Note: Pictures from this post can be viewed in the album titled, “New Zealand: 6-Day CS Weekend.” My skydiving pictures can be found by going to www.nzone.biz, then clicking on the “Daily Photos” link, then entering this code (cut and paste it): NZRO102018886714. You should then click on “View Your eStory.” It’s a slow load but the best I can do until I can save the pictures into Picasa! Enjoy!
- Friday, 28 Jan: Packed bags, cleaned guest room, got a ride into town with Jane and Craig, said good-bye at the bus stop; waited one hour for slightly late bus; met two nice older women, sisters, at the stop and chatted with them; four hours to Taupo; at i-Site, met another girl who was going to the same backpacker (A+); got a ride to the campsite from A+ employee; only one small group of couchsurfers there: Catherine (Gisborne), Franko (Chile) and Gino (Malaysia); Cathy welcomed me with a hug, offered me a spot in her tent, which I helped set up; we went to visit Johanna, an older CSer who lives in Turangi; grocery shopped; more people flowed in as night fell; huge crowd, of over 100 couchsurfers! Cooked huge batch of spaghetti for dinner; to bed at 11:30pm; rained all night!
- Saturday, 29 Jan: Hiked around lake Rotopaunamu (~2 hours); visited hot springs, Taupo and a huge dam; almost went skydiving, canceled due to winds; dinner of steak, salad, garlic bread, mushrooms: yum! To bed around midnight.
- Sunday, 30 Jan: Up very early; made lunches for five people, packed bag and hopped in the car; Tongariro Crossing hike, 19.5 km, mix of weather between cool, sunny, windy; feet killed by the end; went to hot pool to soak, not hot enough; ate fish and chips on the way back to camp.
- Monday, 31 Jan: Packed everything up; drove to Huka Falls, then Taupo for lunch; drove to Kerosene Creek to soak in a hot river and falls; then to Rotorua to visit the thermal park; group split from there, with fifteen of us staying in town; Domino’s for dinner; all ended up at Gabriel’s, a local couchsurfer; chill evening of music, cards, chatting, laughing; slept on air mattress with a German and an Australian; all in one big rec room.
- Tuesday, 1 Feb: Awoke with everyone else; granola bar and orange for breakfast; caught a ride into town center with group going white water rafting; signed up at i-Site for skydiving; walked down to lake, ate lunch, soaked in sun; NZone van picked me up and took me to the airfield, where I signed paperwork, met my tandem dive partner Paul and cameraman Tony, suited up and waited for the plane; skydived from 12,000 feet and didn’t come down from it for hours; briefly visited Rotorua Museum; met up with rafters and hung out for awhile downtown; went to Gabriel’s friends house for a BBQ; slept for a few hours at Gabriel’s.
- Wednesday, 2 Feb: Up at 5am, piled into Thomas’s car with three others, headed for Thames; stopped at Kauaeranga Valley to take ice cold swim, jumped off rocks; had breakfast with everyone in Thames; visited i-Site, decided to stay the day and night to relax; checked into a mixed dorm backpacker, did laundry, grocery shopped, went to library for free wi-fi and caught up; watched a little tv, took a walk and finally went to sleep around 10pm.
Looking out the window as the volcanic and geothermal landscape below receded, I blinked when Paul, my skydive instructor, shouted in my ear.
“Do me a favor, baby, and scoot your ass back as far as you can.” I did as I was told, wiggling backwards along the floor so that I was wedged firmly between his legs. He began fiddling with clasps and buckles, pulling me more snugly against him.
No, this wasn’t some kind of kinky hookup. This was my first time skydiving.
Tony, the cameraman, was sitting facing me, legs awkwardly folded so as not to kick me. He held out his wristwatch to me and pointed at it: “10,500” showed on it and I understood that this was our elevation. Paul, meanwhile, tugged me back even further so that our connected harnesses were snug. He reached around my waist and tugged a few straps a bit tighter, had me try on my skull cap and protective eye gear, then pointed out the window of the door – just a foot from my face - to point out some landmarks of the Rotorua scenery spread out below us: volcanoes, lakes, ocean, thermal areas, small towns.
We were all seated on the floor of a small single-prop plane. There were five of us, including another jumper and his strapped-on instructor. We took up most of the room in 
the plane. I pondered for a moment, deciding that I didn’t feel an ounce of nervousness or fear. Ever since that morning, when I had woken up on the floor of a stranger’s house, noticed the beautiful weather, cloudless skies and calm winds, and decided that today I would jump out of a plane, I had felt only excitement and a sense of adventurous anticipation. It was one of many spur-of-the-moment decisions I’d made during that long weekend.
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The previous Friday, I had arrived in Turangi on a bus, planning to join the crowd of Couchsurfers planning to do the Tongariro Crossing. There was to be camping, BBQing, exploring of the region and general social fun. I had no tent or sleeping bag, but had decided to just show up and find somewhere to sleep. I showed up at the designated backpacker early in the afternoon to find that only three other surfers were there, setting up a single large tent. I went over and said hello, upon which Catherine, a native New Zealander, gave me a hug, greeted me and introduced herself and Franco, from Chile, and Jeno, from Malaysia. Within minutes I was invited to stay in their tent and was busy helping erect the thing and stake it down.
By that evening, we had gone to visit the lone Couchsurfer hostess in Turangi, Johanna, an older Dutch woman full of friendliness, food offerings and ideas for the weekend. We had also gone grocery shopping, buying food for dinner (fancy spaghetti
, salad, etc) and lunches for the next few days (sandwich materials), along with drinks for those who wanted them. People from around the world trickled into the campsite all day and all night, pitching tents or asking around for a sleeping spot. By 10pm, the living area of the backpacker was crammed full with the international crowd, everyone introducing themselves and meeting everyone else. Kirin, the organizer of the event, made his announcements and talked us through how the weekend would go. Because the weather was forecasted to be rainy and windy the next day, we delayed doing the Tongariro Crossing and decided to do a local hike and visit Taupo instead.
On Saturday morning, after a night of torrential and constant rain, soggy campers made breakfasts and prepared for the day. My best estimate was that there were about a hundred of us at the backpacker in tents and rooms, and another thirty or forty at Johanna’s or another Couchsurfer’s bach (vacation cabin) and around town. Carpooling 
was a major event, and things moved slowly, but eventually we got to XXXX Lake. I was especially unprepared, having somehow thought we were visiting a lake and a town, when in reality we were doing a two-hour hike and then going to Taupo for lunch and a few short walks, swimming and sight-seeing. I had on my Teva’s and a t-shirt, with no jacket. Our hike started off wet and chilly, so I was worried, but after awhile we warmed up and the rain stopped. Some brave souls went into the water, even! After the hike, we headed for Taupo and lunch. For the rest of the day we visited rivers and waterfalls and a hot water area next to the Waitau River – a wonderfully warm nook next to a refreshingly cold, high current river. That night, we barbecued.
The day of the crossing started early: Sunday morning everyone was up and eating 
breakfast and making lunch, in their cars and ready to go by about 7:30am. The hike itself was a long 19.4 kilometers through old volcanic craters, rugged and rocky landscapes, beautiful lakes of various hues, a lush valley on the way down and a woodsy area at the very end. Throughout the day our group stretched before and behind me, a long line of like-minded travelers enjoying a new experience and each other’s company. We stopped several times, once to learn part of a Haka dance taught by a Maori Couchsurfer, 
another time to regroup and take a picture. We ran into a small band of costumed hikers who had styrofoam swords, a ring, capes and wigs.
I was exhausted by the end of the seven hours of hiking, my feet throbbing in my not-quite-right boots. It was a relief to sit in the hot pool where we all carpooled to afterwards. I admit to pigging out on fish and chips that night, and perhaps a bottle of hard cider before falling dead asleep in the tent alongside the others.
The next day there were groans heard across the campsite as people clambered to their sore legs and crammed tired feet into shoes. Checkout time was 10am and the backpacker management was probably very glad to see us go. Our numbers dwindled as cars departed 
for homes across the country, getting back to family and work and responsibilities. Still, many of us carpooled to Rotorua, taking in some sights along the way such as bubbling mud pools, waterfalls and thermal parks. Up until then, I had been catching rides with Catherine, but now she had to go back to Gisborne, taking Franco with her. I decided I would stay in Rotorua for the night and found that Maia, an Australian street performer, was thinking of doing the same.
We were hoping someone would give us a ride into the center of town and sure enough, Thomas, the Maori who had attempted teaching us the Haka, had space for two in his car. Two vans and Thomas drove into town and we separated into small groups to find dinners. I had pizza with Buffy, a Canadian guitar player; Stig, a Scottish furniture maker; Max, a German mountain biker; and Maia. When the three vehicles regrouped, the name Gabriel started to float around. Several people had arranged to sleep at this Brazilian Couchsurfer’s home, there in Rotorua. Thomas had an uncle in the area, as well, at whose home five of us could crash. This was where Maia and I decided we’d go. There were fifteen of us total and we decided to all head to Gabriel’s to hang out before heading our separate ways.
It was a wonderfully long night of relaxing. Gabriel’s fantastic house had a huge rec room that fit all fifteen of us comfortably. We had brought drinks and snacks, guitars and cards, and international personalities that guaranteed a fun night. Buffy started playing the guitar and singing. Soon Stig joined, then Gabriel, and a drum floated around for different people to tap beats upon. One girl took out plastic globes that lit up at the end of ropes and did a brief but dizzying performance for us. A dozen different conversations buzzed and one group played a made-up card game involving making animal sounds.
On Tuesday morning, I awoke on an air mattress next to a German guy. As we all groggily got ready for the day, which for many included a river rafting trip, I noticed the weather, the stillness of the wind, the clarity of the air.
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It was Tuesday afternoon and Paul was yelling in my ear again.
“Twelve thousand feet, baby! Swing your legs out the door!” The door whose window I’d been gazing out had been slid back. It was only about a foot away and with a scoot of my body, now firmly attached to Paul’s, my legs were dangling out. The wind whipped me in the face and I took a deep breath. No fear, only the realization that I was really doing this was in my mind. Tony, who had slipped out the door before me and was hanging on to the side of the plane, suddenly let go and waved at me.
In the next instant, I was falling.
As a kid, I always dreamt about flying. I would jump off the top bunk and crash into furniture, swing out of trees and land in a heap. I took flying lessons in high school. None of these compared to the joy of actually flying that I felt as Paul aimed us head first towards the ground, eventually leveling us out so that I was belly-flopping towards the world. There was no sickening gut wrench, which surprised me. It was just me and the air. Well, ok, and Paul strapped to my back, but I didn’t notice him at all.
Forty-five seconds after falling out of the plane, during which I waved and cheered and smiled at Tony and his helmet-mounted camera, there was a jerk and my legs suddenly swung downward. The chute had been pulled and we leisurely floated through the air. It was stunning: for once, I wasn’t looking at the sky stretching from horizon to horizon; I was looking at the earth spread from one side to the other. For the rest of our descent, I was free to look around and take everything in. Paul shouted for me to take the handles of the parachute and showed me how to turn and swing us about. I yanked down the left side and we spiraled. When he took back the reigns, he maneuvered so that we spiraled even more sickeningly, swinging around so that our bodies were parallel to the ground.
My landing was not the most graceful in the world, but I didn’t fall over or break a leg, so I was happy. And the first thought I had upon standing still?
“I want to do it again. Now.”
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For the rest of the day I was on an adrenaline high, feeling powerful and wanting to do something to show. I met up with the river rafters and we all went to Gabriel’s friends 
house for a barbecue which lasted until the wee morning hours. I found a chance to share some knowledge as the stars came out, crisp and twinkling. An English guy, Gary, turned out to be a stargazer and thinker, so we had a wonderfully long conversation about stars and myths, cultures and fire. After a few hours snooze back at Gabriel’s, Thomas’s carful of Couchsurfers departed at 5am. Three hours drive, a cliff jump and swim in a mountain pool, and a meat pie breakfast later, I bid farewell to the final remnants of my Couchsurfing weekend. They had dropped me in Thames as a detour on their way to Auckland and, for the first time, I felt absolutely confident and not the least bit anxious about being on my own again.
Time to take on the world again, a few experiences and many friends richer. Time to fly.
--Z
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