New Zealand: Stories from the Road

Part 8

Slowing down, but not stopping yet

The Southland of New Zealand certainly stands out to me as a place where I felt at my most content. Every day we spent there we drove through huge expanses of green, gently rolling hills. I was surrounded by scenes of stereotypical pastoral bliss. Cows and sheep lazily grazing, often in the same field, their respective calves and lambs never far away. The pace of the trip slowed down. I was lucky enough to be abundant in the most precious and valued resource we have, time. I had nothing but time on my hands and nothing to do with it other than enjoy it. The fact that I felt somewhat cut off from the rest of the world, with limited signal and a 12-hour time difference between me and my family back home, only seemed to contribute to the warm and blissful glow in which I basked. I did little more than simply relax and be calm, reading, looking out of the window, going on lovely, non-hilly, walks.

Amongst all this amazing-ness I must admit there were some minor hardships. I was still showering once a week, twice if I was lucky, and living off packet meals, briefly heated up on a temperamental stove. Although the food was nice enough at first, I was certainly pretty tired of it by that point. A small little comfort that kept me going after the sun went down was the large bar of chocolate Cam and I had bought as a rare treat (we were on a strict budget that didn’t often stretch to chocolate and wine, two of the things that make me happiest in this world). We had been rationing that bar, allowing ourselves a maximum of three squares each a day, which was enough to make me feel I was allowing myself a lovely treat. For a while. One night, however, it suddenly wasn’t enough anymore. Cam and I had had our packet of curry and packet of rice, we had washed the dishes and eaten our three squares of chocolate, we settled in to watch whatever programme we had managed to download whenever we last had WiFi. And then, we wanted more. We were both dissatisfied, we felt we hadn’t had enough. Then, I had an incredible moment of realisation, we were both adults, we were capable of making our own decisions, and we could do anything we wanted. We ate every last piece of chocolate that was left that night (and what was left was half the massive bar). It was, and still is, one of the best nights of my life.

My life at that point, although it may seem it, was not entirely made up of the small inanities of life in a van with little money and no one to talk to other than my wonderful other half. Cam took me to some fantastic places, and I got to see things I never thought I would see. The most amazing of these things was the animals. Obviously, you can go to the zoo and see whatever you feel like seeing but it doesn’t really count, it can’t really ever compare to seeing something in the wild, stepping (carefully) into their world, being outnumbered by them. I saw the smallest dolphin and the largest seal in the world, probably, and spotted several snoozing sea lions (and one very much awake one who didn’t seem to care for the aspiring wildlife photographer just down the beach). My favourite, however, were the penguins. The smallest, sweetest, cutest penguins, waddling along the beach at sunset like three friendly drunks, stumbling home after a day of providing for their families. Did you know that the male and female penguins take it in turns to look after the children while the other hunts? Maybe we could learn something from them…

Goodbye to the van (and hello to hot water)

Over the course of the purely unforgettable two months I spent in New Zealand, Jucy Brenda (the van, if you can recall) had worked her way into my heart. That small but sturdy little van kept me warm and safe as I explored the most beautiful places in the world. Wherever I went, she was there, and whilst I was looking forward to a real bed and regular showers and being able to stand up straight while I got dressed and go to the toilet in a separate room rather than at the end of the bed, I was really going to miss her. For all her faults, and all the hardships, she was home in an unfamiliar place and, while I knew I would never forget New Zealand, I realised I would never forget Brenda either. But she had to go, and go she did, and I’d be lying if I said, for all my sentimentality, I wasn’t a little glad to say goodbye.

As the trip drew to a close I started to feel as though I was on holiday, I wasn’t travelling anymore, I wasn’t counting the pennies and fending for myself, I was about to go on a three-week holiday with Cam’s family, all expenses paid, and leave the thrifty lifestyle behind (for a little while). The last few days in the van were spent in Akaroa, an incredibly charming seaside town and the destination of choice for Christchurch residents looking for a long weekend away. It was the Thursday before the bank holiday weekend (or public holiday as they call it down under) and the holiday feeling was certainly infectious. The sun was shining, the temperature had soared, and we got the last free camping spot in town. Life was good and a beer was only going to make it better.

I was in reflection mode, looking back at a montage of all the beautiful places I had been and all the incredible things I had done. The green rolling hills, the crystal-clear water, the sunrise hike, climbing those mountains, learning to communicate with the cows. In that montage the bad moments flashed by as well, the weekly showers, the disappointing meals, hitting my head on every available surface because I, at little over 5 foot, was somehow still too big for that van, but I would simply look to the camera, sigh, and give a self-deprecating little laugh before the scene faded away into the next. Those rose-tinted glasses really are my favourite accessory.

What had New Zealand taught me? Well, it had taught me to merge like a zip, that a flushing toilet wasn’t a necessity, that I can eat purely for survival but that I don’t enjoy it, that my hair really does need washing every day. It had taught me to take a step back from the modern world, enjoy the quiet and simply be. It had also shown me that the life I wanted to live wasn’t to be found there, it wasn’t in Australia either. I missed home, I missed my family, I missed hearing a Yorkshire accent every day of my life (something I hadn’t had for a very long time), I even missed the way the road signs look and complaining about the traffic and the roadworks and the bloody government. The thing I missed most of all, though, was the pubs. Finding a cosy corner by the fire and settling in for the evening, chatting away or quietly observing that great cross-section of British society that is the local pub. They just don’t know how to enjoy a drink properly on the other side of the world. I was ready to move on and start making my way home. But taking the long way, of course.

What else have I learned? I leave a wake of destruction wherever I go. Since leaving New Zealand and, subsequently, Australia, I have been plagued on a weekly basis by news of disaster in almost every location I visited. I very strongly urge you to go to New Zealand while there’s still time. Honestly, it’s a wonder it’s even still there now.