Franz Josef Glacier

Oh Franz Josef, you beguilingly wonderous beast, you.

Hiking on a glacier was the last thing on my mind when my work pals extolled the virtues of New Zealand oh so many months ago. Pictures of sand swept beaches, suntans and umbrella’d drinks was more the type of vision I had in my mind.

But New Zealand offers some of everything it seems and hiking the Franz Josef Gacier came up number one on the lists of so many other travellers I came across in the early phases of planning.

So here I am on the rainy west coast, waiting patiently for the weather to pass and the beloved glacier to come into view. 

At least I’m warm and comfortable, right? Wrong. Franz Josef has been enduring a drought the past few months and despite the buckets of rain pouring down outside my window, not enough water has entered the town’s irrigation system leaving hot water taps turned off across town.

No hot showers, no dry walks outdoors.

This one is a wait-it-out stop and I’m here to endure.

My first night I meet Gadja, a German travelling with her kindergarten friend Heike and Heike’s fiancé David. These guys are wonderfully older and I relish in 30-somethings with which to bide the time. They pull out a game my step-brother taught me years ago and I’m back in the moment remembering the frustrating ups and downs of Phase 10.

The trio heads out in the morning and I burrow in for the long-haul. I’m lucky today, though, and catch a beautiful glimpse of the glacier out front of the hostel as the clouds clear for just a few moments while I’m outside.

The view from the hostel

I’ve seen snow and ice before, sure, but this is something really different, and I can’t explain exactly how.

Maybe it’s the way it seemed to appear out of nothing. Where clouded peaks existed last night, now blue ice stands in its place. 

Maybe it’s the magnitude of it and the fact that I can see it here, right in front of my face standing in my pajamas outside the hostel door. 

Or perhaps it’s just the sheer wonder that comes from seeing the natural wonders of our world. We’re such a small part of it all and seeing something like this is such a good reminder to our stressed out souls. Our lives are such a small speck in the scheme of the world, and this realisation can be comfort and heart to ones who’ve put so much distress into each of life’s decisions. Our lives are a small speck, and wonderfully so.

I go back inside happy and curl up on the couch with a book and a blanket over my head as the rain starts back up again.

Hours later as I’ve thoroughly ignored the day’s beckoning call, a young German named Carol taps me on the shoulder. It’s sunny outside, she says, let’s go!

She grabs her friend Melissa and throws me into their car en route to the trail leading to the glacial face. 

It’s nearly sundown when we get there and with rain coming down all day we’re treated to a gorgeous sight along the way, a double rainbow sharper than I’ve seen in years above a lushly green cliff face strewn with waterfalls tumbling down.

  

Melting ice from the glacier feeds dozens of waterfalls along the valley .

The heart of the glacier, thick, heavy blue ice that cracks and folds under its own weight on the way down.

Their story unfolds slowly along the road. 

Two German girls, barely of age, eeking out every experience in life on this desolate road. A serviceable car and not a nickel between them has these two literally living on the road, pulling up in neighborhoods and parking alongside the road for a few hour nap in the coldest part of the night.

Melissa sleeps well, thank God, as she’s the driver. Carol not so much, though she insists she’s gotten used to it. My mind flashes back to the moment I told Melissa there was no hot water in the hostel for a shower. Poor girl! Life on the road for these guys means pulling up to public restrooms with coins in their hands hoping tonight will be the night public showers pay off on the promise of hot water. As often as not, they’ve been let down.

A splurge for a hostel might happen every week or so and they are grateful as can be for their squeaky beds and cramped hostel showers. Grateful, that is, until I break their lovely bubble with my hot-water-less news. I’m so sorry!

Such tough girls these are and I love them for it, though I don’t envy their sacrifices in it. Every traveller needs her comforts, though, and Melissa and Carol are no exception. Starbucks is their obsession of choice and hot water or no hot water these girls are keen on caffeine and will gladly trade a night in the car for another fix.

I watch them in their youth and love seeing how sprightly and resilient they are. But I love my warm bed and send them off the next morning with hugs and admonitions not to get themselves killed or frozen along the way. They promise me they’ll survive and I have no doubt that they will. I hope they’ll read their story here and laugh with me in their adventure – and remember their promise to be safe. 

Take care young friends! And don’t forget to write your mother! It’s cold out there!