To add insult to injury, the hostel where we were staying that night had somehow "never received" our reservation and confirmation for a private room, despite e-mail evidence to the contrary. With all other rooms in the small town of Motueka already booked for the night, we were stuck sharing four bunk beds with a German who was already sleeping when we arrived at 7 p.m. — thus relegating us to the kitchen if we actually wanted to speak to each other.

It was New Year's Eve, and the optimism that had carried me through up to that point was rapidly washing away. After seeing the forecast for rain the next day, when we would be hiking nearly 15 miles, we gave up and went to bed before midnight.

But just when New Zealand was right on the verge of losing us for good, it sucked us right back in. That hike, in Abel Tasman National Park, was spectacular. Sure, it drizzled in the morning and stormed in the evening, but For the first time on the whole trip, we probably had six solid hours of blue sky in between.

The hike followed a coastal track, through a rain forest with intermittent views of the golden delta-like sand and clear blue coves below. We were so excited by the landscape, and the forecast of actual sun for the next day, that we ran sections toward the end of the hike to finish in time to book a sea-kayaking trip there for the next day.

We had already reserved hotel rooms for the next two nights in a wine-tasting region a couple hours away, but at that point, we were drunk on sun. And we were willing to eat about $100 to stay that way.

We scrambled for replacement hotel rooms, literally beating another couple to a bed-and-breakfast by about a minute. We spent the next day kayaking on sparkling sunny waters in the morning, and wine- and fruit-tasting in the afternoon.

And as if sensing we'd be on the next plane out in the morning, the rain waited until we were actually checked into our hotel room for the night before starting up one last time.