Tramping Through Gales, Mountains, and Mud

The Routeburn Trek in Fjordland National Park is considered one of the “Great Walks” of New Zealand. It involves three days and two nights on the trail. Mike and I walked it as part of a guided tour with Ultimate Hikes. The scenery was spectacular and we had spectacularly bad weather. We walked – or tramped, as the Kiwis say – through rain, snow, hail and gale force winds. And it was still stunning.

We showed up at the Ultimate Hikes Center in Queenstown for our pre-trek briefing and listened with increasingly sweaty palms as a perky, young woman told us how much we were going to enjoy the trek – even in the bad weather that was forecast. Prepare for the rain and cold, she advised. Hmmmm. It was the middle of the summer in New Zealand and the day had been beautiful and sunny. It couldn’t be THAT bad – could it?

With borrowed backpacks and rain slickers, we showed up at the crack of dawn the next day. We met the others we’d be hiking with – 24 in all – and boarded the bus to the starting point of the trek outside of Te Anau. Buckled up and strapped into our backpacks that suddenly felt heavier than they had the night before, Mike and I dropped into line behind the guides – Hillary, Gina and Masa (our Japanese speaking guide), and off we went. This would be Mike’s first overnight hike carrying a backpack – and he was doing it through the mountains of New Zealand. Lucky guy….although I’m not sure he always saw it that way even though he never once complained!

The entire first day, we hiked, gradually climbing, through mountain rainforests. A light mist hung in the air and the sky was overcast. There would be no mountain views that day, but it was okay as the trees stole the show. The trees – small and huge – were completely encased in green moss and lichens. Rocks were blanketed with green and the ground between the trees was a mass of ferns. One of the women said it was like walking inside a terrarium. For me, it felt like fairy land. Any moment, I expected to round a bend and surprise a flock of fairies (do fairies run in flocks?) hovering in the ferns and moss. Once we left the roadway behind, the forest was surprisingly quiet. Every so often, the chirp or twitter of a bird would sparkle in the distance. New Zealand is working to rejuvenate its native bird population which was decimated by non-native predators like cats and stoats (small, vicious weasel-like animals). Consequently, there is not an abundance of birds. Each sighting was a highlight. We walked along trying to take it all in. Photos don’t come close to capturing the moist, magical greenness that was everywhere. The air was so refreshing that I simply wanted to breathe deeply and clean out all the staleness inside. We walked past small waterfalls that had sprung up with the recent rains, and we scampered through the spray of a large waterfall tumbling down the mountainside. The only sounds were of hiking poles clicking against rocks, the distance rush of falling water, and the occasional drip of water dropping from moss and fern. It was beautiful, the pack was heavy and we were excited to see the lodge late that afternoon.

That’s when we discovered one of the big benefits of a guided hike. The tour company provided and staffed the lodge with two happy people who welcomed us to the glass-fronted lodge with drinks and snacks. We were assigned a room with a Japanese couple who were part of the Japanese tour group that was hiking with us. They were nice and unbelievably quiet. There was not a lot of pillow talk that night or the next! The lodge had hand washing facilities and even a drying room so that our hiking clothes were refreshed the next morning. A hot shower did wonders, not to mention the glass of wine. Dinner was hot – baked chicken and veggies – and freshly prepared. Food and supplies are flown in by helicopter. After dinner, the guides prepared us for the next day. We gave them our food order for breakfast. Everyone but the Australians had to translate. The first breakfast option was porridge. Mike and I exchanged puzzled looks until we realized that porridge was oatmeal. The next option was Eggs Benedict. We all laughed as we watched Masa explain Eggs Benedict to the Japanese group. He held out his hand and pantomimed an English muffin with a flurry of Japanese in between. After that, the guides gave a presentation on the next day’s hike. Despite their best attempts to assure us how great it would be in any weather, there was bad news. The weather was getting worse. Already rain was starting to fall and the wind was picking up. I confess to feeling some trepidation. Those feelings didn’t let up as the wind howled ferociously throughout the night. In fact, the guides delayed our start the next morning due to high winds. But, finally, it was time to set off. Mike read the weather forecast before we left. It read, “Heavy rain, hail, snow at lower altitudes, periodic gale force winds; becoming fine.” Becoming fine?



With all of our layers of clothes on (I felt like I was wearing everything but my PJs), rain coat and hood in place, rain cover on the backpack, and gloves, we started on our all day hike along a high mountain ridge. Walking in the rain, we climbed rocky boulders through the rain forest until we cleared the tree line to emerge on the mountain side covered with low, golden grasses. The views were obscured by clouds so we pressed on. The rain continued as we climbed making the trail like a river coursing around slivered blue rocks that glistened in the rain. I was hiking in my trail running shoes which are mostly mesh. Consequently, I was stepping stone to stone along the trail as though it were a stream crossing. Nonetheless, it wasn’t long before my feet were soaked through. We climbed slowly and the rain became slush and then snow and hail. Mike was such a trooper. He kept hiking as the wind blew the hail into our face with stinging, prickly barbs. I was fighting the hood on my raincoat to keep it in place but still be able to see out. We kept looking at the sky watching for it to “become fine.” Most of the group was ahead of us and we found ourselves alone on the mountain side. A stiff wind blew up that tried to toss my backpack around. The trail was exposed with ghosts of distant mountains visible across the valley. Even so – they were beautiful, high peaks. Finally, we reached the hut where the rest of the group was already gathered for a very welcome lunch. The afternoon was more of the same as we cleared the highest point on the trail at about 4000'. The clouds lifted a little as the hail became a fine mist. Waterfalls, mountain lakes, and newly snow-dusted peaks made us pause and stare – even if the rain was pelting and water running over already wet feet. The weather still was not becoming fine. Hillary pointed out tiny carnivorous plants with sticky finger to catch bugs – their only source of nourishment in this harsh, mountain environment. We finally made it to the next lodge where the operators handed us a warm towel. It was a very welcome gift! We were told later that this weather was the worse they had experienced since Christmas. But, Hillary added, if you’re going to have bad weather it’s better to have “proper” bad weather than just a mist. She agreed that we’d had “properly” bad weather.

Another warm shower, washed clothes and glass of wine made the wet, cold day take on a remarkable shimmer of accomplishment. The difficulties were quickly forgotten. Dinner was great – grilled salmon – and dessert was pancakes. The pancakes had history. The original owner of the hiking company and the man who first built a lodge at this site apparently became frustrated with unruly hikers who impatiently wanted their pancakes. Out of frustration, he threw the pancakes at them. The tradition continues today. The guides made pancakes and while still hot in the skillet threw them overhead to a hiker with a plate. The trick was to catch the pancake without dropping it. Shockingly, I caught my pancake between my plate and my shoulder. Mike, however, was not so lucky. He jumped and dodged but missed the pancake. No worries – he ate it anyway – with the assortment of toppings (peaches, bananas, whipped crème, chocolate, and syrup) provided.

The last day was still drizzling but it seemed to be becoming fine. The day was spent hiking downhill over rocks and along an easy gravel path through more forests. Birds flitted past too quickly to identify. It was a pleasant walk and the heavy trees kept the rain off so that we no longer needed hoods and heavy clothes. Thankfully. By noon, the final hut was in view. With a tremendous sigh of relief, the backpack was removed. It is amazing how good that feels. We sat in the sun – (it had finally become fine) – and ate our sandwiches. As we ate the Japanese group walked up the trail to the hut. Our roomies came rushing forward repeating – “roommates!” They wanted their picture with us! It was so cute.

We snoozed on the bus back into town with a short stop in Glenorchy for a celebratory drink, French fries, and presentation of certificates. It was a festive time in a country pub, but everyone was ready to be back and take a shower. We met so many nice people in our group. Kathy and Erik from Minnesota were the only other Americans. There was a group from Australia, the tour group from Japan, and a couple of blokes, Mick and Peter, who were sheep and dairy ranchers in Australia. We shared good laughs with them and swapped sheep stories – now that we were experience sheep shearers!

I loved the peace and quiet of the mountains and the stunning scenery along the Routeburn Track. I’m glad to have the chance to experience the wildness of New Zealand, the magic of the rainforest, and the craggy mountain tops. And I’m glad to have done it with Michael. We’ll always have this memory together as our last event before returning to the U.S. Now, we turn our attention toward home with mixed emotions. But, you know - it’s becoming fine.

A "Wee" Mob of Sheep

Mike and I have been in awe of the landscape in New Zealand ever since we left Christchurch after the earthquake. As we traveled our way south to Queenstown, we passed rolling green hills and towering craggy mountains with green slopes. All had a gentle dusting of white sheep on the slopes. Some sheep were recently sheared so that they look skinny and naked. Others were fluffy with curly wool and still others have so much wool that their little legs and faces stuck out from a round ball of fluff. The sheep were everywhere – field after field of them. It had the most peaceful feel – the white dots against the green fields. They were simply captivating. So much so that I wished to learn more about the sheep and this industry that is so important to New Zealand.

We stopped by the Queenstown tourist office to inquire. The tourist office is swimming in activity brochures. There’s rafting, jet boating, bungee jumping, hiking, mountain biking, hand gliding, parasailing, and more. The staff seemed a bit perplexed with an inquiry about sheep shearing. They only knew of one place – in Glenorchy – just up the road. There was no colorful brochure; just a phone number.

The man on the phone told me that he runs a morning and afternoon “tour.” He still had room on the morning tour so all we had to do was drive up the lake to the village (250 population) of Glenorchy and meet him at 10AM. How do we find the meeting place, we inquired. Well, he explained, Glenorchy is very small. Turn left at the roundabout and there will be a “wee shed” on the right. He’d meet us there. There was, and he did.

We drove quickly up the road from Queenstown with its stunning scenery to make it by 10AM (we found out later that this is one of the top ten scenic drives in the world). We didn’t want to miss the tour. The “wee shed” was called The Wool Shed and was definitely “wee” at only a few feet square and filled with wool garments for sale. John was inside. When I told him we were there for the 10Am tour he said great and let’s go. It seemed that it was only me and Mike. We followed him – like sheep – to his truck. “Hop in,” he said. The truck was his farm truck just like one we would have in Texas. The floor was covered in mud and dust, and various tools and garments were scattered about. I immediately felt at home. This was going to be a special event!

John drove about ten minutes up the road to part of his farm. We pulled up to a gate and he scampered out to unlatch it. Mike and I took in the scene. There were truck and tractor parts lying under a tree with scraps of lumber from old fences. Just past the gate was a three-sided barn assembled from sheets of corrugated tin- some silver and some red – whatever was handy. Junk was everywhere amongst the hay shed. As the three of us climbed out of the truck a welcoming party of a sheep and six chickens came running up. The lot of them followed John through the barnyard. It seems that this particular sheep had been bottle raised and was now a pet – and it knew the routine. John found an old, red, plastic bucket and got some feed from a tin shed. Soon, with the help of the feed, we had the sheep eating out of our hands. There was no hand sanitizer, no napkins….just sheep slobber as she gobbled up the feed between my fingers. It was just like home except that sheep drool less than cows. And, there was a pig, too. The small, spotted pig was in a muddy pen next to the barn. John told Mike to feed him from the bucket of yucky pears by the fence. The pig turned up its little, pink nose with interest as Mike held a pear. With a toss, the pig was after it and woofed it down along with a little mud and straw.

John had a film to show us so we walked over to the barn trailing a string of sheep and chickens behind. It was too funny. Definitely not your typical polished tourist experience. We walked into the open end of the tin barn to find yet more junk. John – completely unconcerned – said, “Take a seat.” We looked around and at each other. Finally, I said, “Where should we sit?” There, on the ground in front of us was an old bench seat from a truck with a couple of sheep skins thrown over it. Okay. We’ll sit there. As we settled in for the movie there was an old, dirty sheet covering something on a stand in front of us. John whisked the sheet away and there was a shiny, new 47” flat screen TV! It was all we could do to stifle a belly-laugh (that came later). To make the scene even more unlikely, the pet sheep wandered in to block our view of the movie. John kept shooing it out so that it wouldn’t “baa” while we were trying to listen. So, we watched two films - one about bringing sheep in for the yearly shearing and the other about the men who shear sheep for sport. The world record is 843 sheep in ten hours (non-stop from 7AM-5PM). This includes reaching inside the pen and hauling out a full grown sheep. It takes 46 passes to completely shear the sheep. Then the wool is collected by women working the floor. They throw the fleece in one fling onto a bed and sort it within seconds so that they are ready when the next sheep is finished. It is a choreographed ballet where each person’s timing has to be exact. It was impressive and extremely hard work.

And we got a small taste of it. John has been running merino sheep for 30 years and clearly loved telling us about the different breeds and how they are used. Merino sheep are raised for wool and live high on the mountain slopes. They are rounded up twice a year using people and dogs. Dogs being the more important of the two. Crossbred sheep are raised for meat and are generally penned in the lower elevations making it much easier to herd them up for shearing. Which is what we were about to do.

John had a few Crossbreds in the field and our job was to herd them into the pen by the barn. Since we had paid money for this activity, we headed off through the field tramping through high, green grass and more than a little sheep shit. Sheep shit comes in much smaller piles than cow shit which made it more difficult to spot. The good thing about these sheep is that they are largely wild and afraid of people. As soon as we started walking toward the small herd of about 20 sheep, they moved away, staying in a tight pack with their buddies. Walking and shooing, we got the sheep over to the barn where John opened the gate to a rickety pen and herded them inside.

We had to get them to move up a chute into a smaller holding pen for shearing. So there we were – me and Mike – inside a pen with a bunch of sheep. Frightened and panting, they ran around us as we moved avoiding the chute. There was nothing to do but shove. John laughed as we pushed and shoved on the sheep. With his help, we got the lead sheep to head up the chute and the rest followed.



Inside the shed we had photo ops with the six or so sheep waiting to be sheared. Some of them had curly, oily wool (this is where lanolin comes from) and others had dense, thick soft wool that made me want to snuggle up next to this cute animal. Sheep have great faces framed by their big, soft, warm ears. They didn’t have a lot of choice, so they let us pat them, feel their fur and take countless photos. By this time, my hands were covered with sheep slobber, dirt, oil from the wool and the charming smell of farm animals. No time to worry about that - it was time to try our hands at shearing.

John hooked up the electric shearer (it looks like a larger version of the shears we have for Skeeter) which was suspended from the wall of the barn. He went into the pen and grabbed one of the sheep and dragged her out by her front legs on her butt. There’s something about this posture that keeps the sheep calm. She just sat there on her “bum” while he held her by her front legs. She looked so funny with her skinny, stick-thin legs stuck straight out as though she was pointing her toes. We each got to try holding her and she cooperated very well. John demonstrated how to shear her and then had me – and then Mike – try it. I carefully ran the shearer down her side as the wool curled up and peeled away. It was so cool! John said I was a “natural.” I’m not sure the sheep thought so.

Mike took his turn on the same, poor sheep. After we’d finished, we let her go and surveyed our handiwork. It was lame. All the other sheep are laughing and calling her names. She had a very bad hair day! Poor thing.



With her on the outside and all her buddies on the inside, she was very unhappy and wouldn’t leave. Much “baa-ing” started so we let them all out. They were a little slow to catch on so I had to get back in the pen and try to direct them to the open gate. John instructed me to grab a sheep’s head and physically turn it in the direction I wanted her to go. Once again, when one started moving the others followed. Soon all the sheep were headed back out to their pasture for some more peaceful grazing – before the next “tour” of uninformed city-slickers arrived.

After shearing, John taught us how to see the difference in wool quality by the number of wrinkles in the fibers. Merino wool is filled with tiny wrinkles and the fiber is very fine. It's perfect for high quality, soft garments. There was a memorable moment as John described how merino wool was prized by the high fashion industry for its drape - as he tipped his body to one side to demonstrate the drape of the fabric.

With the flat-screen TV recovered, and back in the truck, we said good bye to the chickens, the pig and the pet sheep. What a morning! We can’t thank John enough for a most memorable experience. After leaving the wee shed, we stopped for lunch at the Glenorchy café. Thankfully, they had a sink AND hand sanitzer!

What a Difference a Day Makes

We’re two for two. First Cairo and now Christchurch. We feel like “disasters r us.” We landed in Christchurch, New Zealand after a long flight from Singapore to discover Christchurch to be a charming, small city with a British feel owing to its history. Christchurch looked jubilant with mounds of colorful flowers blooming their hearts out – roses, hydrangeas, geraniums, and an array of bedding plants. The city has the feel of a distinguished college campus – similar to Duke University –as people walked and biked past brownstone, Tudor-style buildings with their high pitched roofs, Gothic windows, and intricate spires. In the center of the city the historic cathedral dominated Cathedral Square. We arrived during the annual flower show so the front of the cathedral was decorated with an archway of flowers. And there was a carpet of flowers down the middle of the nave inside. As we approached the square the carillons in the tall spire chimed their tune filling the square with ringing. The city loves its British roots. (According to our local tour guide, the British settlers arrived over 200 years ago in a “wee boat.”) The Avon river meandered slowly through the center city with green grass and graceful willow trees draping the river. The Bard pub was on one corner and The Oxford on the Avon restaurant occupied another. We spent a stunning, blue-sky day walking all over the city – through the historic, Tudor-style Arts Center directly across the street from our hotel, visiting the Canterbury Museum, and strolling along the river for coffee at the historic Antigua Boat Shed. Our highlight was punting on the Avon. The Avon River is very shallow and clear. Punting is accomplished by boarding canoe-like boats that are very shallow. A punter uses a long pole to push the boat along the river. We floated – or punted – under arched bridges with decorative scroll-work railings, under willow branches and past old brown stone buildings from the 1800s. Our punter kept up a running commentary which included discussion of the 7.1 earthquake that hit Christchurch last September. It caused substantial damage to many buildings in the city, but, he told us, another "big one" is predicted sometime soon. Prophetic words.

The next morning we left for the small coastal village of Akaroa to swim with the dolphins. As we sat in a tiny café having lunch before the boat ride, we felt quivering and heard low rumbling. It’s amazing how quickly thoughts flit through your head. Later Mike and I realized that we were thinking the same things. Our first thought was – are we still on the Orient Express with all this rocking? Next thought – no, this is an earthquake. Next thought – it can’t be that bad or last long. Wrong. Very wrong. For us, the 35-40 seconds of shaking were enough to realize what was happening but not enough time to act. Mike noticed the cars moving in the parking lot. I was fixated on the rocking book case and wondering if it would hit Mike if it toppled over. About the time my brain engaged enough to say – let’s move – the shaking stopped and the power went out. Everyone inside looked at each other as if to say, “Was that what I think it was?” But all seemed to be okay at least initially. A shop keeper was the first to say that what we’d experienced was small, but Christchurch had a significant quake. Hummm. Crowds of people began to cluster into groups outside. Some listened to a car radio and others gathered around a battery-powered radio outside the visitor center. The grim picture began to emerge.

The quake was 6.3 – smaller than the September quake – but it was closer and, importantly, near the surface. Rumors emerged about significant damage to many buildings downtown such as the cathedral and office buildings. Roads were closed and people were being evacuated.

It’s the strangest feeling – all the thoughts that converge at once – some noble and some not. Unfortunately, we’re beginning to become experienced at travel during emergency conditions. We focused first on practicalities like buying water and snacks – a good lesson from Cairo - particularly since we heard reports of broken water lines and water quality problems. Next we wondered about transportation. Would we be able to return to Christchurch on the bus that afternoon or would all the roads be closed. And if we made it back to Christchurch, would our hotel still be standing. Visions of sleeping in the tour van or in the park (the emergency center) flashed through our eyes. We’d slept in the Cairo airport, why not a van or a tent? Even as we were sorting out our predicament, we were increasingly conscious of the depth of destruction. Buildings had collapsed on top of tour buses, people were trapped inside damaged or collapsed buildings. Phones were down so that locals (like our bus driver) could not reach family members. In the face of such serious problems, it felt trivial to spend a moment worrying about our issues, but we needed to deal with our practicalities while being sensitive to the troubles of others.

The atmosphere was grave and uncertainty hung over the huddled crowd. No one knew what to do or what to expect. We boarded our bus (our bus driver finally reached his wife to find that she and their home were okay) and headed for Christchurch not knowing how close we’d be able to get to anyone’s hotel or even if the hotel would be there. We drove past beautiful coves and over hills dotted with black and white dairy cows and fluffy sheep. The calm beauty was not enough to divert troubled thoughts crowding our minds. About 6km from Christchurch we began to see damage.

Cracks appeared in the roadway and muddy humps like large ant hills splayed out alongside the road. This was liquefaction. The normally stable fine-grained soils became like quick sand when moist and shaken. The material oozed to the surface leaving empty space under sidewalks and roadways that then cave in. Water ran down streets from water line breaks. Buildings already boarded up from the first earthquake were now piles of rumble. Brick walls were sprawled into the street. Cars lined up at any open gas station hoping to fill their tanks before the nearby damaged Lyttleton port was closed. For the second time in two weeks, we saw a convoy of army vehicles rolling down city streets.

After much maneuvering, our driver got us into the vicinity of downtown. We had to walk from there. Our hotel, the Classic Villa, was literally three blocks from Cathedral Square in the heart of the damaged area. We could only hope that we’d be able to get close. The more we walked the more the damage escalated. Huge cracks in the pavement were encircled by orange cones. The large willow trees were missing branches two feet in diameter. The quiet, clear river was now swollen and muddy. It was unnerving. But it was nothing compared with what was coming. First was the sight of Canterbury Museum. The façade had broken stones and the statue in front was toppled off its base leaving the head smashed. We turned the corner of our street to face the Arts Center directly across from our hotel. We’d eaten dinner at a charming restaurant there on our first night. The façade was in shambles. Stones from the tall gabled roof were shattered on the pavement below covering tables, chairs and umbrellas. gabled end was completely gone exposing the inside of a room and clothes hanging inside. Farther along a side of an adjacent building had collapsed. All of these were 1800-era buildings that provide the charm to Christchurch. We walked past army vehicles as far as we could but were stopped at the river where the day before we’d gone punting. From there we could see the cathedral. The gabled end with its rose window seemed fine until we realized that the tall spire was quite simply missing. Gone. Yesterday, its bells chimed over the crowd and today it was rubble. I can only imagine the horror of those who were in the square as it fell. Mike remembered that he videoed the chiming bells less than 48 hours ago. We replayed that video and listened with sadness as we struggled to comprehend that these sounds and the happy buzz of people were silent.

Feeling oddly empty and stunned we returned to our hotel. Cracks ran alongside the exterior and we stepped over brick rubble from the collapsed chimney of the next door building. But – joy! – the house was open, people were inside and our room was largely unharmed (tilted mirror, plaster dust from cracked walls, dislocated shower door). And, we’d be able to stay there overnight. There would be no sleeping in the makeshift tents erected in the park.

And so began a most unusual evening. Others arrived and gathered in the large living room. Our proprietor, Peter, was there and was more concerned about caring for us than attending to his damaged, but still safe, house. Decorative items inside and out were in pieces, bottles of alcohol had been thrown into the floor and smashed. Most of it had been cleaned up by the time we arrived. There was no power so he was busily placing candles on the floor all around the dark house. The only other lights were from flashlights and camera flashes. No restaurants were open nor were there operable cooking facilities in the house. Everyone pitched in. We’d bought trail mix, Peter and his wife, Jan, put out cheese and crackers, someone else made a salad with smoked mushrooms, and, thankfully, Peter provided wine. I was VERY happy for a glass – or two – of wine. Everyone had a story and everyone was uneasy. One couple was in the Arts Center as it began to come apart. I was glad we had been outside of Christchurch. We’d surely have been downtown like all the others.

We shared stories, ate what we had, drank wine and Peter played the piano. It was almost enough to distract from the aftershocks. Peter and Jan stayed up for awhile waiting for other guests to arrive and to settle them in as much as possible. Before going to bed, he played one last tune on the piano and Jan sang while candles burned peacefully on the floor even as after shocks shook the house. How hopeful to hear a cheery, “Que sera, sera; whatever will be will be,” fill the living room as the floor quivered and windows vibrated.

Mike and I went to bed but with the first strong aftershock the room rocked, the window rattled, and, afterward, the coat hangers in the closet jangled a high-pitched, tinkling sound. It was eerie. The next aftershock shot me out of bed. I felt more stable in the new part of the house rather than in our room in the original section. So, I curled up on the sofa under a fuzzy blanket, wearing my robe and shoes, and holding a flashlight. Candles glowed, rain splattered outside, and I tried to sleep. But each after shock racked my nerves, and they came every quarter to half hour throughout the night. Five times they were so strong that I jumped up and ran into the center of the room away from all windows. Needless to say, sleep was elusive. But that’s okay. Mike and I were better off than many. People – perhaps hundreds – were buried in buildings a few blocks away. Thousands were in the makeshift refuge camp across the street in the park – shivering in cold, crowded tents. We heard stories the next day of residents bringing clothes and offering spare bedrooms to stranded tourists who were unable to return to their hotel rooms even to get luggage. We met three people on our bus the next morning who were traveling with only the clothes they had on as their hotel was in the city center and was inaccessible.

I told Mike, I’ll take Cairo over this. At least in Cairo, we were not the target of violence or anger. No one wanted to see tourists like us hurt. Tanks were there to keep peace but also to ensure protection. Even though we could hear gunshots, none of it was directed at us. As long as we stayed out of the way, the chances were good that we’d be okay. This earthquake was a completely different situation. It did not discriminate, nor could we get out of the way. It would hit when and where it did and all we could do was hope that we weren’t there.

Between Cairo and Christchurch we’ve learned a few things about being in crisis situations. The first is patience. You just don’t know – nor does anyone else – what will happen in the situation. There’s no use getting excited or frustrated. Everyone is doing their best. And that’s the other thing. You have to rely on the kindness of complete strangers. How many times have we seen unfortunate things in the newspaper, thought, “Oh, so sad,” and turned the page? But it’s real – very real. And many of those people will get through their day because of the stranger who stops on the street to help them. And finally, I learned that you can only take work through it one step at a time – and that’s sufficient. Crisis situations are filled with unknowns – so many that you can’t sort out the future direction. Sometimes all that’s possible is to do what seems right at that moment; get to the next place; evaluate; and make the next choice. Advance planning is a nice theory but it doesn’t work when situations are completely filled with unknowns.

Mike and I have also learned that true customer service shines through in a crisis. We experienced it in Cairo and we saw it again here. Peter and his family suffered damage in their personal home; Peter’s daughter burst into tears when she found him at the Classic Villa; and yet they stayed in the Villa with us that night. Food, wine, song and words of comfort are not on their brochure, but that’s what we got. And, you know, it helped.

We are now safely away in Queenstown but the impact of this earthquake remains with us in many ways. Each rumble or creak we hear makes us fear another quake. But more importantly, we are touched by the immensity of what happened to all these people. It took several hundred years for Christchurch to become the charming town we experienced. It took a few seconds to turn it to rubble and destroy lives, families and livelihoods. The people of Christchurch, along with others from around the world, are already clearing away the debris and moving on. It will be day by day, but - what a difference a day can make.

Mike says everything comes in threes. We leave New Zealand for Honolulu in about a week. Let the wagering begin on the likelihood of a volcanic eruption while we’re there!