Queenstown- Franz Josef - Neslon

There are days when life just punches you straight in the face. Or at least tries to. And yesterday was one of those again. You wake up, see an email in your inbox, and think: this cannot be happening right now. You align your life around something, you look forward to it, you plan accordingly, and then the sledgehammer comes down and tears your future apart in two sentences. And because I know things like that rarely come alone, I am pretty sure that in the next few days one or two more hammers will come crashing down on me as well. Misfortune rarely travels alone. To quote the philosopher: I pray for fire. At least it does not get boring.

Life is handing me lemons again, and I drank the last damned tequila ten years ago. So what are you supposed to do with all this citrus fruit now? If you have three of them, juggle. And then what? I went through the five stages of grief in about five minutes: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. By then the first cup of coffee was already empty.

I brooded a little longer, packed my things, and walked to the bus. Outside I spat on the ground first, symbolically, for this fate, and tried to remember the other plans I still had in my pocket. And lo and behold: I do have some perfectly decent alternatives. So it is time to walk those paths. Life goes on, until it ends. A cheerful fuck you to the evil ones.

Then I was already sitting on the bus, with quite a bit to organize, restructure, and a select circle with whom to share my displeasure. After all, I had been preparing myself to be back in Germany on May 1, working a regular job again. Now I suddenly have more time, and I cursed myself for having already left Queenstown. I am no longer under that pressure after all. Could you, you little nobody, with your rejection email after an offer had already been made, which by the way is neither legal nor professional, not have managed to write it one day earlier? I was just starting to fall in love, you stich.

Damn, that emotional damage. It is going to take time again before I get over it. Probably until next week, when the next sweet little town with its breathtaking panorama jumps into view and the next hammer cracks me on the back of the head.

A blessing in disguise? I am still in New Zealand. I still have options. I still have plans. So there I was on the bus, thinking and planning. I was not in the mood for much that day, and the network coverage kept getting worse. I stared out the window and let the landscape drift past: Lake Hāwea, Lake Wānaka, mountain to the left, mountain to the right.

During one of the many stops, it was the lunch break, I asked a fellow passenger whether I could sit down at her table. That turned into a conversation that lasted deep into the evening. Anyone who says things like weirdly obsessed with the body of dead animals wins my heart instantly. I do not think that as a veterinarian that is necessarily a formal requirement of the profession, but it clearly does not hurt either.

And when things come on top of that like, “Oh yes, and yesterday I just jumped out of an airplane. I felt like it,” a phrase that became a running gag throughout the day while she showed me pictures where you could see just how insanely, wildly happy a person can grin, then you know: she cannot be all wrong.

She said she had been afraid she might throw up. That, apparently, was the reason the experienced tandem skydiver wore a helmet. Not for safety reasons. Though in a way, yes. Because a fellow jumper’s vomit in the guide’s mouth could cause infections or worse. Learned something new again.

So there I was, sitting next to the Belgian veterinarian, who, as she admitted, is also rather fond of living animals, listening to her stories. I, who would probably be occupied before, during, and after such a jump with the complete evacuation of my bowels inside my trousers, turned pale with envy when she pulled out the video of herself kayaking past dolphins in the sea. I had her show me exactly where it was and put it straight onto my list for next time. Yes, there will be a next time in New Zealand. It is my new Italy, only farther away. Italy also took me two attempts before it really became good. The first time, I only recognized its enormous potential.

Still, it annoyed me a little that the evening before yesterday I had already fixed and booked my route for the next few days, and now I will be heading to the North Island. Greetings of disapproval to the stich.

Where was I? Ah yes, riding the bus. Past Paringa, where there would have been a truly lovely walk, unfortunately with the huts fully booked, and past Fox Glacier, together with this impressive woman who in her three weeks in New Zealand will probably get far more out of it than I have in my time. The hours flew by, though, and suddenly we were standing in the little settlement of Franz Josef.

The place, like so much here, hangs on the glacier. It was named after Emperor Franz Joseph I, only here they spell it with an f instead of a ph. A charming little transmission error that naturally appeals to me at once, as a Ral-with-ph.

Very touristy here. Helicopter landing pad, short hikes, and everything one apparently feels like doing on a glacier near the sea. After checking in, we met up again and first explored that wildlife museum. Kiwis, chameleons, penguins, and a bit of glacier history. Interesting, but after about ten minutes we were already back outside and on to the next walk.

The veterinarian told me more about kiwis. Above all about that absurdly large egg, which in proportion to the body feels almost indecent. Scaled up to a human being, it would be roughly like someone giving birth to a baby weighing ten kilos or more. And I had always heard that three and a half kilos was already a solid chunk.

Then, once again, it gets interesting from an evolutionary biology perspective. The kiwi is something like New Zealand’s special path made flesh as a bird: ground dwelling, nocturnal, with a strong sense of smell and a lifestyle that feels more like that of a small mammal than a classic bird. No wonder in a country that got by on land almost without mammals and therefore built its fauna in a thoroughly unique way. Which made it all the more brutal when the introduced predators later hit this badly prepared fauna. Cats, for instance, are not merely a pet issue here from a conservation perspective, but almost an ideological one. But I am digressing. There is the Predator Free 2050 slogan, which is the sympathetic version of New Zealand first, perhaps?

We took another short walk, up through the truly beautiful rainforest. Birds, goats, flora, fauna, bridge, river, and all the while this pleasant conversation. On the way back, over a stony riverbed, I noticed that my new shoes really are doing their job. They are better than the sneakers, though they probably still need a bit of breaking in. People with broad but small feet will know what I mean. I can already feel the pain coming. That is not a premonition like the hammers to come, that is a prophecy. But at least my toes are better protected.

Besides her unusual fascination with the bodies of dead animals, jumping out of airplanes, and climbing, the lady has another passion, and this one we actually share: photography. So the walk back took a little longer. With a church visit and the corresponding photography in the right light and from the right angle, at some point we ended up having New Zealand food. Properly New Zealand. A real Kiwi restaurant. And what is the specialty? Two pages of dishes ranging from fish and chips to prawns with chips to vegetarian curry. Not to mention the twenty page wine and beer list. Very New Zealand.

After that we sat for ages on the veranda outside her hostel and chatted about this and that, and when we said goodbye she gave me a red kiwi fruit. Tart and fresh, citrusy, and at least I am not allergic to that. The next morning, at any rate, nothing was itching in any suspicious place.

Impressive young woman. Yes, I know, young woman coming out of my mouth now sounds like wording from another age. But at my age they are all little chicks (kücken), kiwi chicks, very independent. And I am simply an old man. That is how it is. In any case, it was genuinely pleasant to have had her company and not to have to sit through dinner sadly and alone in some restaurant. That too was nice again for once.

Back at the hotel I then got to analyzing the rejection, together with a truly exceptional and intelligent woman on the phone who kept me from firing off an emotional reply. Not aggressive, that is not my style, but emotional all the same. For that too, pure gratitude. Gratitude that by now I again know people who are simply there.

No matter what hammers are still to come, in that sense.

P.S. Since I am currently on the bus to Nelson, I might as well fold this day in too. The same cheerful bus driver as yesterday greets me warmly by first name again with-pH. Sea to the left, mountains to the right, bridges, stops, that is how today goes all day long. What I really see a lot of are touring cyclists, and they all have the same setup and no luggage rack. I am annoyed all over again that I am not here with a bicycle. But this time I cannot outsource the blame, that decision was my own. But today is today and tomorrow is a new day. There will be another time, of that much I am certain.