Christchurch, New Zealand

Our room rate included a continental breakfast, which was mediocre at best. The croissants were stale and the brewed coffee would not have won any awards. Given the accolades that the George has received, it was a bit disappointing.

On this, the final day of our two-week trip through New Zealand, we focused on art, starting at the Christchurch Art Gallery, a beautifully designed yet completely bizarre place. The gigantic inflatable finger in the lobby might have been our first sign that this museum would have us questioning the definition of “art.” (Similar to my experience at MUMOK in Vienna.)

The Arts Center was much more up our alley. Formerly University of Canterbury, the gothic building has been transformed into a cooperative, with independent artists setting up small studios within. We purchased some gifts from a local potter before heading back to the hotel.

High Street and SOL Square is the fashionable part of Christchurch, so we headed there next to look at the terribly unfashionable clothing boutiques and small art galleries. Nood, a furniture store specializing in mid-century modern furnishings, was selling a really cool George Nelson clock at a great price. It was too good to pass up.

Now, I’ve just got to figure out how the heck to haul it home.

Returning to the George, we walked through central Cathedral Square, where alongside the namesake Christchurch, a modern conical sculpture had been built to commemorate the millennium. Inside, a choir practiced and intricate stained-glass windows lined the walls.

The saleswoman at Global Culture (cool t-shirts) recommended an Italian place on Columbo Street for dinner. Café Valentino had a hearty seafood chowder (“It’s yummmmmy,” the store clerk had said earlier in the day. We now agreed.). The thin-crust pizza, however, which we had heard was baked in a wood-burning oven, was a little soggy.

As we finished up our Mac’s Gold beers, we reflected on this remarkable island nation. The Kiwis are some of the most friendly, outgoing people that we have ever met. They are trusting and clearly place a strong emphasis on community and family. Their isolation here has bred within them a perpetual need for adventure. It has also instilled a sense of sustainable building practices and contemporary architecture — although their fashion sense is far from that of Paris.

Having driven about 2,000 miles of it, we can say that this is a beautiful country, one with 4 million residents and 40 million sheep. It is raw and, at times, desolate. But it is these very characteristics that makes New Zealand one of the most spectacular places that I’ve ever visited.

My hellish trip home, about 13,000 miles and 30 hours, commences at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll fly from Christchurch to Auckland to Los Angeles to Memphis to Raleigh. Remarkably, if all goes as planned, I’ll be back in Chapel Hill at 8 p.m. — on the same day.

Nothing like ending a trip like this with a bit of time travel.

Christchurch, New Zealand

After so many early wake-up calls, it was nice to sleep in this morning.

On the recommendation of Lonely Planet — confirmed by our hotel concierge — we walked into town for breakfast at Vudu Café. It was easily the best of our entire trip. The flat whites were creamy, rich and sweet. But it was the lemon butter pancakes, topped with fresh black and blueberries and maple syrup, that were just delicious.

We packed our bags and dropped off the rental Toyota at the airport. Avis then proved it is the world’s best agency by eliminating our one-way drop-off fee and reducing the bill by about $200. We’re still not sure why — but we certainly didn’t question their offer.

Our luck was different checking in with Jetstar, a discount subsidiary of Qantas. Like Ryanair, the airline offers obscenely cheap ticket prices but then charges like crazy for extras. Our bags were 9 kilos over the weight limit, which cost us an additional $90. Still, even with that charge, the one-way direct tickets to Christchurch, about an hour northeast, cost less than $70 a piece.

Christchurch, the largest city on the South Island and populated by about 300,000, was founded by the Church of England in the mid-19th century. The city’s architecture, gardens and culture remain eerily reminiscent of its founders’ home country. Our hotel, appropriately enough, was The George, a member of the Small Luxury Hotels and consistently rated one of the best in the city and the country. Needless to say, we had high expectations.

Our premium executive twin room had recently been renovated, with views across the street to Hagley Park, planted by the first provincial government in 1855. The bathroom had the usual products — but we had never seen customized hotel soap, engraved with the George logo. Baller.

The weather was summery so we made our way through the manicured park lawns and across stone bridges, as punters and kayakers boated down the Avon River, to the Botanic Gardens.

Many of the garden’s plants, like the azaleas, were exploding with color. Roses were starting to bloom. Uniform-clad school children walked to cricket lessons. Gigantic sequoia trees — similar to those in Rotorua — soared overhead.

We had heard and read about a Burmese restaurant, Bodhi Tree, and since neither of us had ever tried that type of ethnic cuisine before, decided to give it a go for dinner. When we arrived, the place was packed — and not only was their no room tonight, but it was also fully booked tomorrow. We made note that Burmese food was either spectacular or the restaurants in this city were terrible. Or both.

A nondescript sushi place on the Avon provided us with a decent, if unspectacular, meal.

Tomorrow, our last day, we explore Christchurch further by foot.

Queenstown, New Zealand

We almost had to sleep on the street last night.

The Queenstown Park locks its front doors at night and we left our key in the room. Usually, this wouldn’t present too much of a problem. But could it really be that easy in the adventure capital of New Zealand?

There was no outside phone or emergency contact. And being the only hotel guests, there were no windows to knock on. We walked down Camp Street and saw a television on in one of the second floor rooms. With little other choice, we began pelting the window with small rocks and mulch chips. After a couple of minutes, the lights came on and the sliding door opened. And out walked the hotel owner.

“Have you had too much wine?” he yelled out. Nope, unfortunately, we just couldn’t get back inside his hotel. We all had a good laugh.

This morning we were up before the sun at around 6 a.m. Our destination was Milford Sound, acclaimed to be New Zealand’s most famous tourist destination. The drive in the early dawn went faster than we thought — just about 3.5 hours, with a stop at a bakery in Te Anau.

As we entered Fiordland National Park, the country’s largest, the surroundings changed dramatically. The road carved through dramatic valleys as low hanging clouds framed the soaring, snow-capped mountains.

With summer approaching, temperatures rising and snow melting, the park has become prone to avalanches. We passed several signs warning against stopping in particularly dangerous areas. By Homer Tunnel, a tremendous avalanche had come across the road a few days prior — emergency vehicles were still patrolling and cleaning up. Fun times.

We arrived at the Milford Sound Wharf, which even at the early hour, resembled a busy train station. After considering our options, we decided to cruise with Real Journeys.

The boat was only half full so we were able to grab a table beside one of the windows. Because a light rain was falling, many temporary waterfalls roared off the steep mountainside. Dramatic, beautiful and peaceful all at the same time.

The outside deck became crowded with Japanese tourists when we spotted two humpback whales that had found their way into the fiord. After turning around in the choppy Tasman Sea, we passed a pod of dolphins, seals lounging on the shoreline and several blue penguins.

Returning to shore, we took in one last look of this simply magic place.

It was a long drive back, another 3.5 hours. But passing tour buses and arriving back in Queenstown at 4 p.m., we were glad to have done the trip independently. After resting up, we went for dinner at Pier 19, a restaurant with dramatic views, good food and terrible service.

Our flight to Christchurch, our final destination in this country, departs tomorrow afternoon.

Queenstown, New Zealand

Breakfast wasn’t included in our room rate and although the coconut French toast sounded tempting, the $25 price tag was ridiculous. We opted instead for flat whites and muffins at Mediterranean Market, an organic, fake Whole Foods market just down the street.

Driving 45-minutes north from Queenstown, we arrived in Glenorchy, a small settlement nestled between Mount Aspiring National Park and the Dart River. The town is the self-proclaimed “Gateway to Paradise” but is probably best known to international audiences as the setting for several scenes in the first “Lord of the Rings.”

We’ve not seen the movie and there wasn’t much happening but the setting was tremendous.

We continued further north, passing dried river beds and, unsurprisingly, more g(r)azing sheep at the base of these awe-inspiring mountains. In the process, we lost count of the “Wows” and “How amazing?” continually being sighed.

Our destination was the Routeburn Track, one of the world’s greatest hikes, according to National Geographic. The track runs from outside of Glenorchy for 45-kilometers to Milford Sound, passing the alpine peaks of Mount Aspiring and rain forest choked valleys.

The track is not yet fully open for summer and there remains an avalanche threat. We opted to spend a low altitude day on the trail, starting with a long ascent, over suspension bridges and across bubbling rivers, along a remarkably well-maintained and sign-posted path.

A few kilometers in we came upon what appeared to be a brand-new outhouse. The fact that this was placed in the middle of the wilderness just goes to show how serious Kiwis are about making outdoor activity and environmental protection a national priority.

After seven kilometers, we emerged from the forest, the skies cleared and we entered the Routeburn Flat. We came upon the first shelter, open but abandoned.

On a picnic table, we set out a delicious lunch (also courtesy of Mediterranean Market), which we peacefully enjoyed in the sun without another soul around.

Then, suddenly, in the distance we heard a motor. Looking into the sky, we saw a rapidly approaching helicopter hauling a huge cargo net. As it touched down in front of us, we held our food containers. A woman, wearing ear protection and a bright yellow vest jumped out. She began racing toward us and promptly lost her footing in a ditch — causing her to face plant just feet from where we sat with surprised looks.

Trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, she said that we had to leave. “Landing, shelter, safe,” she blurted out before grabbing our olives and moving us inside the hut. We looked at each other confused and complied. We would later learn that this chopper was resupplying the Routeburn huts in advance of the track’s official opening at month’s end. Enjoying our lunch had clearly conflicted with these plans. We had a laugh and made our way back to the car park.

A friend of mine who had visited New Zealand last year told me that while here in Queenstown, a visit to FERBURGER, a revered local institution, was a must. “The best burger EVER,” he wrote me. That type of claim would have to be validated.

On the main street, we found the joint bustling. After debating the lengthy menu, my mind was set on the Southern Swine — prime New Zealand beef, American streaky bacon, lettuce, tomato, red onion, avocado, aioli & tomato relish. And just because that didn’t seem indulgent enough, edam cheese was added. The gigantic beast of a burger was served up a few minutes later in a brown bag, along with a side of fries, garlic aioli and a Mac’s Gold poured from the tap.

Verdict on the best burger claim? After 15 kilometers on the Routeburn — a clear yes.