The two species of possums and one cave woman

It's been long. Too long. I've been travelling for two weeks. Two very fun weeks. I won't tell you everything, it would take me way too long. I'm going to keep travelling for another two weeks or so, then volunteer for DOC (Department of Conservation) and then get a new job.

The West Coast (of the South Island) was amazing. Very lush and green, rainforests grow next door to glaciers. But, I found, the glaciers were just glaciers. Similar to those in Iceland: the ice is all broken up with cracks and crevasses and dirtied by soil and rocks, not smooth and gleaming blue like in children's stories. And there is no magic to using cramp-ons.

The West Coasters deserve a chapter for themselves. There was Peter, the Bushman, who set up the Bushman Centre with his son in Pukekura. The population of Pukekura is three, and all of them either work in the Bushman Centre, or own it. In the Bushman Centre you can view the less frequently sighted species of possums: the round one. The flat variety can be admired by tourists in abundance.

Then there was Steve, the knife-maker in Barrytown. His wife is the knife-seller; she sells all the models Steve makes for the tourists who come to make their own. Apparently the Lonely Planet says that he tells the worst jokes in the world. The Lonely Planet doesn't mention anybody else's jokes.

Then here's what other kiwis think of the West Coasters: Our last night in Marahau near Abel Tasman was our guide's last night on the tour (The Wild West, by Flying Kiwi). We were going to dine together in the Park Cafe, and she wanted us to dress up, either in 80's style or in no clothes. That doesn't mean naked (she's Canadian, after all), but in something that isn't a piece of clothing. I think the winner of the night was the Dutch guy who turned up in his backpack! So, the guide herself wrapped herself in a brown, furry blanket and painted brown streaks on her cheeks. The waitress in the restaurant asked her where she was from. She urged her to take a guess. "The West Coast?"

In all my travels, I'm getting sick of two things: one is people telling me I have a British accent. Yes, I know! Everybody says the same! Don't you think I've been told that before?

Maybe I'm being unfair, seeing as I've worked on my accent deliberately and would be disappointed if I didn't have a British accent.

The other thing is having to repeat my name at least three times or spell it out every time I meet someone new.

I'm being unfair again. I like my name because it's so unusual. But it's not "long and horrible and complicated", as the woman in the Cromwell i-site put it. For god's sake, it's only five letters long! And it's not horrible, it's unusual. Complicated, well that it appears to be. More complicated than I ever thought. Even when I've used the abbreviation Ot, people go, "What?" So I've given up on that one.

Oh, did I mention that my beloved sister has got me to almost empty my bank account? We've been rafting (so much fun, I told you already), canyoning (wet and cold, but once you've jumped off an 8-metre cliff, you're bound to be pleased with yourself), tramping (Abel Tasman coastal track was gorgeous, we walked 30k's...), sky diving (woohoo!), and best of all, flying an acrobatic plane. Words simply can't describe it, but it left me, um, speechless, with shining eyes. They're still shining, even though my sister's gone back to Auckland to fly out in two days' time... I'll miss you, Aura!