7.2.2018: The Dream of Flying

Instead of taking the scenic route through the Catlins, I drive from Owaka to Gore on the Inland Highway. And all because I've never been there before - a bit crazy, really. The locals laughed at me or looked at me in astonishment when I told them about my travel plans. No one could understand what the hell motivated me to go to Gore. When I arrive, I am greeted by a large trout statue at the entrance of the town. During a short stroll through the town with a freshly acquired piece of apple-apricot cake, I realize that I had imagined Gore to be smaller. There's not much happening, of course, but it's enough to stretch my legs. The city probably doesn't see a lot of visitors, because no one makes a detour just for a trout statue (well, except for me), unless they have little time and use the Inland route as a shortcut. Shortly after Gore, I see a sign for Waikaia, which (don't laugh!) made it onto my list because of a house made of 20,000 bottles, but considering the 40 km detour, I decide against it.

By 2:00 pm, I reach Queenstown, where I spend some time looking for a free parking space. But I only find one 1.3 km away from the city center. Unfortunately, Queenstown is very hilly, so the way back to the car is very steep. My first stop is the iSite. I inquire about tandem paragliding and I'm quite surprised when they suggest 3:00 pm, since there are no bookings for the other two time slots yet and they may be canceled. Phew, that means I have to hurry with lunch, but I say yes. I still need accommodation for one night and I receive bewildered looks from all three employees. "That could be difficult at such short notice," says my customer advisor. About 8 phone calls later, she still hasn't found anything for me. Somehow I thought that the hostel market would already be relaxing in February, but I was wrong. It's now 2:30 pm and I'm supposed to check in for paragliding at 2:45 pm. The accommodation problem and lunch will have to wait.

I'm already expected at the office and barely three minutes later, I'm sitting in the fully occupied bus. There, I quickly take a motion sickness tablet, which, however, catches up with me on the curvy ride. Not a good condition for flying.

My flight attendant is named David and is a native Spaniard. Luckily, I packed a sweater and a jacket in my backpack before heading to the iSite, otherwise the next few minutes would have been quite chilly. Once I'm 'tied' to David and the paraglider with the harness, we are ready to go. After a sprint down the hill that lasts only a few steps, we take off and catch favorable updrafts. This allows us to gain much more altitude than the other paragliders. Always in sight: the mountains, the deep blue Lake Wakatipu, and Queenstown, as we glide over forests and sparse grasslands. In winter, when the mountains are covered in snow, the view is certainly even more fantastic, but then you should wrap up warmly. After a few minutes, I feel the familiar discomfort, which I reluctantly have to tell David, who started to spin in jest. Despite starting last and taking a favorable flight path, we land second to prevent worse. Bad stomach - shame on you! With over 200 NZD plus 60 NZD for film and photo material, it was definitely an expensive thrill, but on the other hand, paragliding was high on my list (just below swimming with seals) and I'm glad to have had this experience.

Back in Queenstown, I consult www.booking.com again and find out that the hostel chains Nomads and Base still have available rooms. Both are known as party hostels and have therefore been generally avoided by me. Well, today there's probably no way around it. Otherwise, I would have to pay 110 instead of 36 NZD. So, I reserve a bed in the eight-bed dorm (otherwise, only the ten-bed dorm would have been available) and take a little stroll through the city before checking in. Once again, I feel this strange feeling and knowledge that this will probably be the last time or at least the last time for a very long time.

To avoid having to carry my luggage for 1.2 km, I drive as close as possible - which means about 500 m - to the Nomads hostel. If someone hadn't taken the last parking space in Sydney Street at the last second, I would have saved another good 100 m.

The Nomads hostel is almost exclusively populated by young people, it spans several floors, is quite turbulent, the refrigerators are, as expected, packed full, and the kitchen is in urgent need of cleaning. It's uncomfortably warm in the room. There is a tiny window at the other end, but it can't even be opened. The air conditioning only cools it down slightly. When I go to take a shower and brush my teeth after a late dinner, hordes of young girls are getting ready to party the night away in one of the clubs. When I turn off the light at 11:30 pm, only three out of eight people are in their beds. I don't notice the return of the other roommates anymore.