I am the cold master. At least that is what I thought before I came to Z. Don’t get me wrong, I brought enough woolens, thermals and kevlar body armour to sink a battle ship, but I didn’t think I’d be needing it til I got to the snow.

After hanging cools in Palmy North, the night of the 4th was spent in the nation’s capital, Wellington. A stroll through the city revealed a much more happening city than I remember it being fifteen short years ago. Despite warnings from the crew, I set out for the aforementioned stroll wearing two t-shirts, trousers and shoes, and nothing else. Keeping in mind, of course, that I am the cold master.

The rest of the evening was spent at the motel watching the ubiquitous Sky television, and sneezing like buggery.

Next day we got up bright and early for the ferry over to South Island, and after we picked up the new car—a 2002 Pulsar, much nicer than the other car—we set course for the western town of Greymouth, where I sneezed like buggery some more, and watched the ubiquitous Sky television.

Continuing down that general west coast highway type road on the 6th, we found time and time again that the towns we intended to stay in, weren’t worth staying in. Originally we had intended to stay in Fox Glacier, but as we arrived there at lunchtime, and this is a road trip, we eventually rolled into the ski resort town of Wanaka, just a stone’s throw from Q-Town.