We arrived at Auckland airport full of great expectation, for New Zealand had been the country on our itinerary that we were excitedly anticipating more than any other. Fully expecting to have to find our own way into the city, it came as a lovely surprise when we were met there by one of our friends from university, who has recently emigrated here with her husband (an old flatmate of Phil’s). In an unlikely and wonderful coincidence, another uni friend was also visiting NZ from Japan, and leaving the following day, so our first night was spent having dinner at Auckland harbour, tasting our first New Zealand wine and catching up with old friends. Strangely, it felt almost like we’d arrived home, rather than in the furthest possible place from it. In the days that followed it rained relentlessly and so, while our nights in Auckland were spent in the welcoming company of our friends, the days were mostly spent spending money on a new, weather appropriate, wardrobe, for while cotton sun dresses bought in Thailand were suitable for sunny Australia, New Zealand is a land of four seasons, the warm ones of which are most definitely over.
Even prior to our Oz road trip, our plan had been to hire a campervan and tour both islands in an attempt to see as much of New Zealand as possible in the time we have. As we would be doing so throughout Autumn and into Winter, we decided to invest in a considerably more luxurious van with indoor cooking facilities, so to avoid any of the “cooking outside in torrential rain” incidents that occurred, on a couple of occasions, in Australia, and undoubtedly would here.
We headed first to the Northland (of the North Island) in the hope of glimpsing any remaining sunshine that the Kiwi climate had to offer. Writing this on our fifth day, I can already say, without any shadow of a doubt, that, though we have only glimpsed a mere fraction of its glory, New Zealand is, by far, the most staggeringly beautiful country that I have seen in all my life. (And, as I’m sure you will have gathered from previous blogs, I have seen many beautiful things over the preceding months.)
And it seems that the rumours are true; New Zealand is remarkably, unmistakably, like Scotland. Sometimes I am truly amazed at their likeness, and take comfort in the familiarity of it. I adore my homeland, and believed I would struggle to find anywhere in the world more beautiful, but Scotland is the Primary One art project, as New Zealand is the art school final degree show masterpiece. It is, in a word, magnificent. The grass is greener and more luscious, the hills more rolling and abundant, the sea more sparklingly turquoise and, so far, the sky more vividly blue. Driving has never been more pleasurable, though it takes us hours to get anywhere on account of us stopping frequently to take photos! Over the brow of every hill (and there are many, many hills) is yet another breathtakingly stunning panoramic view that stretches as far as the eye can see, many of which have had us audibly gasping in awe or, on occasion, squealing with delight.
During our time in Australia, I finally read (having found it, a rose among thorns, in our Singapore hostel) “The Chronicles of Narnia”. The depth to which it moved me was startling, and I kept wondering why it had taken me so long to get round to it. In New Zealand, I feel as though I have been transported (by campervan, not wardrobe) into that magical land, the scenery around me being like something that, I thought, did not actually exist but for in fairytales. The line between reality and the depths of my imagination feels suddenly very thin, and I worry that my mind might go into overdrive in its attempt to savour and store away every view; every treasure.
Of course, New Zealand’s unspoiled, majestic beauty has not gone unnoticed, and this fairytale-esque land has, unsurprisingly, made its way onto the big Hollywood screen in recent years. But blessedly, any tourist surge that might have occurred as a result of its new found fame seems to have been lost somewhere amongst it multitude of vast, open, beautiful spaces. Even when following the “beaten track”, there will be little along your way to indict the presence of anyone else other than a handful of friendly locals and an extraordinary number of sheep.
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