The Routeburn track, past Glenorchy, is one of the Nine Great Walks of New Zealand. No argument from us. There are three huts along the way for overnight stays. We walked to the second hut and returned, as was our intention. The climb is 1,800 feet elevation gain in a distance of 18 kilometers return, quite a day’s outing in a wonderland of forests, waterfalls, incredible mountains covered in snow and many swing bridges. We provide the statistics each time, not only to boast, but also to keep a record so that when we sit in our rockers in the future, we’ll have something to remember. Who knows how long Jenni will be able to carry us.
The hike gives one a taste of paradise. This got us thinking of three possible paths to ‘heaven’. The keeping of mitzvoth (commandments) is our duty but for most of us that is difficult. Some believe that exploding themselves and killing fellow humans is an ideal way of reaching paradise. Some are quite foolish and misled by disgusting, evil men. The easiest way to reach the goal, we believe, is to tramp in New Zealand. We realize this does not create an enduring benefit; it sure is quite a consolation prize though.
“We met a German Turkey,” we mentioned to our editor. ‘What nonsense are you talking, for a change,” she replied, not unkindly. We told her that the receptionist at our lodge has a German mother and her father is from Turkey. We hate it when she rolls her eyes but we suppose that is her perogative. We do find that many of the foreigners who settle or work in this country, after a short while, retain their accents but pronounce many words like locals. It tickles us. We envision the possibility that by the time we return from New Zealand, we might well lose our American accents. That would be a pity as we worked diligently for years to perfect them.
We were tired after not sleeping on our way to this country and then undertaking some tough hikes. We also read in the Torah portion of Jacob’s wrestling with the angel all night. Somewhat less importantly, we wrestled or struggled to get out of bed on Shabbos in time to daven (pray) before mincha came along. Our dilemma passed, as it should, unnoticed in the wider world. Jacob’s, however, has had a profound effect on all red-meat eaters—no hindquarters, fellows. ‘At least the cows are better off,’ we said to our editor. She gave us her understanding smile and we felt quite erudite and worldly. “I’m sure the cows feel better about retaining their back legs, Sweetheart. What difference do you think it makes to them without heads, though?” Sometimes we think she is just a little too clever.
In New Zealand, we generally don’t find many fellow Americans. Today we found two sets. The first was a couple, a few years younger than we, a very young couple. “You sound American,” we said to them. The man put out his chest and answered, “Yes, we are from California, in fact, from San Diego.” ‘Hmm! We, too,’ we replied. Quite a coincidence, we thought, as there are so few in the country and less on the trails. The other was a young woman, behaving in a manner that might have the ‘Green Police’ declaring a state of emergency. More about the ‘Green Police’ soon.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
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