By now all of us on the Kiwi bus were itching to get down to Queenstown, none more so than Becki and I so we could finish our puzzle.

A charming alpine town by day, Queenstown comes alive at night as locals and tourists, tired from a day on the slopes, bungee jumping, canyoning, jet boating, or working in the various tourist offices, flock to the numerous bars, clubs and restaurants lining its quaint streets. Regarded as the peak of the Kiwi tour, our bus was not only looking forward to Queenstown on account of the extreme activities on offer but was also, as Ryan so beautifully put it, ready to get absolutely ‘Horrid Henried every night’.

Starting as we meant to go on, we spent our first night on an exclusive Kiwi crawl, run by two over-caffeinated Americans- Jerome*, a wannabe frat boy with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever and dance moves that suggested he had a skeleton made of jelly and Mila*, who looked like Kelsey from High School Musical and rapidly turned into a drunken mess, forcing Beth and I to listen to her life story. Together they promised us ‘cool photos from the night to make everyone’s exes jealous’, optimistic given the end results from their dated digital camera looked more as if we had attended a particularly wild wedding reception back in 2005.

Weird party reps aside, we made the most of our crawl as they shepherded us between bars, ranging from Mexican themed Loco, to London, which felt like a Pizza Express with a DJ plonked at one end, with the crawl ending at hipster World Bar. It was here that we finally cracked Brad, who showed rare signs of genuine human warmth by having friendly chats, buying us all some of the venue’s signature shots poured from a teapot** and refraining from freaking out even when Henry spanked him***

During the day, our big group subdivided, spending it nursing hangovers (or in my case wondering which kind of soft drink to hit hard that night), munching at Queenstown’s many eateries, pottering around the town and getting our adrenaline fix from the many activities on offer, reuniting in the evening to catch up and explore the local bars together.

Kate, Charlotte, Becki and I booked to go on the Shotover Jet, a thrilling jet boat ride through a canyon just ten minutes from Queenstown and after a morning full of cancellations due to bad weather and camping out in the office trying to get a ride, we managed to secure another slot.

It was absolutely freezing, as you can see from our stylish outfits for the occasion and even colder as our boat picked up speed. Our ride was made even more bracing by the stinging hail that whipped our faces, particularly painful at such a high speed, making it hard to open our eyes.

It was really exciting, with the thrill of it residing in the fact that there are no seat belts, just a chilly metal rail to hold on to- something we were very much aware of as our driver executed spins and ‘near misses’ with the side of the canyon.

Invigorated, cold and with our faces now feeling beautifully exfoliated, we headed back to town for some lunch, making the pilgrimage to Queenstown legend Ferg Burger, purveyors of delicious burgers (regarded by many as the best in New Zealand if not the world) that come in buns the size of your face.

Another Queenstown highlight was the day trip to Milford Sound, which was touch and go at one point as it would not be clear until we had got to a checkpoint whether we could continue, due to the snowy weather and poor road conditions.

It was an early start and a long day sat on a coach but one that was improved by sitting next to Becki, even if she had the cheek to steal my blanket and insist that I was the Michelle to her Beyonce as we treated our fellow passengers to an on board concert whether they liked it or not. We revelled at the luxury of being able to bring our hot drinks on the bus with our new driver Rik, stopping off for a walk in the Winter Wonderland that had formed in the snow around us.

As Rik pulled into the bus park, we stumbled on the bizarre sight of several Japanese twenty somethings posing on top of two huge black LandRovers, looking intensely at a camera, their expressions deadpan. What I had initially assumed was a joke (who doesn’t love an ironically serious picture) turned out to be deadly serious and I don’t think they appreciated the fact that Rik ‘accidentally’ parked the big green bus right in the background of their picture or the fact that we all raced off the bus for a messy snowball fight near their camera. Either way I’m sure it will make a lovely Christmas card.

We set off for a brisk stroll, which would have been easy had we not been sniped from the bushes by Kunal and Steven (who was thankfully less sneaky due to his bright red coat), and what started as a walk quickly turned into full on artic combat, with Rik demonstrating Rambo-esque determination, running round in a T shirt despite the snow and showcasing particularly deadly aim. When we returned, the Landrovers and their owners had vanished like woodland sprites, probably in search of a more peaceful setting for their photoshoot- hopefully remembering to get everyone off the cars before they drove away.

After another hour or so on the road, we finally made it through the mountains and the Homer Tunnel, to Milford Sound, resplendent in the winter sun. Despite being delayed by the snow, we managed to hop on a cruise, setting out into the fjord to admire the glacial waterfalls and majestic mountains above us that meet the sea. It’s a really ethereal place, almost Disney animation-esque in its perfection (it’s very hard to capture the colours and scale from water level definitely give it a cheeky Google) and we were even lucky enough to see a rainbow and spot some dolphins off the deck.

Before we knew it we had landed again and were back on the bus, admiring some of New Zealand’s most beautiful scenery in the fading light as we headed back to base ready for yet another night out.

For my final day in Queenstown, I opted to walk up Queenstown Hill, a steep climb up and a slippery journey back down due to the snow but one that was definitely worth it as I reached the ‘Basket of Dreams’ sculpture at the top and looked out across the mountains and the town below, already buzzing with the start of the ski season. There was great peace to be found up there, something always welcome on such an intense trip and the deserted mountains so close to the busy streets served as a reminder that no matter where you are, nature is always practically on your doorstep here in New Zealand.

That night, which would be my last with that particular group, was bittersweet, as we descended upon Winnie’s, a local bar to revel in one last night of ‘ chopping and dancing, tainted only by the nagging doubt of when we would ever be able to reunite as completely or as carelessly as in that very moment, with some people planning to remain abroad for the foreseeable future.

Our group had begun to fold, with the departure of people headed home or for new destinations- or in the case of Henry, the nation’s favourite hairdresser from Romford (Kem who?) and Sean, a smelly London geezer with a passion for crossdressing******, putting down roots in Queenstown, meaning we would be leaving them behind.

We had even had to say goodbye to dear old Brad, who disappeared like a grouchy bald Nanny Mcphee, now that we wanted him but no longer needed him, driving his bus back to Auckland ready to train a new band of recruits in the arts of timekeeping and bus stacking.

Regular readers of my ramblings will know that I don’t like saying goodbye, having struggled in Fiji after knowing people for a week and this was even harder as we had all been living together 24/7 for nearly a month. The fact that we had got on so well, despite our different backgrounds, was nearly as surprising as Jonathan, with Ben quipping that it was probably less of a culture shock for me to meet the Maori than John, our very own Brummie. Perhaps it was these differences that allowed us to enjoy each other’s company for so long, as there was always a joke to be made at someone’s expense and in rare moments of intellectual conversation, it was very enriching to hear everyone’s unique take on life.

****

The boys had done a sterling job of looking after me as the youngest member of the pack and I felt like I had acquired a new set of brothers, as they allowed me to trail them to the supermarket, or on one of Brad’s many compulsory walks. It was always comforting to know that creepers on nights out could be banished with a panicked look and a wave in the right direction and Ryan even bestowed me with the title of ‘Honorary Little Sister’- which with my baggy T-shirt, Thomas The Tank Engine socks and dance moves borrowed from a ten year old who had drunk too much squash, was a role I fully inhabited.

If they were my brothers then Kate, Beth, Tammy and Becki were my sisters, joining me without fail for late night Maccies, on the dance floor or for a TLC singalong. Like the boys they helped keep me alive, lending me shampoo/tinned spaghetti/pyjamas/ a bed to sleep in, waiting for me as I looked for the fifth ‘lost’ item of the day and generally looking out for me as I bumbled my way around Queenstown-guess who ran into a glass door and accidentally walked out of a restaurant without paying.

Jack feeding the five thousand, ‘Social skills’, the Ben dance, ‘Unwritten’- the Sarah and Britt version, the Happy Meal Toy, Wonderwall, even CHOP CHOP CHOP and that good old family favourite, INTERNATIONAL COCK OR BALLLL, these are only some of the things from this trip that I’m sure will stay with/scar me forever.

On this trip I have come to learn that the memories formed with others along the way, have far greater resonance for me than the incredible views or places I have witnessed, as they are what will forever separate my own personal Kiwi Experience from every other backpacker as they too pick up the well-trodden routes in this remarkable country.

As our bus pulled away from the hostel the next morning, with Britt, Hayley, Ryan and Russell waving us off to our next stop of Lake Tekapo (even though I’m pretty sure they didn’t need to be up that early) I was filled with nostalgia and sadness but took this as a sign of the fact I had had such a great time. I was excited to see what the next leg of the trip held as I headed back up North- find out what happened in the next post coming soon!!

* Their names were not Jerome and Mila

** told you he liked us, thanks Brad you’re a legend

***evidence suggests he actually really enjoyed this

**** if you are puzzled by the kiwi, it is because Oli is demonstrating for the uninitiated exactly how International Cock Or Ball works. If you think this sport might be for you and are interested in joining the Society, please enclose a picture of your genitals and a £20 cheque to a Mr C. Gibbs or a Mr O. Radford who will send you your very own tracksuit and add you to the mailing list.

******most of the time he doesn’t actually smell. He has also only been found in a dress on a few occasions- usually for free drinks.