Valley of the Trolley Dollies

We’re having way too much fun. Too much to actually sit down, analyse, and transcribe. That’s not like me.

Gymming still, although it’s fun trying to run on a treadmill that’s not only dragging you forward, but that’s sited on a floor that’s bobbing around like - well, like a cork in a storm.

The part of New Zealand known as Fiordland. Misty. Rainy. Cold. Grey. All of my Northern European nightmares rolled into one. For this, I crossed the world? So the heavens could rain on me? Then, the mist clears, and a cliff - a huge, tree covered granite slab of such vast area that it fills your entire field of vision like some slate grey and pine green Rothko - appears.

And you get a shiver down your spin, and the hairs on the top of your head stand on end. And it’s possibly caused by the cheap speed you’ve been taking to deal with a sinus infection, but it’s more likely caused by the realisation of just how insignificant you are - even on your sixteen story ship - in the face of such unimaginably huge natural wonders.

Oh yes, you think; for this, I crossed the world.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 22nd, 2007 at 11:52 am and is filed under Honeymoon Downunder. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.