There and back again! from Christchurch to Queenstown, part 1

Well, as usual during my annual Easter holidays, I visited my family down in the south island. For those of you that don't know, the majority of the Smith Whanau reside in Christchurch (my Mum, Dad, and sister), while my Brother is in Queenstown - playground of the rich and famous. So last Wednesday I packed my bags and boarded a plane bound for Christchurch.

I spent a single night in Christchurch, before arriving at the airport (again!) thanks to a ride there from my lovely Grandad. I proceeded to board a plane bound for Queenstown, and had probably the freakiest landing ever, where I swore we were going to clip the mountainside as we passed. The pilot said 'sorry folks, more like a Wellington landing!' when we landed, and I couldn't help but agree with him, thinking that the wing had been scarily close to the ground when we landed. Anyway, having arrived safely into Queenstown, I quickly spotted my little brother, and his bright yellow station wagon outside the main building. It was awesome seeing him again, as I hadn't seen him for a whole year, and I was looking forward to all the catching up and reminising on old times we'd be doing over the next few days.

My rather tall 'little brother', Glen.

It was all on that night at the Frankton Arms tavern, Glen's local, where we played many a drunken game of pool (and one that just seemed to go on and on, and both of us had only two balls left to sink, lol!). We were joined by Rod, who we've both known since Glen was kneehigh to a grasshopper, who provided the entertainment for the night, and a guy called Johnny, one of Glen's workmates, who provided us with plently of rude and sexist jokes!
Ah, good times at the Frankton Arms!

Glen had promised me 'an adventure activity' of some sort for my birthday (which was ahem, in February!) so we decided to give luging a go. Of course, he had been luging heaps of times before, but it would be the first time for me. I must admit, I was rather relieved at not having to jump off a bridge or parachute off a hill or jump out of a plane, and luging sounded rather tame in comparison (hey, I'm allowed to be a wuss!). Anyway, speeding down the hillside and trying to ram people from behind turned out to be heaps of fun. I can now quite easily say that if I lived there I would be a luge addict!


Groovy luging gear - complete with WW2 Trench Helmet!