Alternate Titles and Advice

The Year When Winter Totally Happened, They Just Called It Summer

The Year of Small Children

The Year of Potatoes Cooked Every Way Possible

The Year of Epic Profile Pictures

The Year of Jumping Off of Tall Things

The Year of Cats

The Year Without Books (Almost)

The Year of Living Dangerously

The Year of Living Nomadically

The Year of Living Frugally (Mostly)

The Year of Never Having a Camera

The Year of Never Writing Anything Down

The Year of Riding Buses

The Year of Impossible Places

The Year of No Solitude

The Year of Imagined Places

The Year of Dangerous Things We’re Not Going to Tell Our Parents About

The Year Without Puppies

The Year of Thomsons

The Year Without Bears, Wolves, Bobcats, Snakes, Alligators, or Anything Else That Might Want to Eat Us

The Year Without Chic-fil-a, Steak ‘n’ Shake, or sweet tea

The Year of Sheep…and More Sheep

The Lifecycle of the Average Kiwi

The Year That Was Only Six and a Half Months Long

When you go to New Zealand…

Look into buying a car before you arrive. It can be economical and convenient, but you’d want to set it up as soon as possible.

Check out Stray buses and Kiwi Experience buses. They cost more than normal bus tickets, but they take you to cool places and have passes that let you get on and off wherever.

Find a Pak’n’Save (grocery store). It’s so much cheaper than New World or Countdown (more expensive grocery stores).

It’s ok to depend on the kindness of strangers. Kiwis are hospitable and very willing to help if they can.

It takes about a week to get used to a new place and a new group of people. Don’t rush yourself.

Do the things you want to do, regardless of whether or not they are popular.

Don’t try to do everything. You’ll burn out really quickly.

Always know where your towel is.

Find the library.

Use the I-Site.

Use the McDonald’s free wi-fi.

Find a ‘home’—a place where you feel comfortable and, ideally, where you can return at a later date in your trip when you get tired and homesick.

In Which Kat and Destiny Simply Walk into Mordor

In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit. It may surprise (and gratify) some of you to know that Hobbiton is indeed a place. Better still, it is actually situated among miles of pristine farmland, with the hazy outline of mountains on the horizon (though, unlike in a certain movie, the mountains are located in the east, not west). There is a “Party Tree,” a mill and pub beside the pond, and most importantly, under a hill and beneath a huge oak, there is a hobbit-hole with a green door.

We’ve been there.

Over the past six months, we have traversed the lands of Middle Earth. For those of you Lord of the Rings nerds who feel the need to live vicariously: read on. (For the sake of an epic narrative, events are arranged in the order Tolkien described them and not in the order we experienced them.)

After departing the Shire, we fell down a bank that proved to be a shortcut—to mushrooms! However, while we were still in ecstasy over finding said mushrooms, Destiny suddenly felt the approach of something dark and sinister (despite the glorious sunshine on Mount Victoria). She warned us to get off the road. We hid as best we could, given that the tree roots shown in the film weren’t actually there for us to hide beneath. Shivering together in our terror, we listened as the hooves of the Ring-Wraith’s horse grew steadily nearer. Thankfully, he passed us by, and we began a mad dash through the woods toward safety. At one point, we looked back and saw, on the ridge, the silhouette of the terrifying horse and rider (not actually pictured—we couldn’t find a horse).

We made it to the Prancing Pony (well, not really, but it kind of looked like it) where we had a cup of tea, pretended to smoke a pipe (sunglasses), and would have sent off a post card had the post shop been a functioning office rather than a historical landmark.

Meanwhile, we simultaneously paced the gardens of Isengard, staves in hand, discussing our serious concerns over the fate of Middle Earth. Our discussion ended with an off-script wizard lightening battle.

Returning to our flight from the Nazgul, we realized we were still not safe. The villains continued to hound us to the Ford of Bruinen where we stood in the rushing waters and shouted out to the undead kings, “If you want him, come and claim him!” Unfortunately, the river did not flood on command, but as we did not have a dying hobbit in our arms, the Nazgul opted not to follow.

Thus, without a dying hobbit but with a great deal of excitement, we made our way to Rivendell. The actual city evaded our elven eyes, but there was plenty of grass and wildflowers. There was a lot of discussion about what to do next, including the admonition that one does not simply walk into Mordor, to which we replied, “Challenge accepted.”

What followed is a series of events that occurred in unreachable mountain passes and inaccessible movie sets. The next point of interest was on a mountainside outside Moria, where we propped a timed camera on a car and mourned the loss of Gandalf. (Featuring: Esther Stuart as the stoic Legolas, Clare Thomson as Boromir, and Destiny and Kat as Merry and Pippin.)

After the loss of our good friend, who we knew would be busy battling fire demons and whatnot for the rest of the film, we decided to skip to the part with the River Anduin. We were sadly missing boats and cloaks and elven bread, but the waters were peaceful and beautiful. (Imagine our surprise when we discovered the River Anduin is actually two different rivers! Don’t worry: we visited both.) Along the way, we got a view of the towering cliff faces where the Argonath (Pillars of the Kings) watch over the river pass (they were on a break in this photo).

(At some point in here, we visited the Weta Cave, where they made the props for the films, and said “’sup” to Gollem.)

After some running about central Otago, where the grassy rolling hills are spotted with large boulders, we reached Edoras, capitol of Rohan and home to the Golden Hall. Sadly, the hall and city are no longer on the hill, but we did have a picnic on the spot where the hall would have been.

A fair number of battles ensued, which we opted not to join, though we did stand on a ledge and survey the encamped soldiers below. Instead of fighting, we chose to set our course for Mount Doom and—yep, that’s right— we simply walked into Mordor.

Ok, so to be fair, there was a little bit more involved. In order to simply walk into Mordor, we first had to get a bus at the unrighteous hour of 5:30 a.m. Unfortunately, the bus did not show up on Friday (though we were outside in the cold waiting for it), pushing our epic journey to Saturday. The bus took us two hours from the city of Taupo, around a rather large lake, to the beginning of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. From there, we climbed something called the Devil’s Staircase, which could be imagined to look something like the stairs Frodo, Sam, and Gollem climb in The Return of the King (just less steep and less slippery and generally less terrifying). Our climb brought us to the foot of Mount Doom, which we had been told by our bus driver not to climb as there wasn’t enough daylight for us to climb it and complete the crossing. So, we trekked up to the Red Crater, passed the Emerald Lakes, skirted Blue Lake, and hiked a road that seemed to go ever on through a native forest before reaching the end of the trail.

Thus ended our sojourn through Middle Earth. (Can you imagine what it would have been like if we’d walked the entire way? One of us might have died!)

In Which Kat and Destiny Have Birthday Bonanzas

So, we’re going to start by not even mentioning how late this update is.

Kat’s Birthday:

My birthday began in Napier, not far from the home of a certain Kiwi mum who brought along a certain enthusiastic daughter to join in the celebration, the first part of which was Turkish kebabs for lunch and a pavlova (classic Kiwi—not Australian—dessert that’s more or less a large meringue with a cream centre) complete with dried fruit, whipped cream topping, and candles.

On January 11, the actual day of my birth, I spent most of the day in a bathing suit (or togs, as it’s referred to over here) on a beach with a book, the first ever birthday I have spent thus. I thoroughly enjoyed it and intend to do it again next time I manage to be in the southern hemisphere over my birthday. The day was capped off with dinner at a lovely café that had outdoor seating and a brilliant dessert menu.

One week later, a van, marked only with ‘Napier Tours,’ drove up to the end of the prison driveway, and we two daring adventurers were instructed to get in by the driver, a former policeman who had in fact put a number of men in Napier Prison over his career. The van then picked up two more Americans, a pair of golf professionals, both in their early twenties, and all four of us were whisked away under the Hawkes Bay sun to five fantastic wineries where we discovered, among other things, a Riesling reminiscent of liquid candy, a Sherry that smelled and tasted like Christmas cake, and the fact that there are indeed wines Destiny can enjoy.

To complete the celebration, we took a detour on the way to the South Island and stopped by the lakeside town of Taupo, home of Skydive Taupo. A white limo took us out to the airfield where I was introduced to Wadey, who would be diving with me. So after putting on a particularly flattering blue jump suit, a pair of plastic goggles, and a leather cap, we boarded the little plane that took us 12,000 feet above Lake Taupo. Here, I waved good-bye to Destiny who, along with her tandem, started to make her way earthward. A few minutes later, after all the other divers had left, Wadey and I, now strapped to one another by a harness, made our way to the door, now 15,000 feet up.

The blue sky and blue lake below rushed in with the cold air as I rocked back, then fell forward. For a minute—the longest minute imaginable, and at the same time, entirely too short—the cold and the blue rushed up at me, a single continuous sensation of flight, which never really felt like falling. The earth grew ever clearer, though it seemed more like it was coming into focus and less like we were really getting closer—until the sudden instant when the parachute opened and everything stopped. Then came the gentle glide, around and over and down, a slow, graceful motion from the sky back to the airfield.

Thus ended the celebration of Kat Harrell’s 23^rd birthday.

Now, as to Destiny’s birthday:

Honestly, if you think about it, hurling yourself off a platform above Queenstown, New Zealand, is the best birthday present you can give yourself. What better way to celebrate the passing of another year than to treat your body like a heart-pounding, adrenaline-laced, life-flashing-before-your-eyes amusement park? I find that one of the best ways to really appreciate life is to satisfy l’appel du vide (literally “call of the void,” that feeling you get when standing on a precipice that maybe you kind of want to jump…)

So in this marvelous Year of our Lord 2012, in honor of the 22^nd year of my life (a year I have fondly nicknamed Double Deuce), I screamed “Geronimo!” and threw myself into a swan dive off the Ledge in Queenstown. The Ledge Bungee is distinctive for its “runway” and free-harness system, which allows you a running start and a free-fall in the manner of your choosing. Some people have been known to go off the platform on bicycles and skateboards. Here is the conversation between the two bungee instructors after my screaming descent (as evidenced on the far-too-expensive dvd footage that I did not buy):

Instructor 1: She’s crazy. Where is she from?

Instructor 2: The States.

Instructor 1: Oh.

For those of you who have not yet experienced the joy of bungee (or stoutly refuse to do so), here’s a taste:

Your feet find empty air and for the space of a heartbeat you’re airborne. It’s a crystalline moment, where you become keenly aware of every color and sound and sensation. The bite of the harness, the itch on your ankle, the green of the trees below and the blue of the sky above, the scent of sweat and nylon and pine.

Then comes the ground-rush and your body reacts to the sensation of what it perceives to be impending death with sensory shutdown. Your eyes are open but you can’t see anything. Your limbs and mouth and ears and nose are not your own. The only thing left to you is the queer feeling that your stomach is trying to claw its way up your brainstem.

Then the bungee cord snaps taut and your body crashes back into itself. Your heart (which you didn’t realized had stopped) starts pounding away. Your lungs (which you didn’t realize had shriveled) fill with air. Less than five seconds have passed, but it might as well have been years.

Leaping into the void is truly a remarkable thing, why else do you think it calls to us? (Disclaimer: Leaping into the void without a bungee cord or a parachute would most certainly end in death, and therefore would be a truly tragic thing.)

After Kat’s jump, we walked back toward the shop. Along the way, we were stopped by an elderly couple sitting on a bench. They wanted to know if we were the ones who had just bungeed, and informed us that they had been terrified for us and couldn’t believe we would do such a thing. Their concern was heartwarming. Also hilarious.

The second part of my birthday celebration took place a few hours south, in the marvelous and hilly coastal town of Dunedin, where lives the incomparable Thomson Family and their regal and fluffy cat, Glitzy Candle-Bears. With the Thomsons, we had a Mexican fiesta on my actual birthday, with homemade empanadas, rice, enchiladas, guacamole, and pico de gallo (thanks, Jonathan). For pudding, a beautiful chocolate cake baked and decorated by Kat (and half-iced with Nutella, as we ran out of frosting.)  While we devoured cake, Anne Thomson (the mum) presented me with a birthday gift, which I eagerly opened. But the moment I laid my hands on the prize, Anne cried “Wait! That’s mine!” and snatched it back. That was probably the most disconcerting birthday gift I’ve ever received. (Don’t worry. The next day she found my actual present, a lovely tea towel printed with names of places on the South Island.)

Birthdays ought always be spent with people who care about you, whether on one side of the world or another. This year, I was lucky enough to celebrate twice with such people. The day after my fabulous fiesta with the Thomsons, I skyped home, where my family was celebrating my U.S. birthday with as much flair as if I had been home. Through my computer screen, I got to enjoy decorations and a birthday cake with exactly the right number of candles. My mother told me I had to choose someone to blow out my candles. My little cousin Emilyn immediately shouted “Me! I’m going to blow them out!” She did an excellent job, though I’m not sure whether it’s my wish or hers that will come true. I should submit an enquiry to the Birthday Candles Wish Association.

In Which Kat and Destiny Rock the South Island

We realize, as it’s getting toward the end of April, that those of you still in school are reaching that period toward the end of the school year when everything is due all at the same time and you have exams on everything ever. Thus, as your friends, we have chosen to give you the best gift we can from the other side of the world: ways to procrastinate! So we are putting up several updates in close succession. Enjoy.

First, we make our way from the lovely city of Dunedin, home to the University of Otago, the focal point of New Zealand fashion, and the lovely Thomson family, who will appear several more times, we’re sure, in upcoming posts, as we tend to be at their house a lot. Along the road that skirts the edge of the harbor (and is not the place you want to be with a particularly speedy driver and a storm coming in) is the little township of Portobello. Here we spent a week staying with a Scotsman by the name of Bill, helping with gardening, exploring on bicycles, and wondering why on earth God in heaven saw fit to make roosters. One of the two roosters that resided on the property had a particular love for standing outside our bedroom window at unrighteous hours of the morning and making noises similar to those heard, we assume, in the lower circles of hell. The rooster had also discovered how to crow at just the right frequency to blast through your earplugs and make them utterly useless. It was a week of lovely views, pushing bikes up steep inclines, and considering ways to murder roosters.

After our week in Portobello, we stopped back in Dunedin for two nights before catching the bus to Geraldine, where we met George and Hilary, a British couple now living in Canterbury and building a house using straw as insulation. Also staying at George and Hilary’s house was another American help exchange traveler, an early twenties woodcarver named Warren, who was among the most beautiful human beings either of us had ever personally encountered. We learned that he was dating a girl back in the States, which was probably for the best, as the battle between our two adventurers for Warren’s affections could very well have been long, bloody, and rather uncomfortable for our hosts. We spent Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays some 16 kilometers outside Geraldine, where the house was nearly finished, cleaning, painting, weeding, picking fruits and vegetables, and learning the many uses of mud mixed with straw.

Recipe for plaster mud:

The mixing of mud for plaster is a delicate art, one that requires both tenacity and skill. Enter Destiny, fully geared up in black rubber pants, jacket, and gloves. On a wooden platform at the side of the house is a giant plastic bucket surrounded by smaller buckets of mud. Step one: Dump a small bucket of mud into the “mixing bowl”. Step two: Using a tool that is basically a massive electric egg beater, blend the mud into a deliciously smooth consistency (like cake batter). Step three: Pour the mixture through a sieve into a wheelbarrow. Step four: Take the chunklets of leftover mud from the sieve and form the most epic mud pies of all time (Just for the fun of it).

In Geraldine, where there is one main street and everyone seems to know everyone, there is little of interest to mention. However, it is home to Barkers, a New Zealand famous juice, jam, and preserve company, as well as a very tasty fudge and ice cream shop and a library that offers free wireless internet. However, the most wonderful part of Geraldine is the movie theatre—a single room with a big screen, a small stage area, a balcony, and several front rows that have been replaced with couches, so that you feel you’re in your house, curled up on your couch, watching a big screen movie. We saw ‘Beautiful Lies’ and ‘The Iron Lady’ and attended a discussion on ending world poverty.

After two weeks in Geraldine, we made our way to the Canterbury back country, where we spent two weeks on a sheep and cattle station, set along a glacial-carved braided river, hemmed in by mountains that some mornings were covered in snow. The station, called Glenfalloch, is home to the Todhunter family, made up of Kiwi-born farmer Chas, his German wife Dietland, their seven-year-old daughter Freddy, and their three-year-old son Hendrick. Chas was not around much, as he spent most of the day off working in various parts of the farm. Dietland, a brilliant chef, was kind, if rather reserved. Freddy was rather clever and developed a habit of popping into the house we were staying in without any warning. Hendrick, who had yet to master talking, walked around babbling in almost-words, sounding something like a young Swedish Chef off the Muppets. We also made the acquaintance of Tom, the fairly quiet farm hand, and Cecilia, a young journalist from Denmark hoping to do a series of articles on working and living in New Zealand.

Our working hours were mostly spent painting—fence posts, garages, bedrooms, verandas, any number of things. When we weren’t working, we hiked in the surrounding hills, kayaked down the river, and read and watched DVDs in our house. Yeah, we had a house. The farm is also a retreat and conference centre, with three guest houses, one of which was ours. It had five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, and two kitchens. There are also two little huts, both outfitted with heaters, and between the huts and the houses, the farm can house at least twenty guests.

Thus we progressed from a shared room and a suicide-inducing rooster in Portobello to our own rooms with a brilliant interior view in Geraldine to our own guest house at Glenfalloch. Here’s to hoping the universe smiles on your fortunes as well, perhaps without inflicting you with roosters.

In Which Kat and Destiny Brandish Gardening Tools at Farm Animals

After two plane rides and several hours on buses, we reached Tuatapere, the town at the end of the world. This is the last town to see daylight in New Zealand, hence the name of our help exchange destination—the Last Light Lodge.

The Lodge is a café-hostel-campground-farm type deal, owned by Craig, a 40-ish Kiwi guy who always wears a newsboy hat and cooks amazing food. His daughter Sophie, who is fourteen and best we can understand had at some point lived with her mum in Christchurch, lives with Craig, as does his French girlfriend, who has a beautiful French name that no one can pronounce and so is called “V”. A waitress named Jaz works in the café and a handful of help exchange/woofers (willing workers on organic farms) stay on the property and do odd jobs, like cleaning up the rooms after the guests leave, painting, and gardening.

About halfway through our three-week stay, Ryan showed up. Ryan is Craig’s friend who came to be an assistant chef. He lived for a while on Brick Lane in London, which is one of the seedier parts of the city (but home to a delectable, all-night bakery for those willing to traverse the streets after dark). Ryan is the sort of fellow who owns several guitars and can only play one song. His wardrobe consists of four old band t-shirts worn in a rotating cycle, most often with a pair of red skinny jeans.

This brings us to our first farm animal—Jack-Russell-Albus-Yoda-Chewbacca-A-Bunch-of-Other-Names-We-Can’t-Remember, the kitten. Kitten was generally playful and congenial, and he developed a habit of falling asleep in our laps when we were attempting to work on our laptops. Ryan, for reasons as yet unknown to anyone save himself, liked to grab kitten, place him under his shirt front, and walk around with him like that. It was just as odd as it sounds.

Our next farm animals are the chickens, which lived in a fenced area behind a storage shed. Everyday, someone would take the bucket of scraps collected in the kitchen and put it in the chicken’s feed trough. This person also checked for eggs in the nests in the coop. About once every couple of weeks, someone had to go into the chicken coop and remove the excrement left by the chickens in the nests and on the floor. While it is easy enough to put food in a trough surrounded by chickens, and not too terribly difficult to take eggs when the chickens are in the coop, it is rather hard to clean out the coop with all the chickens in it. Our first plan of action was for Destiny to clean out the coop while Kat kept the chickens at bay with a rake. This proved unsuccessful. Our next plan was for Destiny to distract the chickens (colloquially called “chooks” here) in the fenced-in area by waving her arms and crying “chookie-chookie-chookie!” During this masterful distraction technique, Kat placed a piece of wood over the door into the now empty coop, so that the chickens could not come in. This worked significantly better.

While we only had to clean the coop once, we did have to wrangle chickens again when, for no discernable reason, we found one wandering in the garden and another walking around outside the pen. After cornering the chickens and trying very hard to be neither pecked nor scratched, we managed to return them to their home. There are, sadly, no pictures of us carrying captured chickens. Just know that it was about the coolest anyone has ever looked while carrying a live chicken.

Toward the end of our stay, while hanging up laundry, we were interrupted by a squealing sound and the sudden appearance of a pig the size of a chubby shih tzu. Said pig, in a portrayal of quaint docility, followed Destiny around to the café, where Ryan apparently tried to catch it. When Ryan did succeed in apprehending the pig, it, in a moment of panic, began to squeal, and Ryan, in a moment of panic, dropped the pig. This resulted in a wild chase (down one of the three streets in Tuatapere) with Destiny and Kat trying to coax the pig with slices of bread and Sophie attempting first to attach a leash to the pig’s harness, then to put the harness back on, after the pig managed to wriggle free. Finally, Sophie threw her jacket over the pig, scooped it up, and carried it back to the lodge, where she kept it as a pet for two days until its owner returned for it.

The moral of this story: a covered door is better than a rake for keeping chickens where they belong.

In Which Kat and Destiny Go To Prison

Napier, a quaint little town of 1930s architecture, open-air cafes, and sunny ocean-side walks. The crystal sea sweeps in over a landscape of grey pebbles, warmed by the sun. In the distance, the lights of cruise ships twinkle in the mist. With eternally sad eyes, the bronze statue of Pania, the sea-maiden, gazes out across the waters to the west. Children splash in the cool fountain under beautiful trees that bend as if to kiss the ground with long, twisting limbs.

But at the top of the hill (insert scary music) a sinister presence lurks above the hapless city…

The Old Napier Prison. Seeped in stories of murder, betrayal, and desperation, the undulating corridors, twisted by the 1931 earthquake, echo with the ghosts of the long forgotten. The names of men locked away from the world are sprawled across the walls, accompanied by symbols of their hate and their loyalty. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse the quick movements of the resident ghost cat, who treads on silent paws the same hallways that once rang with the steps of damned. In the back corner, the hanging yard surrounds the gallows from which swings a noose, tied and ready, as if still waiting.

So, yeah, that’s where we lived for six weeks. Home sweet home. We slept in a prison cell and cooked in the prison kitchen and watched movies in what was once part of the prison mess hall. The cell one over from ours belonged to a schizophrenic who murdered his wife and kids—in the 1880s. Obviously, he doesn’t live there anymore. We played with the ghost cat that is supposedly possessed by a cat-lover convicted of fraud in the 1960s. During the day, we led groups of tourists around the prison, read by the beach, or walked around town. At night, we hung out with the other backpackers living at the prison, watching movies and going out to dinner and rocking quiz night at a local pub. That was about it. We had fun, and now we’re continuing our adventure. 

In Which Kat Bids Destiny Goodbye and Proceeds to be Epic

After telling Destiny and the rest of Napier farewell, I made my way to Wellington, where I got to experience the singular pleasure of being greeted by people I love as I stepped off the bus. My family took me out to dinner that night—and every night for the following eleven days. From Wellington we took the ferry to the south island and drove to Franz Josef, which brings us to:

Epic Adventure Number 1: Hiking to Fox Glacier.

We made our way along a riverbed to what honestly looks like a flood suddenly frozen. It’s eight miles long, beginning in the Southern Alps and ending in a rainforest. It’s one of those things you read about, then one day you see it and think, "It really is a huge piece of ice." Makes me feel like an Arctic explorer. 

From Fox Glacier, we went to Queenstown, where we had epic adventures 2 and 3.

Epic Adventure Number 2: Milford Sound

This was not actually in Queenstown, but you get there by bus from Queenstown. We left the sunbathing crowds beside the lake and, within 3 hours, were among snow-capped mountains. On the other side of these snow-capped mountains is a beautiful fjord surrounded by mountains and waterfalls. I stood at the bow of our boat as one of said waterfalls crashed down over me. It was brilliant.

Epic Adventure Number 3: Jet Boating

You put on a rain jacket and a life jacket and get into a boat strikingly reminiscent of a ski boat. You are then driven up, down, and around this snow-fed river that is shallow enough for me to wonder if I could even kayak it in some places. You get spun around, frighteningly close to the bank, and rather wet, all while in a 3 ton boat that’s riding on 10 centimeters of water. Think of it as driving a boat as if it were a jet ski.

After jet boating, we flew to Sydney. We walked on the Sydney Harbour Bridge, toured the Sydney Opera House, and spent Christmas Day on the beach. The day after Christmas, we flew to Cairns for the next epic adventure.

Epic Adventure Number 4: Snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef

It’s just as awesome as Nemo makes it out to be—crystal-clear water full of fish and coral of every shape, size, and color. Most memorable were the barracuda hanging out just behind the boat and the small orange and white clown fish.

The following day, before flying back to Sydney, we took a train into the rainforest where we had:

Epic Adventure Number 5: Cuddling Koalas and Feeding Kangaroos

It’s exactly what it sounds like.

We flew back to Sydney for a few days before my family headed back home and I returned to New Zealand. Thus passed my Christmas holiday. Now to begin another year. It’s going to be epic.