Mountains, Gandalf, Mountains

Heavy rainfall alters the landscape. Rivers swell to become wide, muddy, frothing monsters. Fields flood too, becoming marshes overnight; trees seem to grow up from the pools, and the tips of tall grasses reflect against a heavy sky.

Waterfalls get more impressive. So after the storm, despite flooded roads, the four of us decide to brave the weather and check out the famous Wainui Falls, which we guess must have grown to monstrous proportions.

Getting there is a bit of an adventure. We see cars stopped on the side of the road, unable to start because of some important component that has gotten wet, and we soon realize that the flooded trail now involves several river crossings. Many trampers have simply taken off their boots, and are wading through barefoot. We construct bridges for ourselves, and even have to cross a wire suspension bridge one at a time, which rocks and tilts in vertigo, metres above the terrifying rapids.

It's worth it: the waterfall is absolutely cool. On our way back to the car park, the clouds clear, and the sun comes out; throughout the day, the weather shifts between stormy and sunny, and sometimes both at the same time.

I still don't understand how we're going to fit five people (plus gear) into the tiny hatchback, but someone's hatched a plan involving straps and tarpaulin. While Clare organizes her stuff, John Player and Medellee construct a makeshift roof carrier. Four bags fit on the roof, giving us more room inside the car. Genius.

Our plan is to drive to Westport, but unfortunately, we discover that all of the roads have been washed out by mudslides after the heavy rain. The skies soon begin to bruise and we are forced to make camp. Ferocious sand-flies swarm, so many that we have to squint just to see through them. (If you don't know what sand-flies are, that's because you've never been to New Zealand in the summer. They are tiny, silent, mite-like insects that draw blood and itch like crazy.) We literally empty a can of bug-spray on our exposed areas, but it's no use; we spend the whole night hiding in the tent, playing trivial pursuit and drinking boxed red wine.

During the next week, we drive through the rain and camp for free. Miraculously, every time we stop, the rain stops too. We hike up to see two different glaciers, Franz Josef and Fox Glacier. We eat well on our little camp stove, although we have to cook in batches; we also drink wine, play cards, and take walks. At one point, we tour the Monteiths brewery in Greymouth, where we taste every beer and then get to pour ourselves a pint.

One morning, when we're packing up, we hear a crunch of metal as we tighten the straps around our bags.

Everyone panics, lifting the bags down to survey the damage to the rental car. Sure enough, there is a huge dent. John jumps into the car, using his feet to try to push the warped metal back into place, but it doesn't completely work.

We stare at the roof. Eveyone is silent. We realize that we might have to pay as much as $2700 in damages to the rental company: over $500 each. When we pile into the car, our stomachs are knotted, spirits depressed. Needless to say, we put our packs on our laps, and deal with the lack of space.

As we drive towards Queenstown, though, the mood gradually lightens. For the next six hours, we play Horse (see Eagle vs. Shark), joke around, and pass through the Misty Mountains, listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack as we drive. The Southern Alps tower all around us, seeming to disappear into the sky. Low-hanging clouds open to reveal dense jungle and misty waterfalls.

"Mountains, Gandalf, mountains," I say, somewhat awed.

****

Queenstown is an interesting place to spend New Year's Eve. Most of the population of the South Island, as well as most of the tourists, have had the same idea-- probably because Queenstown has more bars per capita than anywhere else in the southern hemisphere. Miraculously though (again, thanks to a last-minute cancellation), we score five hostel beds at the last minute. We all spend time napping, showering, doing laundry, and eating, before our night on the town. We dress up as much as backpackers can (that's sundresses and mascara-- button-up shirts for the boys), and head downtown to check out the scene.

There is an enormous street party that fills up most of town, as well as outdoor concerts, lots of pubs, and fireworks by the harbour. Signs posted indicate that bylaws allowing liquor consumption in the streets have been suspended for the holidays. Still, the place is a free-for-all. We end up at a pub, where we sing along to bad '90s rock covers and drink overpriced pints. It's lots of fun.

We spend New Year's Day checking out the many Lord of the Rings locations around Queenstown, reenacting scenes from the movies and even shopping around for movie trinkets. I pose for a photograph next to cardboard cutout hobbits. It turns out that I really am too tall.

Then we drive to Milford Sound, the most popular destination in New Zealand, to check out the amazing views.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, it's raining and foggy, so we can't see much. The drive is absolutely stunning nonetheless. John and I promise ourselves we'll come back this year. The huge mountains are jaw-dropping, vast cliff-faces that hide most of the sky; they are veined with silver waterfalls that cascade like enormous ribbons of shining ore. When we stop to take pictures, mean-faced Kea land on the car roof and peck at the windows, demanding handouts.

We camp in torrential rain, which does nothing to deter the sand-flies.

In the Catlins, we finally see better weather: blue skies, sunshine, shorts-and-sunscreen weather. We see a beach covered in fossilized, Jurrasic-age trees; an enormous cave; the mast of a shipwreck at low tide; and no less than four yellow-eyed penguins-- the rarest species in the world-- nesting on the beach. I look out at the ocean and imagine Antarctica.

Two days in Dunedin and Christchurch pass in a blur of hostels, and soon it's time for John and Medellee's flight home. Nervously, Meds brings the car into an auto body repair shop for a free estimate: the mechanic shakes his head and says that the roof will have to be replaced. Although the dents are tiny, the new car isn't made of metal at all, so it can't be repaired. His estimate is $2500.

Hearts in our stomachs, we drive to the airport to drop off the car, anxiously awaiting the final judgment.

We wait in the airport lobby while John and Medellee face the music. Long minutes pass.

Finally, they walk back in and we all peer into their faces, looking for the answer.

"How much?" John finally has the guts to ask.

Medellee holds out her hand.

It takes us a minute to understand what she's saying. She grins; her fingers make an O.

"Wait," John stutters. "What. Nothing?"

"Nothing!" she yells. "The rental agreement... it says that the roof was already dented!"

We shout in happy disbelief, whooping, hugging. Not one of us has $500 to throw around, and we feel extremely lucky. In fact, we feel so elated that we drive back to town and rent out a Korean Karaoke room for the night. The five of us drink beer and sing our favourite songs, which are put to hilarious videos that have nothing at all to do with the words. Queen, Journey, The Stones, Disney, Zepplin-- all are reduced to echoing duets and lots of screaming while dancing.

We all share a serene goodbye.

At midnight, John and I watch the taillights of the hatchback disappear down the road, alone again and facing an unknown future.