The way home (Abel Tasman, day 2 1/2).

Leaving our kayaks beached, the Abel Tasman group reclaimed our main luggage and piled into the vans. One van left for the Nelson airport, which is where we four girls got off. Cindy, Claudia, Steph, and I dumped our things on the sidewalk for re-packing and sprawled on a bench in the sunshine, letting the warmth soothe kayak-sore muscles.

Naps had, wet clothes changed, and bags repacked, we consolidated our things and said goodbye. Cindy is part of Arcadia's program in Wellington, not Dunedin, so she wouldn't be coming back with us: she had a different plane to catch, and she caught it after an hour or so. The remaining three of us had a mini-picnic on the bench -- Camembert smushed across the remnants of the Te Nikau bread -- while waiting for our plane.

For a girl used to the maximum-security US air system, flying out of Nelson is a startlingly low-key experience. Check-in required no ID, nor was there anything resembling a metal detector. We walked from our seats in the lobby through a pair of "Passengers Only" glass doors, flashed our tickets to the boarding clerk's scanner, and trudged straight out onto the tarmac. Stairs up into the jet with its under-wing engines, a brief settling into an economy-class seat, and we took off. The mandatory safety-features talk was the same as ever, so it's not that Air New Zealand doesn't care about safety. Was flying like this in the States, once upon a time? What makes NZ's airways so idyllic?

On landing in Christchurch, we spent another few hours at the airport trying to figure out our accomodation. We'd planned to stay with a few of Cindy's friends in the Arcadia Christchurch program, then catch the bus to Dunedin in the morning; but that fell through due to miscommunication, and we ended up having to find our own lodgings. After one hostel proved full and another wanted a key bond and passport fee worth twice the cost of the room, we finally found a reasonably cheap backpackers' with four open beds. I was exhausted by then, and my back killing me (next time I am not packing this much!), so I more or less dumped the bag on the shelf and myself onto the bed. I managed to revive enough to go out with Claudia and Steph for dinner, thankfully.

We slept that night comfortably, woke up at a decent hour in the morning, met our roommates briefly, and slid just under the check-out-time wire to head with all our gear into town. Downtown Christchurch, it turns out, is the sort of place that makes me wish I'd gone there instead of to Dunedin. More sunny and open than the Octagon here, their Cathedral Square has the city's eponymous cathedral, a lot of open grass and plaza, and a few vendors' stands even on a Sunday morning. To fill the hours before the bus, we crossed from there to the Botanic Gardens and passed a small arts fair on the way. We took turns, one watching the packs while two walked in the gardens; the daffodil lawns, unusual trees, and riot of spring flowers lifted a weight off my shoulders. Traveling is tiring, but there's nothing like flowers to cheer a girl up. On the way back we stopped to browse the art fair briefly. It reminded me very much of Labor Day in Northam Park, only with native-wood carvings and a lot of wool.

Cheered but still very tired, we pressed on to the bus stop. The bus arrived on time, scooped up a medley of riders, and headed off across the Canterbury plains and mountains towards Dunedin. I slept when I could, tried to write but was too tired, and stared out the window a lot. Home meant a hot shower and a good sleep; I was eager for it.

And that, good reader, was my spring break. I came out of it tired, grimy, and significantly poorer, with salt lingering in my wardrobe and new calluses in unexpected places; but it also came with inimitable memories, camaraderie, natural wonders, and a ton of fun. All in all, I cry success!