The Interislander ferry turns out to be a surreal experience. We board in the romantic, orange light of the early evening, and we wander around, exploring all of the passenger decks, which seem, to me, to belong to Bizzaro BC Ferries. Eventually we find a pub on board (!), buy several bottles of beer, and lounge in The Atrium, enjoying the view from eighteen-foot windows. The sun sets against angry orange clouds as we pass Island Bay, now blue and black shapes in sea. Simultaneously, a full moon rises. The captain announces that tonight will be a full lunar eclipse. He's right. We can see the red shadow of the earth passing across the surface of the moon. The boat lifts and heaves on giant waves. By the time we pass through Cook Straight and into Queen Charlotte Sound, it's too dark to see; I am feeling sleepy, and more than a little seasick.
It's midnight when we arrive in Picton. The hostel owner greets us, which is a surprise, since he told me when I booked the room that he'd just put the key in the mailbox. He tells us at least seven times not to leave our valuables in the car, gives us our key, and bids us goodnight. I carry my packs into the dorm and realize that Medellee is holding my camera. "Hey," she jokes. "Someone once told me that it would be a good idea if we didn't leave valuables in the car." I feel like a complete idiot.
I have been using my sleeping bag for six weeks, and I can't even describe how luxurious it feels to stretch out my bare feet on cool sheets and snuggle a duvet under my chin. I realize that I have had two hours of sleep in the last forty, and fall into the pillow. I have the best sleep I can remember, not waking, not even moving for nine solid hours.
***
Hostel showers are always an interesting experience. You never get a private bathroom; instead, bathrooms are communal, co-ed, and usually consist of several toilets, at least two showers, and two or three sinks. Towel-clad boys brush their teeth and girls blow-dry their hair as you squeeze in to see if there's a shower free. If you're lucky, the shower stall includes a small area to change in, and ideally, a shower curtain to keep your stuff from getting wet. There are almost never shelves to put your soap and shampoo on, and you've got to put them on the floor, which is invariably littered with hairs of all lengths and colours.
Dorms are interesting too. The bunks are always towel-draped, and you tend to get a couple of half-naked girls changing, or putting lotion on their legs, or checking themselves out in the mirror, and as far as I can tell they don't have a shred of self-consciousness despite the half-dozen strangers nearby.
By ten o'clock in the morning we hit the road, and we decide to head to a camp site near the Queen Charlotte track. The weather has turned fine, and the scenery is lovely. We listen to The Rolling Stones and roll the windows down, stopping to hike around and take pictures now and then. By early afternoon, we've set up the tent at a nice spot, for less money than one of our beds the night before. The three of us laze around eating sandwiches and drinking red wine on the beach until it's dark. Some fellow campers offer us some enormous mussels they've gathered and smoked on their BBQ (the mussels are about the size of large oysters). I wonder about red tide, and discreetly spit mine into the bushes after two bites.
At bedtime, Medellee and I get the giggles. I guess we both start to feel so tired and happy that we get to that state where we can't stop laughing. Absolutely everything strikes us as funny. We're drunk on lack of sleep and euphoria and red wine, singing the worst Christmas carols we can think of, telling funny stories, making impressions, and laughing at each others' contagious laughter. John Antonioli puts up with us good-naturedly, grumbling that we should go to sleep but then hitting us with a hilarious one-liner when we least expect it.
I lay awake long afterward, listening to some unknown animal (possum? Stoat?) pace around our tent and steal away into the woods with our empty chip bag. Soon loud songbirds begin to call out in the dark, and I know that dawn can't be far off. By five-thirty I'm still wide awake and Medellee is stirring too. Before we know it, we're back to giggling as if we hadn't slept at all. We're completely dehydrated and have no water, which strikes us as something of an adventure. We have a long drive ahead of us, so we pack up, munch some muesli bars (which make us even more thirsty), and pile into the hatchback.
Our epic road trip is about to begin.
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