The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 4)

We have cautiously twisted our way down the wet and windy west coast, along narrow winding roads that feel dangerously close to the sea.  We have gone from the rugged grey coastline of the north down to the magnificent Southern Alps, and have been astounded at the diversity in landscape over such a small stretch of land.  Much of this part of the country is National Park, the result of which is vast expanses of exquisite, isolated land that you can drive through for miles without seeing another soul.  It is certainly fortunate that, after eight and a half months of marriage, Phil and I still enjoy each others company as much as we do!  We have walked for miles through astonishing, unspoiled beauty; along beaches, over mountains, through valleys, accumulating over fifteen hundred photographs in just over a fortnight.

From the peace and quiet of Karamea and Gentle Annie’s Enclave, we drove to Franz Josef where we climbed a glacier by day and soothed our aching muscles in alpine hot springs by night.  Another long drive over the achingly beautiful Haast Pass and we arrive in Wanaka and wonder what all the fuss is about.  But during a walk on the second day, the thick grey blanket of fog that has been shrouding the earth and causing me relentless frustration suddenly lifts, and we finally see why everyone falls in love with Wanaka.  A pretty town on the edge of a turquoise lake; surrounded by hills; surrounded by magnificent snow-capped mountains.  Well, we certainly weren’t excepting that, and we were so grateful to God for a glimpse of it.

On to Queenstown, and Phil throws himself off a 134m platform attached to nothing but a giant elastic band.  I chicken out, fearing that if I go I’ll probably end up playing musical statues with myself and not be able to force myself over the edge.  Instead I go horse riding, by the end of which I feel like I’d probably quite enjoy the solitary life of a cowboy/girl and have almost forgotten to worry about the well being of my husband.  He rewards himself with the biggest burger I have ever seen in my life (I have a fractionally smaller one) and, after weeks of vegetarianism, we are both feeling the effects of too much meat for a few days following!

We take a couple of days and head up to the Rees Valley.  Though only an hour from adrenaline-pumped Queenstown, it is so dwarfed by mountains and silence that we start to get that “end of the world” feeling again, and it is paradise.  A very cold paradise however, with nights falling to four degrees transforming our van into an exceptionally large fridge.  There is no landscape that takes my breath away quite like a mountainous one and, for the moment, we are constantly surrounded by them; constantly looking up at this vast ancient army of mighty peaks.  Though they are jagged; rough; uninviting, their beauty is electrifying and engulfing us.  We are like ants to the ant hill; tiny, and feeling wonderfully at home amongst them.

The Chronicles of New Zealand (part 3)

New Zealand’s South Island envelops you in a delicious anonymity that the rest of the world has been denying me; keeping it to itself like a secret.  Right from the very beginning, this trip felt like an escape from the inevitable conformities of the 9 to 5 life, and finally, over six months and twenty thousand kilometres, as far away from my home as I could possibly be, I feel released.

It is autumn, my favourite season.  My artist’s eyes greedily absorb the warmth that speckles the landscape; a perfect palette of luscious green painted with gold, ochre, orange, yellow and every shade of red – red like wine; like blood; like the ripest cherries waiting to be plucked; devoured; savoured.

The mountains rise up to meet you, looming around every wind in the road with incredible presence.  We pass lone houses nestled amongst them, surrounded by nothing other than the rugged, beautiful expanse that reaches as far as the eye can see.  I wonder about the lives contained within their walls; envy the enormity of their escape in relevance to mine, their desolate existence.  Wonder if there is loneliness in their isolation.  Try to imagine that life, free from the constraints of ambition and purpose; wonder if I could embrace it or will the desire to “be somebody” permanently bind me to the big-city life?  From time to time my anxieties about life find their way to the surface of my consciousness and freak me out a little bit.  But here, more than anywhere else, I have the space to mull them over; contemplate possibilities; entertain dreams.

An afternoon spent at Wharariki Beach feels like a journey to the ends of the earth.  It is like no other beach I have ever seen.  The bay encloses you; surrounds you with its rolling green hills, soft white dunes and wild, mountainous terrain. Here is a place I can confide in the sea, ask the questions I fear falling on human ears.  Like a patient psychiatrist, it listens, understands, never interjects; forces you to find the answers in the asking. The sky is blue, the air fresh and cold, and every breath feels like a burst of life seeping into gasping lungs.  The sun and wind whip my face with menace, as if in vengeance for invading the exquisite privacy of this place; but I don’t care.  This is my paradise; this perfect beach; alone, but for the man who I have chosen to have by my side. 

Here, at the earth’s edge, I feel unfathomably small; insignificant; anonymous.  And now it seems that maybe this is what I was searching for all along.  After so many years spent working, stressing, fighting, grasping, hurting, striving – to be the best, but always falling short – thriving on success, feeding on it, needing it, crumbling without it.  Suddenly, none of it seems to matter anymore.  Though it may be only for a fleeting moment, in this moment, every success and failure pales into insignificance when enclosed – confronted - by the extraordinary vastness that surrounds us.  Finally you can stop; relax.  Breathe.