Abel | travelingrealblonde

Two and a half months ago I arrived in New Zealand. Normally I try to write as I go, but because everyone speaks English here I actually had the capacity to engage in conversation: not so much of a burning need to put to paper unspoken thoughts.

But I digress, I came flying to New Zealand on a one way ticket with a three month visa not really having any idea where I would be after those three months: NZ or USA or … who knows. (Side note: I don’t know what I am doing or want to do; short term, long term, mid term. If I tell you otherwise and/or make up some “intention” it is because I love you and I am trying to play along with social pleasantries). SK picked me up from the airport and took me home to meet his Mother and Father. Having not slept any of the 24 hour commute, having been the magnet for crying babies on every plane, having had a bottle of Dave’s Insanity Hot Sauce explode in my luggage and with fingers tingling with burn from attempting to clean it out: I met SK’s parents. I have never felt so awkward in my life. I believe the first words out of my mouth were: “It is so good to meet you! It is so good to finally meet you. <pause as I realize I have run out of things to say> I am so sorry I am so awkward.” SK’s brother (who I had met in Laos) was also there to witness the awkwardness. I mentally cursed the beet red face of my shy, five-year-old-self for its unexpected comeback after 20 years. Although, after I mistook a garden ornament for a live gecko, I figured expectations were dropped and I finally relaxed.

The next day, 12 of SK’s friends started flying in from all of New Zealand (intimidating) to participate in the New Year’s Eve festivities of hiking in the Abel Tasman National Park and having a party on the beach. The park is named after the Dutch explorer who “discovered” New Zealand. I put that in quotes because in history “discover” seems to be synonymous with “A White Person Saw It” despite most of these lands already having been discovered and settled by other races.

Back to the present: it seemed odd to me that SK had so many friends who were “keen” on backpacking. But I soon discovered being outdoorsy is a part of being a Kiwi citizen – no matter your personal style. For example, one of the immaculately stylish girls had no problem hiking with her backpack (and a wicked pace, mind you). Later she set up her tent and proceeded to paint her nails. I have never met a girl in the States (or in any other Nation) who would get out and backpack and yet was simultaneously so dedicated to her nails. Surprising by US standards (how often have we been asked: so what is your favorite thing to do? What is the one thing you are really good at? Creating a dialogue incorporating singular ideals to which achieve now seems rather limiting), having such multidimensional personality seems to be a part of being a Kiwi.

The hike was thought-provokingly beautiful, despite being overcast, since the surrounding biology contrasted from one minute to the next. We began walking along tidal boardwalks with the ocean stretching on one side and jungled hills rising on the other. And sooon we were in the jungle and the smells were so foreign I initially likened them to sun soaked garbage. Just as I was about to comment so, SK said: “Oh yum! Can you smell the Beech trees?” SK smiled excitedly, “It’s one of my favorite smells!” A rare occasion: I held my tongue.

Our way wound us up along cliffs overlooking coves with golden beaches and deceptive turquoise waters too cold for toes. Suddenly, the vine covered palms and giant ferns submitted to wind stunted coniferous growth with susurrant moss that swallowed our footsteps. We were swept down, down to the sea to our campsite cove in Anchorage Bay. Fortuitously, the skies cleared and the sun shone as we set up our tents and put on our “togs” – bathingsuits – and walked the 20ft to the beach.

Camping in New Zealand is quite different to camping in the States. One of the main polarities I saw is Kiwis seem to actually enjoy being in nature while they camp, versus the average American camping style where the goal seems to be: How can I buy enough things so I can forget I am in the buggy/dirty inconveniences of nature? In NZ; the campsites are really clean, the grass is green, bushes separate tent areas instead of concrete parking spots – in fact, there are no cars at all. Additionally, Kiwis generally have this sentiment that they have a right to their country’s land as a citizen. Which means the majority mentality of the country is to support maintaining National Parks in the most beautiful places: about 30% of the land mass of NZ is in public ownership and has some degree of protection. Meanwhile, in the America the Beautiful, many National Parks are having to close due to the government choosing to spend on Killing– AHEM I mean “National Defense” instead. So while I have previously stated I utterly loathe camping, I will now add the qualifier: in the States. Camping in New Zealand is divine.

That night we stretched out tarps in the center of our tent circle and in our sleeping bags looked at one of the most magnificent skies I had ever seen. It looked like some goddess had accidently knocked over and spilt her personal collection of stars. It’s weird to think this kind of beauty was once privy to everyone, even in cities, before Thomas Edison came around.

The next day, on New Years Eve, we hiked up to Cleopatra Falls where there is a natural rock slide in the rapids. SK was one of the few to brave the ice cold waters and get a nice rock bum burn badge of honor in the process. By the time we were returning to the campsite, I was rather relaxed with SK’s crowd. So the games and general raucousness leading up to midnight were quite fun with new friends for the New Year. As the Roman calendar was reborn, a boat anchored off the shore set off a display of fireworks, simultaneously sparking my nostalgia and bringing to mind all my previous New Year’s Eve in New York and the family and friends I had spent them with. Although everyone back home still had another 17 or so hours to go…

We woke up to a torrential downpour, with all forgotten items outside the tent soaked. With damp clothes and cloudy heads we struck camp and returned back to SK’s extremely hospitable parents in Nelson.

After all of SK’s friends had returned to the corners of New Zealand from whence they came, SK and I began planning our road trip of the South Island. Our rough outlines would be to start after one of his family friend’s weddings in three weeks, to be near Mt. Cook during the new moon for optimal stargazing, and to make it to the Hokitika Wildfoods Festival. Break.