Rough accommodation and the journey back home.
Queenstown was the southernmost part of New Zealand we would visit on this trip. Milford Sound was the only sight to lay sore eyes upon left in New Zealand. I came to the realization that, roughly said, there's nothing for me here anymore. It's a horrible thought. Coming this far only to realize that you've made your dream come true, you've accomplished everything you've wanted. The realization that you are finished.
A month seemed like a lifetime.
Lifetime didn't feel very lively either and for one sullen second, I felt the nails of desperation clawing at my back. Why can't I just leave now? Why do I have to stay?
But for some reason my positive thoughts rose from the ashes of fires inside burned down. I pulled myself back on my feet before letting myself bathe in my own miserable head. A month of what seemed like nothing was there for a meaning, for something.
We made our way from Queenstown to Dunedin, a very moderate piece of road sightseeing-wise. Dunedin, the student capital of New Zealand, hosting 20 000 students of various interests, reminded about home, friends, fun – again - but I drew my thoughts back into reality, the now. We were picked up by our host, Kiwi-traditionally half an hour late, and the nice man took us to his farm.
I have never slept in a caravan before but in front of me was eight nights in a caravan with no heating, dust for a thousand vaccuums to suck up and an outdoors toilet that would've been pleasure in the military, but now felt like a chamber for death penalty prisoners. The shower might or might not be equipped with warm water, our host informed us. Apparently previous overnight guests has mentioned that the accommodation was a bit rough. Me and Maria (thank God for her happy spirit) replied that this wasn't rough – it was just a bit different.