the number and range of really amazing natural attractions that exist within an hour of the city. If you like the outdoors, this is a great city to visit. The first thing that jumps out at you is Auckland’s proximity to the water. Called “the City of Sails”, Auckland is situated on a beautiful bay filled with islands, beaches and natural harbors. Auckland has the highest per capita boat ownership in the world, and it’s readily apparent in the number of sailboats out on the bay. They’ve even built a big harborside attraction around their former triumph in the America’s Cup.

Though there’s plenty to do in the city, you’d be cheating yourself if you didn’t get out of town a bit to see the surrounding countryside. Just a short drive away there are mountains, forests, and beaches that can make you feel like you are days away from civilization.

I took a half day tour today with a company called Bush & Beach. They specialize in showing visitors the natural wonders that surround Auckland. I usually chafe at tours, preferring to do my own exploring, but Bush & Beach came highly recommended as a way to see some of what makes the Auckland region so beautiful. I always climb aboard a tour bus (even a small one like ours) with trepidation – and as I was the only American among 10 or so touring older Brits, it took me a few extra minutes to overcome my irrational fears (they turned out to be wonderful companions for the day, so shame on me). Bush & Beach didn’t disappoint. Allan, our guide and a transplanted Brit from some 30 years ago, made his love for the Auckland region evident in the knowledge he displayed about the local flora & fauna, history, and Maori culture. We visited some amazing spots that you’d never believe were 30-45 minutes from the center of a major city.

A highlight of the tour was visiting the beach where “The Piano” was filmed. Unlike the movie, we had blue skies and a calm sea to enjoy it (and Holly Hunter, in a black dress and bonnet, was nowhere to be found). It was a stunning, unspoiled stretch of beach with volcanic sand and rocky headlands framed by jungly forested hills. A 10 minute walk into those hills was a picture perfect waterfall cascading down into a small, clear pool where a couple of people were swimming (the Maori name for the area and the beach, Karekare, means “cascading waters”). Afterward, we hiked through a rainforest that seemed absolutely prehistoric. Huge trees, ferns, vines, and palms that looked like an impenetrable jungle. You expected to see a triceratops grazing nearby. Nothing at home looks like this. And it’s all within Auckland’s regional park system – still 45 minutes or so from the center of the city.

So, if you’re coming to New Zealand, even if you’re excited about all the mountains, lakes, beaches, and vineyards you’re going to see elsewhere, don’t just change planes in Auckland. You’ll see a lot of what makes New Zealand spectacular right here, and you’ll be able to top it off with drinks and dinner that evening when you’re back in the city.

Tex-Mex and Baseball in Auckland

I pulled into Auckland tonight after a wonderful drive down the northwest coast of the North Island. A perfect weather day, and spectacular scenery – beautiful beaches with massive sand dunes at Hokianga, green rolling hills and impressive coastal mountains. I also spent time walking among the Kauri trees, some of the oldest and biggest trees in the world, only found in this part of New Zealand.

After 4 ½ weeks on the road, I confess that I occasionally wax nostalgic about guilty pleasures from home. One of those pleasures is Mexican food. Good, bad or otherwise, I love it. It’s hard to find in this part of the world. So when I discovered that there was a place called the Mexican Café (known locally as The Mex – it was packed, and fun – the margaritas are the reason to go) a block from my hotel in the Auckland CBD, I caved and decided to have a very non-kiwi experience for dinner. After this, I’ll only eat fresh, delicious New Zealand cuisine the next three nights, or so I said.

I settled in at the bar and ordered a margarita to go with my plate of enchiladas. Brad, the New Zealander bartender, asked me where I was from in the States. He told me he’d traveled around the U.S. and had been to Florida, including Fort Lauderdale, my hometown. I asked him what he thought of Florida (we both agreed it was too hot for human habitation), and he said the highlight was attending an N.F.L. game. I expressed my pleasure and surprise – the other guilty pleasure I miss is our sports, which I confess to following by computer while away - and he said, “oh, I love American sports.” My jaw dropped – in Australia and New Zealand, that statement is up there with “your hair is on fire” or “here, have a $100 bill, I’m tired of carrying it” among the most unlikely phrases you’ll hear. The kiwis love their rugby, and the Australians love rugby and Aussie Rules, depending on where they live. Most people down here, when confronted with American Football, find it dull and perplexing. Notably, those who have seen it on TV – they televise the Super Bowl - are aghast at the number of stoppages for commercials (they’re dead on with that one).

Brad knew his American sports. We talked football, which he seemed to relish. He subscribes to ESPN on satellite dish so he can keep up with his very un-kiwi passion. I encouraged him to attend a college game the next time he was in the U.S. He asked which college I attended, and I told him “South Carolina.” Brad replied, “oh, Steve Spurrier. The ole ball coach.” I loved this guy. It was like a higher power directed me to this restaurant to satisfy my weakness for American sport. We talked about the differences between our college and pro games, and I mentioned that my second degree was from Duke (the first Duke/UNC game is tomorrow). Brad replied, “it’s good they got that Lacrosse mess cleared up.” Who knew? At least here, anyway?

Brad had an Orioles cap on, and he mentioned that he collected MLB caps – hard to come by in New Zealand and expensive, but he has 20 of the major league teams. He didn’t have a Florida Marlins ball cap, though. So I went back to my hotel room, pulled out the Florida Marlins cap I’d been packing in my suitcase, and brought it back to The Mex as a Waitangi Day present for Brad. I think I have a friend for life – apparently it’s a golden nugget for his collection (I decided not to tell him that the Marlins have the lowest payroll in baseball, and consistently sell off any good players they develop once they show an inkling of talent).

Though this post doesn’t necessarily extol the virtues of travel in Australia and New Zealand, and it definitely exposes my periodic outbreaks of weakness for things American while on the road in another country, it was cool to connect with a kiwi from 10,000 miles away about something I know like the back of my hand. And it was also nice to share a little piece of my culture, however base, and make someone’s day as a result. Maybe that’s what makes travel abroad so great, even when the subject descends to Tex-Mex and baseball.

Happy Waitangi Day

No need to Google “Waitangi.” Here’s a brief, Americanized explanation. Waitangi Day is the New Zealander’s counterpart to our Fourth of July – the day New Zealand is acknowledged to have been born as a nation by its citizens, and a holiday spent celebrating national pride. It’s fundamentally different from our Independence Day, and most other national days of former colonies (save, perhaps, South Africa) in that it celebrates the unification of the European settlers with the indigenous people – in New Zealand’s case, the Maori.

By 1840, the European presence in New Zealand was transforming from a predominantly transient population of whalers and sealers to a more permanent agricultural community due largely to waves of immigrants coming from England seeking a better life (they weren’t convicts – only the Aussies were – and New Zealanders will remind you of that every chance they get). The Maori, divided for hundreds of years among warring tribes, often tolerated their European interlopers because they were seen as good trading partners whose muskets could provide a competitive advantage over neighboring tribes. However, the warfare between tribes was getting out of hand (due in large part to the aforesaid muskets), and other colonial powers of the time, notably France, were increasingly seen as threats by both the English and the Maori.

So, on February 6, 1840, the English magistrate present at the time, James Busby, called together many rival chiefs to his house at Waitangi and negotiated a treaty that all signed, essentially proclaiming English and Maori alike to be “one people.” Intended to preserve Maori land rights and offer the British Crown’s protection, it failed in practice more often than not over the ensuing years, but the foundation was laid for a nation based on mutual respect among peoples. Though it sounds like the typical white colonial balderdash that Europeans pulled to trick the natives and grab the land in those days, it morphed into the figurative cornerstone of the country – and it was taken seriously (Treaty reparations for land unlawfully taken occurred as recently as 10 years ago). Might’ve been good if we’d been half as virtuous in our dealings with the Native American’s, eh?

I’m fortunate enough to be staying about 500m from the New Zealander equivalent to Independence Hall, the Waitangi Treaty Grounds. The land where the Treaty was signed was donated by private owners as a Trust about 70 years ago to create a place of national pride for New Zealand, and the presentation on the history of the treaty (especially the Maori meeting house) is worth a look. It’s also a beautiful spot, with great walks and an absolutely incredible view over land and water.

Waitangi Day is a great time to be here, because preparations for the February 6 celebration are taking place and the excitement is palpable. The townspeople all seem to ask if you’re going, so it must be pretty good. The most interesting part, at least to me, is the Maori festival getting underway right outside the Treaty Grounds entrance. Maori from all over the country are gathered to eat good food, listen to music, buy and sell things emblematic of Maori pride, promote community activism and generally celebrate both their contribution to the country and their uniqueness as a people. I’ve tried to absorb what I can about Maori culture as I’ve traveled around New Zealand, because it’s such a unique part of being here. They have a wild and incredibly fascinating history, both as fearsome warriors and a tremendously resourceful people, building a complex society from what they found on the land and brought across the ocean in seafaring canoes. In recent years, there has been renewed emphasis on Maori culture as an integral part of New Zealand society. Maori language is taught in schools here, and there is a Maori language television channel.

The festival was a good opportunity to observe and learn more. I explored it this afternoon, and though I’m clearly Paheka (European) there was no sense of being out of place. I was always greeted warmly. In fact, the Maori I talked with today were gracious hosts; they showed more interest in where I was from and expressed more gratitude about the effort made to visit their country than I’d experienced anywhere else in New Zealand.

Many of the people who set up tents or stalls promoting goods/food for sale or a community group were camping alongside. The food on sale smelled really good – I would’ve skipped lunch had I known. The theme everywhere was pride in being Maori, and a lot of the messages on banners and t-shirts were political; there is a real sovereignty movement among the Maori that is apparently gaining strength (there is also a huge police presence here, perhaps in reaction to this movement according to some I talked with today; there were more police around the Treaty Grounds than I’ve seen anywhere in Australia or New Zealand). Across the street, there were huge ornate war canoes (known as “wakas”) on the beach for a reenactment in the morning, and dozens of Maori kids next to the canoes playing in the water and jumping off the low bridge into the Waitangi River. The whole afternoon had the feel of extended family and community. You’d have to be in a really bad mood not to enjoy it.

Waitangi, by the way, is part of a beautiful coastal region in New Zealand called the Bay of Islands. The bay in question actually contains a total of 144 islands (for the stat freak buried in all of us…). It’s a three hour drive north of Auckland, near the top of the North Island. Since New Zealand is south of the equator, and we’re so far north, the climate here is typically subtropical in the summer. Not today, though, as the weather gremlins continue to follow me around NZ – it was unseasonably cool and showery today. Still, I risked the elements once again by taking a boat tour of the Bay, and was rewarded with some beautiful scenery, aquamarine water that is reminiscent of the best parts of the Caribbean (it even stays that color when the weather’s cloudy), and a pod of 12 or so dolphins playing alongside our boat for about 45 minutes. Not bad for a lousy weather day.

So Happy Waitangi Day to all.

Canterbury Tales

If you’ve read my last few posts, you don’t have to be clairvoyant to realize that I probably needed to proverbially get off the mountain, dry off, put the hiking boots back in the suitcase and feel some concrete under my feet for awhile. So I headed to Christchurch for a couple of nights, the largest city on the South Island. While cities aren’t the big attraction here in New Zealand, and I didn’t need too much urban electricity, I was looking forward to my time there.

A self-styled slice of England, Christchurch prides itself on being the most English of New Zealand’s cities (even the taxi drivers will tell you that). There are definitely a lot of pleasant reminders for the anglophile – the beautiful parks and gardens, the punters on the river Avon (yep, the river’s really named the Avon and you can punt for a small fee – I passed, having been wet enough in my clothes just a few days ago), and the big cathedral in the main city square. Even the region of New Zealand that surrounds Christchurch is called Canterbury. Still, the sunshine and brilliant blue skies yesterday were more Tuscany than Oxfordshire, and the outdoor café culture that seems very prevalent here doesn’t exactly make you think of England. Regardless, it’s probably easier to find a scone at high tea in Christchurch than it is in the rest of New Zealand (and they seem to like it that way).

Allusions to England aside, Christchurch is a really pleasant place to spend a couple of days, especially when you’re a 40’ish guy recovering from several days of rafting rivers, hiking glaciers, etc. If you find yourself here nursing a case of the shakes from your first bungee jump, the following are some ideas on good ways to enjoy the city:

1. Christchurch has a small district called the Arts Centre, essentially a former boy’s school converted to a collection of work/performance spaces and galleries for the local arts community. It really comes alive on the weekend. The highlight is the outdoor market, with local craftsmen selling art, handicrafts, jewelry and the like. Unlike a lot of these markets where it looks like every vendor is selling stuff unloaded from the same truck, the impression you get here is that the people manning the stalls actually made what they’re selling (or at least they know who did). No “made in China” stickers to be found. A great place to find knick knacks for the folks back home. It’s also a great place to grab lunch – there are food stalls from all over the world. These stalls may be the first family business for some of New Zealand’s many recent immigrants, with grandma collecting the money and the kids and grandkids cooking your food, be it from Thailand, Lebanon or India. Great street food – you can munch a kebab or eat a plate of noodles while you’re deciding which wool slippers or ceramic kiwi you’re going to buy. All surrounded by the old Boy’s High School, dating from the turn of the century, making the scene look like the set of a Merchant Ivory film.

2. Christchurch has a great museum. It’s called the Canterbury Museum, named after the region. I was hesitant to enter, especially on a beautiful day, fully expecting to see glass cases filled with snuff boxes from the second Lord Mayor and clippings preserved from the first lawn mowed in town (circa 1887). It was, in fact, worth forgoing the sunshine for a couple of hours. The museum has a great exhibit on Maori culture, with full size war canoes, and an impressive section on Antarctica, including an actual Antarctic research/weather station that was essentially reassembled in the museum after its closure. Cool, interesting stuff. The art museum, just a couple of blocks away, has a collection with a mainly local emphasis, but it’s housed in a great modern building, which in itself is worth a look.

3. It's a very compact city - probably more of a big town. Everything is within easy walking distance, branching off within a couple of blocks of Cathedral Square in the middle of town. The best restaurants and bars seem to be on Oxford Terrace (known as “the strip”, but seeming a lot more gentrified than its name) and around Lichfield Street.

4. My general good mood about being in Christchurch was no doubt enhanced by a really terrific hotel. I can’t vouch for the run of the house rooms at the Heritage Christchurch, but my one bedroom suite in the converted former government building next door to the main hotel was top notch. Built in 1909, the building has tons of character. I had a corner room with very high ceilings – the bedroom itself was a loft – and I thought, “I’m sleeping in the mayor’s office.” The suite was huge and had everything a guy who’s been on the road for 4 weeks could want – even a small washer/dryer (a side note - many thanks to Linda from housekeeping, who saved my butt last night while packing by offering to dry my clothes when my little dryer appeared to be on the blink).

All in all, Christchurch was a good place to rest and revive after spending days battling the great outdoors (and generally losing). Though you don’t come to New Zealand for the cities, Christchurch is a good break between adventures.

The Smart Hiker's Guide to New Zealand

I’m not meant to be an outdoorsman. A city boy at heart, I like my creature comforts. I appreciate nature and love wildlife, but I’m not a born hiker, hunter, fisherman, or mountain climber by any stretch of the imagination. It might be because I’m not smart enough to figure out how to do it right, without hurting myself or undergoing extreme humiliation.

Yesterday was a case in point. I drove from Queenstown, New Zealand through country that looks remarkably like Napa but with many more sheep (New Zealand’s sheep population is 10 times its human population) to Mt. Cook. Its Maori name, Aoraki, means “Cloud Piercer”, and at over 12,000 feet Mt. Cook is the tallest mountain in New Zealand. Though the mountaintop is often shrouded in clouds from the valley floor below, there are three glaciers that are accessible by hike, including the longest glacier outside the arctic.

The weather was a little dicey yesterday, with cloudy, showery periods interspersed all day with moments of sunshine. The worst weather I saw en route wasn’t so bad, though - some extended drizzle, including the final drive up to Mt. Cook village. Unfortunately, at 12,000 feet, you can’t see the top of the mountain on a cloudy day, but I was determined to make the most of my time here – I was off today for Christchurch and then the North Island – so I dumped my bags, put on my hiking boots and a hat, and headed for one of the glacier hiking trails.

Captain Camper that I am, I started the 2-3 hour roundtrip walk in hiking shorts and a t-shirt, despite the drizzle. The sun looked like it was breaking through in spots, and I figured even with a little rain I’d stay cool on a long walk. Most of the other hikers I saw had on long pants and raingear, and tended to give me an odd look or a knowing smile that said “you’ve never walked off pavement before in your life, have you?” (I actually have, and I enjoy this kind of tramping (as they say here in NZ) a lot, but I never learn any lessons from bad prior experiences…). I, on the other hand, was reveling in my relative comfort, when others seemed to be bundled beyond recognition.

The weather held for the walk up, and the glacier was massive and awesome – you could see the ancient ice flows and look down a cliff to a gray mass of ice that is becoming a glacial lake (these glaciers are melting fast due in large part to global warming). I’d never been this close to a glacier before (haven’t taken an Alaska cruise or been to that part of Montana), so this was a treat.

As I admired the raw nature, the drizzle quickly turned to steady rain. OK, so I’m getting a little wet. No problem. Water never hurt anyone, right? Another 5 minutes or so passed, and it started to sleet. It’s midsummer here in New Zealand, so I didn’t plan on this. But a real outdoorsman would probably figure that weather on a glacier can get pretty nasty any time of year. It was clearly time to begin the walk back, with a dry shirt and a warm shower at the top of my agenda. Many of those same hikers I saw on the 1 ½ hour journey up now viewed the soggy, cold American with expressions ranging from bemusement to abject pity. Adding insult to injury, a Japanese tour group the size of a small city (with guide) was walking up as I was walking back. They were geared up in raincoats with hoods, umbrellas, etc. As I marched past them, I felt glad that I didn’t know enough Japanese to translate “American idiot…thinks this is a day at the beach….”

I made it back, and quickly worked on getting warm and dry (though it may take weeks for my t-shirt to dry completely). Having regained my perspective, it was amazing to be so close to a glacier. There were hikes on the map to glaciers reputed to be even more spectacular. Sounded like a great plan for a sunny day…

The weather was a bit more cooperative today, and I hiked to the base of Tasman Glacier (while keeping one eye at all times for the slightest specter of rain clouds). A little sunshine makes all the difference. The ice and snow really do alternate between white and blue. There’s a lot of gray, too, from the continuous melt and the silt. You really get a tangible feel for the impact of global warming here. For instance, a lake that you can boat on at the base of the glacier didn’t even exist 20 years ago. Also got some great views of Mt. Cook’s peak poking through the clouds. Views that were worth that soggy feeling, no doubt.

Flying Over Milford Sound

One of the most regaled sights in New Zealand is Milford Sound. A remote fjord on the west coast of New Zealand’s South Island, it is located in Fjordlands National Park, part of a World Heritage Area that includes jagged peaks and glaciers that wind their way to the sea, with some of the world’s last standing temperate rainforest. It is truly wild country, and some of it is still unexplored by foot. It’s also huge – the World Heritage Area makes up 10% of the total land area of New Zealand.

Milford is tough to access due to the impassable mountains. It’s a 5-6 hour one way ride by car or bus. Once you’re there, weather permitting, you can take a boat to see the Sound from the water. The alternative is by plane from Queenstown – a short 40 minute flight by prop plane over the mountains. I opted for the plane. I’ve had an aversion to lengthy bus rides for 20 years, since a long coach trip in the U.K. in 1985 was punctuated by a wee English girl in the seat behind me playing with my hair and crying “but, Mummy, I have to go the loo!” every five minutes or so (must have been one of the rare English coaches in those days with no toilet in the back). The only potential drawback to the flight is the fickle weather. Unless the weather at Milford is clear – and that doesn’t happen with regularity, even in the summer – the plane can only fly over. No landing, and no boat ride through the fjord.

Well, this was one of those fickle weather days. It was fine for flying, but the weather at Milford Sound was expected to turn. As the agent at Milford Sound Scenic Flights told me, “we can get you in, but there’s a good chance we couldn’t get you out.” The option was to enjoy the flight over the Sound, without the boat ride.

That turned out to be just fine. Maybe even better – as we were told (perhaps somewhat self-servingly, but accurate nonetheless), what you see from the air is far more spectacular than the water level view, especially on a day like ours when there was a mix of some sun and cloud cover. It seems the clouds can shroud some of what makes Milford Sound so amazing when viewing from the boat, but you see it all and then some from the air.

I shared the flight with a Scottish farmer on vacation, traveling with his son and the son’s fiancée. They were good travel companions, even though the fiancée discovered that she was petrified of small planes mid-flight (there are probably permanent fingernail marks in the empty seat next to her). After trading stories of our mutual love for Edinburgh, we settled back and let the pilot guide us through some of the most wild, rugged, and amazingly beautiful mountain scenery I’ve ever encountered. You hear a lot about the raw natural beauty of this part of the world, and it’s entirely apparent from the air. En route to Milford Sound, we flew over immense waterfalls, valleys with seemingly untouched rivers and lakes (all the deepest blue), and rainforest. The peaks are awesome – jagged, snow capped, many with rock and ice fields from glaciers. We flew so close to the mountain tops that you felt you could almost reach out and grab a rock (not comforting for the Scottish fiancée, who at that point was staring intently at her white knuckles).

Milford Sound itself is spectacular. Sheer cliffs drop straight into the inlet, and waterfalls from mountain streams crash down their sides. The pilot then took us out over the Tasman Sea before banking for our return. Looking up and down the coast, you see waves crashing against rocky headlands, and beautiful deep green forests cascading down mountainsides to the sea. It’s stunning. You can really sense how untamed and untouched the land is here.

Though I would have liked the contrast of viewing it from ground level as well, I think I got the best view from up above. And all without risking six hours of a small voice behind me pleading for a trip to the loo.