Other People's Adrenaline

The following day is our last on the bus, and we are due to arrive in Queenstown by four in the afternoon. Before that, however, there are a few stops to make - firstly to drop off a bunch of people at Wanaka, so that they can strap themselves to a stranger and throw themselves out of a plane.
We leave them hyperventilating at the side of the road where a minibus trundles along to pick them up. The rest of us get dropped off at a place called Puzzle World, which boasts a large maze and a series of 'illusion rooms'. If this all sounds a little bit like a kids theme-park, albeit in a science-isn't-dull sort of mode, the big signs posted up around the location firmly declare otherwise: "This is not a children's play park" said one, "Please keep your offspring under control."
Once inside, you could understand why. The adults were clearly having far too much fun to let the kids get in the way.
The Illusion Rooms boast four chambers, each demonstrating a different visual or spatial effect. The first is a straightforward gallery of holograms, but things start getting strange when you step into the second. This is a large, hexagonal chamber with each wall covered from floor to ceiling with celebrity heads. So that's Ghandi on the far wall, Einstein beside him and Elvis to the left. So far, so strange.
The trick is, that each model head is inverted - each being the hole in the wall which might be left should each celebrity be persuaded to walk face-first into a wall of soft cement. Lit in a certain way, if you walk through the wall with one eye closed, the heads appear to be not only protruding out from the wall, but also following your every move. The effect is very creepy indeed, particularly when you become aware that you're sharing the room with a bunch of other people who are looking a little freaked out while winking furiously.
The next room is more fun: a hands-on demonstration of the visual tricks that were used in the Lord of the Rings films to make hobbits look more diminutive than they actually were. The final room is the weirdest of the lot: an apparently normal space, but cunningly built so that everything - including the floor, is constructed at the same 30 degree angle. So, once you have got over the sight of snooker balls rolling uphill, and water dripping upwards, you have to come to terms with the fact that although the room looks normal from the inside, you constantly have to fight the urge to throw yourself against the far wall. Very peculiar indeed.
The maze, we save until last and the blistering sunlight proves to be an impetus to reach the cleverly located cafe near the exit. A little teamwork proves to be required to solve the thing, and even morose-afro-boy seems to be enjoying it.
Perceptions and perspectives suitably altered, we catch the bus and head off to pick up the skydivers, who look (understandably) as though they have been through an experience every bit as enlightening and/or traumatic. As with most of the sky-diving centres around New Zealand, the company offers tandem dives, so that the paying punter is dolled up in a flight-suit and helmet and then securely clipped onto the harness of someone who knows what they're doing. Where once the activity was restricted only to the military and Blue Peter presenters, it is now possible to leap from planes all over New Zealand with pretty much no training what-so-ever.
"It was amazing." Susie tells us, her eyes still darting back and forward. "I'm sorry, my body is still full of adrenaline, I'm going to have to go up and down the bus a few more times before I can sit down."
The jumpers' each received a DVD showing their exploits in their full glory, each is given a chance to plug them into the bus television so that we can all see them. In each, their expressions, focused on entirely by the camera operator who jumps with them, shift from nerves to worry to wide-eyed-oh-to-hell-with-it-terror to awe to elation. My own expression remains set at wistful envy. But hey, we got lost in a maze, right?

Queenstown is the adventure capital of New Zealand, the gateway to a number of long-distance walks and located on the banks of Lake Wakatipu and in the shadow of a mountain range aptly named The Remarkables. It also has probably more waterproof clothing per square metre than any other place on earth bar Keswick in the Lake District.
Here, our tour on the Stray bus trundles to a halt, and as those continuing on the tour down south check themselves into the backpacker hostel, Tamsin and I grab a taxi to our own accommodation, The Hippo Lodge. With the size of the bags we carry, the taxi is a very good idea, as like Auckland (which in no other way does Queenstown resemble) there seems to be an awful lot of uphill walking involved to get from one location to another. The fact that our new hostel is located on a street called 'Anderson Heights' should give an indication of where it is positioned, but gives no indication at all of the gradient of the street itself. Let's just say that here, a snooker ball will not roll uphill, in fact were it to roll downhill, it would gain so much velocity that rather than stopping, it would probably take out at least six rows of houses and a small dog. It's that steep.
Luckily, the hostel itself is worth it, a lively and comfortable place, it also boasts a magnificent view out over the town, the lake and those wonderful - sorry, remarkable mountains.
Queenstown may be notoriously touristy, with cost of living hiked to reflect its seasonal popularity, but it is a startlingly beautiful place. Lake Wakatipu is the second largest in South Island, and much of the town's industry is based upon both it and the nearby mountains. Winter, of course sees the place as a ski-resort, while in the summer months, the landscape shifts to accommodate other activities. Sailing, walking, more horse-riding, cycling and so on and so forth, in addition to all of the 'extreme sport' style escapades which the area has become famous for. Here, you can hare around the rivers in a high-speed jet boat, throw yourself down white water rapids in an inflatable raft, strap yourself to a rather dangerous looking fly-by-wire aircraft and zoom at high speed left, right and centre or any thing else which stimulates the adrenal gland by simulating some near-death activity.
And so, we say our farewells to the bus as it goes on its merry way, and Tamsin throws herself out of a cable car some one-hundred-and-forty or so metres above a canyon.
One of these events is not, it should be stressed, related to the other, and there was a great-big wrist-thick length of elastic joining the cable-car to Tamsin's feet before she threw herself into the void, but you get the idea.