So we left off on the evening of December 22. I promised you a crazy party night, as I was promised by our diver that the bar would “go off”. Not the case. I was desperately hoping for some non-backpacker bus people so that I could momentarily be a normal person, but alas it was not in the cards. The Kiwi Experience bus was there, however. Which is basically the same as Stray (the bus we are on), except they average 5-8 years younger and apparently don’t shower. It basically looks like a bus full for kids who make bombs in their basements being sent to reform school. Seriously frightening. Thank the lord we went with Stray. Or I’d definitely have been arrested by now for kicking the crap out of one of those little shits. I called out the Sweedish storytelling photog and told him he was creeping the girls out and to stop taking pictures of them. Someone had to do it. He tried to play innocent, but I know better. There is probably a website somewhere with our heads photoshopped onto naked bodies in some sick bus-fantasy senario. I got in a fight with an 18 year old German boy who I had the strong urge to punch. I decided that was my cue for some Rory alone time (I’ve been doing surprisingly well up till this point). I went to my room at about 11pm just so I could drink my vodka sodas in bed alone and watch TV…because we actually had a TV. Stina stayed out dancing and what not though. I’m going to try to think of something exciting from the night to tell you.
The Dick Docs gave us a little insight into why men desperately need their services. Apparently in Germany, and sadly probably elsewhere, guys stick their dicks in vacuum cleaners. Like, for sexual pleasure. And apparently some of the older models have the motor in the front instead of the back. Ouch. So if you wonder why German men universally have the male-equivalent of the bitchy resting face, it’s probably because they are scarred by getting their penis caught in a hoover. We also learned about swaffling, which is just when you go around slapping shit with your dick. Basically the perverted equivalent of planking. Do we have this term at home? Stina and I informed them that this was typically just referred to as a dick slap. But “swaffling” sounds much more scientific so we’ll go with that from now on. Luckily, we have no swafflers on our bus. Can’t say the same for the kiwi bus. Oh, and I finally realized why I’m single. I’ve been using the wrong pick up lines. So, I’ve decided to steal the best line ever from our bus driver, Lego: “Do you like bread?” And if the answer is yes, follow up with “Do you like garlic bread?”. Because, let’s be honest, weeding out the non-bread eating freaks is imperative. I know my Brother is currently reading this thinking “Rory, you should not be eating bread”. He’s probably right.
We woke up bright and early for our helicopter ride to the Franz Joseph glacier!!! It was fucking awesome. Rory’s first helicopter ride. I can’t believe I’ve been looking for a boyfriend with a private plane all this time (please see section on why I’m single) when what I really want is a helicopter and I didn’t even know it! But seriously, these things fucking rock. We then spent about 3 hours hiking around the glacier. Is it weird that this my second time in crampons in 2014? Our guide was a horrid storyteller – every story he told us ended with something horrid happening. Like the one about the guys who got stuck in an ice cave for 13 days and had their legs amputated…right before we went into an ice cave. And he had a shit eating grin on his face at the end of each story, which was a bit eerie. I think I’m going to have to add an optional storytelling seminar to my social interaction course. The course load for “how to not be a loser” is looking quite heavy. Anyway, we got to walk through this big narrow crevice and go through a little ice tunnel on our bums. For the record, 3 hours on a glacier is about 1 hour to many. But at least we had a helicopter ride to look forward to on the way down. Little travel fact: Helicopter is the only way to reach this glacier, as it is the fastest retreating glacier in the world. In about 90 years it will be completely gone. Some pics for you below!
After our glacier experience we were supposed to go kayaking (you know Rory loves a double activity day) but apparently the water levels were too high and rough, so the trip was cancelled. We were secretly a little happy, as this meant we got to spend the afternoon lounging the hot pools and napping before ALL YOU CAN EAT PIZZA NIGHT.
At about 7pm, we headed over for the pizza extravaganza. Now, the “all you can eat” was bullshit for a few reasons: (1) they bring out garlic bread and fries first, so you fill up on that shit and eat less pizza. I knew their game immediately…but I still ate the fries. I have no self control. (2) After bringing out a bunch of pizzas, they they make you wait 20 minutes in between pizza rounds, so that you have time to realize how full you are…just mean, (3) They give you a free beer, also to fill you up – ok I just realized I’m complaining about free beer, so I’ll retract this one, but you see my point, 4) they have a “last call” for ordering pizza. Now, I’m not saying I wasn’t full. I couldn’t have eaten another slice to save my life. But that shit ain’t “all you can eat”. But alas we are in NZ and in true not-giving-a-fuck fashion if they want to call it “all you can eat” they will. The only other people that seemed outraged by this false advertising were our German husbands. Which is another reason for the “why we love our bus husbands” column.
After all you can eat pizza night was the nightly game where you can win free shit – tonight’s game was the same as last night’s – rock, papper, scissors (Stina gets spelling credit for scissors, thank you Stina). And guess who actually won??? That’s right, little old Rory. All of our bus mates had gone to bed, so it was just us and our husbands there to rep Stray for the game (one of the Dick Docs won last night). There were about 25 kids from the GAP Experience bus. Now, the GAP kids are basically annoying, loud, spoiled, rich British kids who’s mommy’s and daddy’s fund their travels and have not yet figured out that the world doesn’t actually revolve around their twitter accounts. Basically, the Kiwi Experience kids but with money and friends. I could practically smell the Chlamydia emanating from this group. So naturally, I was beyond thrilled when I won, which was probably the only thing in the world that could shut these little fuckers up. We went to bed before they could drink themselves annoying again.