Driving in the land of Kiwis...

Seeing as we were heading towards what is commonly described as the "adventure capital of the world," it should have come as no surprise to Tiffany and I that our first set of adventures involved nothing more than renting a car at the Christchurch Airport on New Zealand's South Island. "Do people drive on the left side of the road in New Zealand," I asked the incredulous Avis agent, to which she simply shook her head and replied curtly, "yes... yes they do." No matter, as she somehow managed to suppress her reservations about renting a car to the two of us. We got directions, keys and away we went.

It was decided that I would take the wheel for the first leg of the drive to Queenstown, as I had done the lion's share of the driving during our engagement trip last year in Ireland (where they also drive on the left side of the road). While it immediately became apparent that New Zealand's roads far exceed their narrow, winding counterparts in Ireland (and, in fact, those in the U.S.), nothing could have prepared us for what Tiffany aptly deemed a "good, old fashioned western shoot-out." For reasons we have been unable to ascertain to date, most of the bridges in New Zealand are only a single lane, and in a country blessed with so many rivers and creeks, these bridges appear with frightening regularity during almost any drive. Our heart rate during these precarious crossings only increased as we cut over to the mountainous central region of the island, where the bridges more often than not abutted a blind, mountain bend in the road. We simply had no idea if there was traffic coming from the other direction, which ultimately led to some interesting impromptu games of "chicken." Just when we thought the New Zealand Department of Roads & Bridges (not sure if this agency really exists) couldn't throw any more curveballs at us, we arrived at a sign indicating the upcoming bridge had the following attributes: (a) it was one-lane (no big deal by this point), (b) it was rather long, (c) the road on the other side was not visible as it immediately curved out of sight, and (d) the bridge also had a set of train tracks running down the center of it, and we should watch for oncoming trains! Were they serious? In any event, this was too much; I decided it Tiffany's turn to drive.

Almost immediately upon relieving me of my driving responsibilities, Tiff warned that "there's something wrong with the car - it won't go above 80 kilometers per hour." I didn't relish the idea of turning back to Christchurch to get a new car, as that would mean crossing "the most dangerous bridge in the world" once again. As the ever-trusting new husband, I had to experience this for myself so we switched again. As is turns out, Tiffany's (lovely) right leg wasn't long enough (or strong enough) to fully press down the gas pedal. Moving the seat up only decreased her line of vision over the dashboard, so we decided Tiffany would become the official navigator and I would drive. Incidentally, we had both already noticed that we felt rather short in this part of the world, and I guess their cars are designed for taller drivers.

Our driving adventure was made complete a few hours later when we came to some unexpected traffic in what appeared to be a completely rural area. There were only three or four cars around, but when combined with a thousand or so sheep lumbering down the road, things tend to slow down a bit. We finally succeeded in circumnavigating the sheep (by "off roading" a bit - the sheep had no intention of giving way), and arrived in Queenstown before nightfall.

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