Queenstown to Christchurch, New Zealand
We woke up on our last day in New Zealand with mixed feelings. The day before us stretched out like rays of sunshine greeting our faces, long and promising. As we grabbed a quick breakfast at a local Ranfurly cafe and packed the car, we kept asking each other, “will you miss it?”
Yes. We will miss it. The feeling of stepping back in time to another world when we took our first walk down to the beach of Cathedral Cove. The feeling of my mind going blank and emotions bubbling to the surface as I saw the glowworms light up the Waitomo cave. The feeling of warming our tired muscles in waters fed by the churning, melting, rumbling earth beneath us. The feeling of a boat rocking back and forth, up and down as ocean spray hit our faces. The feeling of standing in the shadow of a mountain and sensing its ancient stolidness, knowing that it’s been there since the dawn of time, knowing that it will outlast you by centuries. Thinking of all the things it’s seen. Wishing you could see those things too.
So we drove. We drove through terrain that had now become an old, familiar friend: cattle farms, rolling hills, vineyards, steep mountain drives. We drove thirty miles down the gravelly, windy, unpaved roads of Danseys Pass, an old, ancient mining track treacherously carved into the sides of mountains. Without complaining about the bumps, we rode silently in awe of the untouched land–no humans, no development, no buildings–something akin to the misty, spooky moors of England, evoking images from The Hound of the Baskervilles.
We emerged triumphant from Danseys Pass, relieved to see paved asphalt. We kept driving. Lake Tekapo was next, and it was blue blue blue blue blue. Purple lupins danced in the wind as we stood on the shores of the lake and thought, of course we’ll miss this.
Lake Pukaki greeted us with more blueness and an ancient surprise: The Church of the Good Shepherd, one of the oldest places of worship in the country. From its tiny sanctuary we stared out into the lake, and thought, this is home.
Alone, I climbed a hill to get a better view, trekking through grass and bush and lupins to reach the summit. I stood at the top, on the edge, gazing at the Aoraki mountains reflected in the lake. Wind whipped at my hair; I forgot Matt was waiting for me. I knelt to the ground and touched the earth, thanking this place for the time it gave me and the emotions it unearthed in my soul.
Sometimes, only nature can reawaken a weary soul. New Zealand became, unexpectedly, a kind of pilgrimage for me. In my daily life, I spend a lot of time thinking about the piece of me that demands something more. What else do I need besides the things I have? Is it religious, relational, job-related, physical? That inner voice of more more more stopped crying in New Zealand.
Communion with nature has the potential to strip us down to our ancient selves, to the primal, untouched part of us. I want to be more connected to that piece of my soul, because it is pure. Modernity, social media, family, friends, losses, loves–nothing can alter this core part of our beings, but it must be nourished. I left New Zealand with the hope that I had re-rooted into my core values and core identity. My goal for 2018 is to continue to explore, trust, and honor that hidden piece of my soul.
We said goodbye to New Zealand by being some of the first humans in the world to ring in the New Year. The city of Christchurch, still stinging from a devastating series of earthquakes in 2010 and 2011, celebrated around us, and Matt and I drank champagne and tried not to think too much about how much we’d miss it.
As we flew out early on New Year’s Day, I looked out of the plane at the blue waters below me, and knew I would see them again. Maybe not next year, or even the next. But I know New Zealand will call me back when I need it again. When my soul cries out for something more, when my spirit craves rekindling, and when my heart desires the blessings of the ancient and otherworldly, I’ll return. For now, I am thankful for the majesty, openness, surprises, adventures, wildness, and spirituality of this little place in the Pacific, a place my soul considers “home.”
