After a foggy day in Wellington capped off with karoke rendition of "Sweet Home Alabama" at the hostel bar, I made my way across Cook Strait to the South Island of NZ. The trip took about 3 hours, and the ferry was a gigantic floating palace. A bar, coffee shops, flat screen TVs even a movie theater on board - not that you would need any of it for the entertainment outside.

I expected to see a port at first sight of land, but instead we entered [we of the boat the size of Detroit] a winding cove. This would be my introduction to the famed South Island -- a sunny, calm inlet surrounded on all sides by craggy, verdant walls. The water and the hills seemed to be vying equally for attention, one a crystal blue and the other a deep, scouring-pad green. There were three birds keeping up with us on the right side of the boat, rising and falling with a slight breeze, and I wasn't sure if they wanted food or to race. I just stood there for about half an hour, looking over the railings, mist spraying in my face, and enjoyed the guessing of what might be around the next bend.