Browsing tag: travel

So, that time I jumped out of a plane? Yeah, that one.

Some writer I am. You would think playing the virgin skydiver would provide plenty of creative fodder. But I think I could trawl the thesaurus for hours and still fail to come up with the right mix of synonyms to describe the strange cocktail of elation and exhaustion it engenders.

Sandwiched between Matt, my assigned photographer, and my tandem diver Milan, I still couldn’t believe what I was about to do. Milan – a jovial Croatian who’s been in New Zealand for eight months and reckons he’ll stay until the powers that be boot him out – assured me with nonchalance that he’d already done about eight jumps that day.

We’d only just met, but the usual personal barriers didn’t apply. There I was squeezed in between his legs, sitting on the floor of the plane – upright spooning, if you like – and Matt in turn slotted in between mine. We formed a strange kind of human jigsaw puzzle: tourist between the seasoned pros, a pattern continued all the way to the front of the aircraft.

Relax, he urged me. I let my hands rest on his jumpsuited thighs. Tried to breathe. Matt snapped a photo. I wasn’t ready. For the photo. Or the jump. Or anything.

Milan pointed out our rising height on his altitude watch – 5,000, 10,000, 12,000 feet. He hooked my harness onto his, tightening straps, pulling my goggles over my face. The clouds thickened; the plane banked sharply. I inferred that we’d reached the top of our ascent: 15,000 feet, more than double the height of the mountains we’d long since overtaken.

The next 10 seconds or so are a bit of a blur. There was NO time to think. The door opened and the first pair disappeared into the ether. Suddenly I was aware I was being pushed from behind, and found myself scooting merrily toward the exit.

My legs were out. I tucked them underneath the helicopter, like we were told to. Facing directly into the expanse of the open sky, I naturally recoiled and threw my head back, just like we were told to. And I forgot all about taking a deep breath, like we were told to.

It wasn’t cold, but before I knew it I was in the air, and gasping for breath as the plunge sucked all the wind from my lungs. Photographer Matt materialised to the left, and right then I knew how celebs feel when accosted by the paps, being snapped when you least expect – or want – it.

I’m not photogenic at the best of times, and plummeting freefall at 200k was definitely not among my finer moments. In all of the photos that show my face, I look like I’m crying in terror. Or constipated. The wind’s rippling my face, and my mouth hangs gormlessly open. I  was desperately sucking air like nobody’s business (I have enough trouble breathing at ground level, let alone when the air is that thin … plus I may or may not have been hyperventilating a little). As for the DVD, I haven’t even dared to touch it. NZONE won’t be using my shots in any promotional footage, that’s for sure.

One of the others on my jump hated the initial freefall, but the worst part in my books was the spinning. Slowing down was a BITCH. I’d kept my eyes open the whole time up till then, but being whirled mercilessly around like a rag doll (I think that’s what it feel like to be a tiny molecule of water sucked down a freshly unplugged drain) was like nothing I’ve ever done. It’s beyond dizzying and makes you feel utterly, utterly out of control. Milan was having a blast; I was practically wetting myself. So like a child, I whimpered quietly, clamped my eyes shut and clutched my harness for dear life (I would’ve hugged myself and curled up into a ball if I could’ve).

The gentle, swaying descent – now that was a blast. I caught a glimpse of the parachute edges a couple of times, which brought on a wave of panic, so I quickly learned to train my eyes firmly below. Milan pointed out landmarks in every direction – Mt Cook, Coronet Peak, the Remarkables. It was a perfectly clear day with amazing visibility – the river, the mountains, the greenery. And quite honestly, that part felt far too short. I could have marvelled at the surroundings from the air for twice as long. But other jumpers started swooping in from other directions, and before long, we were approaching solid ground once more.

When it all comes down to it, I was nervous for three reasons:

Heights. My fear of heights is debilitating.

Pressure. Not only do I not have a head for heights, I am terrible at depressurising, but my ears popped reasonably quickly on the way down.

Motion sickness. I can’t read in moving vehicles without paying for it dearly afterwards.

The height thing didn’t turn out to be such a problem. Waiting for my ears to pop was more painful. But worst of all was the fact that I was nauseous for about an hour afterward – a case of extreme motion sickness, I guess.

All up, skydiving in Queenstown made for an amazing, unforgettable afternoon. Every night for the week that followed, I found myself running through the whole thing in my head and marvelling, Did that really happen? They say some people immediately rush to sign up to become jump instructors after their first skydive. But I think it’s safe to say it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me – an adrenaline junkie I am not.

Ever been skydiving? Or want to?

For a wordsmith, I found myself lost for words many, many times over my two days in Queenstown. In Sydney, I found myself deliriously happy at times; in Queenstown, it was non-stop, go go go, with barely a moment to pause, and it wasn’t until afterwards that all the surreality set in. Nonetheless, it was definitely a case of being so content, so happy, that you could cry (ala Erika).

Where do I start? I can’t wait to get to the South Island next month … it’ll probably take me until then to figure out how to express what this first visit – short, yet absolutely unforgettable –  was truly like. Expect a couple more posts to trickle through as I work my way through conveying the adrenaline-soaked experiences (I keep replaying them over and over in my head at night), but in the meantime, I’ll cover the easy things…

The shelter
We were put up in some primo accommodation by Destination Queenstown, the local tourism organisation that organised much of our media itinerary. Queenstown Park Boutique Hotel was close to everything in town without being right in the noisy midst. I can’t say I spent much time in my room, which was a shame, because the facilities were fantastic – all sleek black and white decor, a gleaming tub I made use of on the last night, super high-tech light and blind controls.

I don’t know about anyone else, but hotel luxury brings out my decadent side. I’m almost sinfully carefree about using copious amounts of shampoo or liberally dispensing with the shower gel (uber bubble bath? Why not?).

My room faced the streetfront and while there were some odd creaks and noise from pedestrians on the footpath, I slept like a dream. Even the food was impressive – drinks and canapes at 6pm, and a superb cooked breakfast menu.

Unfortunately I had to subsist on just a couple of croissants the first day, being in a rush (cancelling the order of pancakes with berry compote and mascarpone I’d been looking forward to) but the pastries cannot be faulted – fresh, hot, buttery and flaky. I made up for that on the second morning, tucking into the farmer’s breakfast with ciabatta, sausage, potatoes and other goodies. The bacon, perfectly crispy and salty. The eggs, fluffy and not overly heavy. The grilled tomato, just firm enough to hold its shape.

The spa

The last activity on the agenda, thankfully, was an easy one. It required nothing short of lying very still and closing my eyes. I’ve said before and I’ve said it again: I enjoy massages, but I also find them somewhat stressful. I’m ticklish to the nth degree and very sensitive, so even the lightest pressure often has me stiffening up. As usual, there were moment of discomfort, but the Hilton spa massage was probably the gentlest I’ve ever had. Beauty therapists on the whole never cease to fascinate me with their consummate professionalism – the artful rolling and unrolling of towels, the covering and uncovering of limbs, the rearranging of arms and legs, never faltering. And it was quite a boon to be told what lovely skin I had (body, not face) and asked what I use on it (nothing – I try to keep it as simple as possible).

The food

Oh, the food. There was lunch at Vudu, which was just as packed as anywhere in Auckland CBD at lunchtime. I went with the kumara and coconut soup with blue cod dumplings, though I’m not sure fish is the wisest choice in a dumpling, as it was very much overpowered. At Josh Emett’s Rata, I enjoyed crispy pan fried snapper with leeks and wasabi (which I normally refuse to touch, but was so subtle I ate every bit) and a bunch of tapas, including garlic salami, honeyed goat cheese profiteroles with an intriguing mix of sweet and salty, and wafer thin Wagyu beef.

Head and shoulders above all, though, was Saffron over in Arrowtown. I started out with duck leg confit with potatoes and carrots. The star of the show was the day’s special: salmon with scallops and battered prawns, generously sprinkled with coriander and mint, scattered with pieces of fresh mango and light salad. Just sublime, and so gorgeous I could have cried. And that was rounded off with a hazelnut creme brulee, accompanied by two giant sticks of biscotti.

The snow

I’ve been to the snow exactly twice before, both times to Whakapapa on Mt Ruapehu. Think crowded ski fields, on the weekends, with queues out the wazoo.

Snow Park was a different story, tagged for the Burton High Fives global comp, and on a weekday. With music pumping out across the mountain (apparently it’s like that all the time) and fluoro snowboards scattered all over the place, it was a breath of crystal clear alpine air…

The surrounds

Landing at the airport, the first thing I set eyes upon stepping out of the plane was the mountains. Dusted with snow, they looked exactly like cones of cookies and cream ice cream, rising up on all sides.  Queenstown is nestled between ranges, which I suppose could be almost claustrophic after awhile, but to these eyes, it was a charming novelty.

While I can’t say much about the architecture – it’s very bland, with plenty of grey, brown, beige and stone, with building covenants regulating design very strongly, to the point that even McDonald’s and Burger King outlets are of similarly neutral hues – the weather put its best foot forward for us. The amazing surroundings can easily be dimmed by poor weather, but the skies remained flawlessly, purely blue for the whole time. It had us all wistfully voicing desire to move down here, caught up in the rush of it all. Of course, industries are limited here, and the housing market is probably not much less expensive than ours.

Tourism often gets a bit of a bashing as New Zealand struggles to amp up value-add and weightless exporting. But all the tourism operators we met were such genuine, earthy types that are the backbone of these areas. New Zealand is not a cheap place to visit, and the southern areas are no exception. I can’t imagine how much money flows through Queenstown; these are stunning areas, but beauty ceases to be so impressive after a little while. The real money is to be made in the adventure activities – and those don’t come cheap.

I can’t say that the people at DQ have a hard gig – as we quickly concluded, they have a plum job promoting one of the most beautiful destinations in the world. Who wouldn’t want to do that? While they host some serious 1 percenters, from royalty through to business moguls, I definitely felt pretty VIP. T and I will have a very different experience next month campervanning around the south on a budget, but it will still be magical.

Have you been to Queenstown? What’s your favourite snow destination?

So, it looks like I’ll be in Sydney for my birthday next month.

It’ll be my first time in Australia (and indeed the first time I’ve flown anywhere by myself).

The good: I’ll be overseas, in a warmer place, on my birthday. The bad: I’ll be overseas, by myself, on my birthday.

But I reckon I can make it work. I’m a happy wanderer and people watcher, and because it’s a work thing, I’ll only have nights to sightsee. I’ll be there for four nights, as far as I know, three of which are probably good for getting out to enjoy the city.

Any tips on what to see? And where should I go to exchange my NZD into Aussie money?