28022012

Rough accommodation and the journey back home.

Queenstown-Cromwell-Dunedin-Allanton

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.